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I never thought I’d feel like this, considering how I ended up in Astoria…
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Katriane - Age 12
“Sommes-nousdéjàlà,maman?”
“En Anglais, ma petite fille.”
“Are we there yet,Maman?” I grip the car’s headrest from the backseat where we’re both sitting to see out the front window.
“Soon. Do you remember I told you to be a good girl today?”
“Oui.”
“Yes, Katriane. Yes. Youmustspeak English from now on.”
“Yes,Maman.” I learned English from my tutor, butMamanand all our servants speak French.
“Soon you will learn Russian,”Mamanmutters, a shaking hand in front of her mouth.
“Russian?” I glance at her.
“Oui,”she whispers, then looks out the window suddenly. “Here! We are here.”
The driver slams on the brakes. “Ma’am, we have a problem.”
He signals for her to look out the windshield. At a gate in between two tall stone columns, three men in suits approach the car carrying guns. They must be fake. Who walks around carrying guns like that?
“Let me handle this.”Mamanrolls down her window.
“This street is private property, Miss. Tell your driver to turn around,” a man with sunglasses says, pointing his gun at the ground.
“Is that thing real?” I ask, butMamanquickly shushes me.
“It is very real, child.” The man looks inside the car and stares atMaman’slegs.
Mamanis beautiful, and many men pay attention to her. “I’m here to see Alexei,” she says, pinching her skirt upward.
“PakhanKoslovis busy.”
“Tell him it is Loria.”
“Ma’am, hedoes not see people without appointments.”
“I have something better than an appointment.”Mamanunbuckles my seatbelt and lifts me onto her lap. “I have his daughter.”
My heart jumps into my throat. “Que,Maman?” She told me my papa was in heaven.
“Shhh, Kat.” She squeezes me. “What is your name, guard? Iwillget in touch with Alexei. He has enemies in this city, yes? I bettheywill grant me an audience. Do you want to be the man who turned his daughter away, only to be handed over to an enemy?”
“Maman,” I whisper, and her fingers tighten around my waist even harder. “You’re hurting me,Maman.”
The man looks at me, and when our eyes lock, he steps back. He speaks into a microphone at his wrist, like I’ve seen our guards back home in Troyes use. I don’t understand what he’s saying. The words sound rough, and his voice is deep.
Must be Russian…
He drops his hand and opensMaman’sdoor. “Come with me, Miss. You and the child. Tell your driver to leave.”
