40

Maria
After meeting Natasha, I’m no longer gawked at by the other women, and I like it. Unfortunately, the room’s nonstop chatter and the smell of fish are getting to me, so I walk over to the French doors leading into the massive yard. I gaze at the tantalizing woods in the yard, imagining the freedom they promise, but not daring to wander into them.
Where would I go?
A rock and a hard place are my only choices. So, I walk a fair distance over to a garden bench and sit down, ignoring the men with sunglasses and earpieces watching me.
The grounds here are huge, and there are hints of roots and brambles all around, tracing a pattern that reminds me oddly of a maze.
A man whispers something I cannot hear as I approach. I roll my eyes as I pass him and make sure he sees it. These people ignore me when I’m around, but the minute I leave, I’m watched. I pull my dress tightly around my legs and stare at the house, wondering where Mikhail is.
“Dance?” A deep voice interrupts my thoughts, and I look at the man standing beside me. Where did he come from? He’s tall, well-dressed in a dark charcoal suit, and his face … There’s something familiar about him, but I can’t place it.
“No, thank you.” I stay seated and look away.
“Do you mind if I join you?” he asks.
I look at him again, but it’s not clicking. I’ve seen him, but where? “Yes, I do mind.”
He laughs, but the laugh dies in his eyes. “Rough day?”
I sigh loudly. “I’m just waiting for the party to end so I can go home.”
“But this isn’t home, Maria.” His smile fades. “You don’t have to stay with these people.”
And that’s when it clicks. He’s the same man from the museum.
“You’re with the Lanzzare,” I whisper. I try to hurry away, but he blocks my path. I look around. Where are all those annoying guards now?
“You don’t belong here,” the man says.
“I’m not going with you!”
I kick him in the shin with the toe of my shoe and start running toward the house. He follows close behind. I can hear his heavy breath as we cross the lawn at top speed. One of my shoes falls off, but I leave it. The pointy heel sticks deep in the grass. I kick the other shoe off and pull the hem of my dress to my waist, hauling ass toward the house. His hand grazes my arm, but by that time, everyone is looking.
Mikhail appears from nowhere. “Let her go,” he snarls, his eyes locked on the man.
“Make me, Ivanov,” the man sneers, pulling out a switchblade and flicking it open. The metallic click echoes through the room.
I watch in amazement that this man brought a knife to a gunfight. And then I remember that the guns were all taken by security. This man could actually hurt me. I stare at him, and I’m frozen to the floor.
“Say hi to your brother for me,” the man taunts Mikhail and then lunges forward.
But Mikhail’s already a step ahead, sidestepping the knife and landing a crunching punch to the man’s jaw.
As the man staggers back, Larissa wastes no time in grabbing my arm. She drags me out of the way of the fight and then onto my feet. She leads me away, positioning herself between me and the fight.
But I can’t tear my eyes away. Mikhail dodges another swipe from the switchblade, retaliating with a swift kick to the man’s midsection. The man doubles over but remains standing. With a lightning-quick twist of the arm, Mikhail snatches the switchblade from his grasp. The man’s eyes widen in shock as Mikhail plunges the blade into his chest, just below the collarbone. Blood squirts from the wound when Mikhail pulls the knife out.
The man’s eyes roll back in his head as he crumples to the ground. His chest heaving with exertion, Mikhail stands over the man, smirking as if the act gave him pleasure, and wipes the blade on the man’s back before tossing it aside.
The room around us is eerily silent.
“Is … is he?” I can’t bring myself to say the word, but Larissa understands.
“He is,” she confirms. “He won’t be coming after you again.”
Instead of shocked panic, the men start to clap and cheer while the women move away as if the corpse is a heap of trash spoiling their good time. I stare at them, acting as if nothing awful has happened.
“She shouldn’t have wandered off by herself,” a woman whispers loud enough for me to hear.
“Where was she going anyway? The party is in here,” another one comments, then laughs.
A chant starts-Ivanov-as the men pump their fists in the air. And Mikhail raises his hands, accepting the praise. A drop of blood rolls down his pinky and falls to the floor.
He meets my gaze, eyes filled with an intensity that leaves me breathless and trembling. In a loud voice, he announces to the rest of the party,
“I always protect what is mine. What belongs to us remains with us.”
I push Larissa’s hand off me and start to run for the door.
Instantly, Mikhail comes after me. He blocks me at the door, grabbing my wrist. I try to push him away, staring at the blood now touching my skin.
“I’m not going to run,” I almost shout, but I gasp for air instead. “I just need space.”
He won’t let go and I stare at him, seeing the look in his eyes. It’s not anger, but a familiar haunted look. Is it because the man mentioned his brother? Or is it because the man tried to take me away?
I blink, and a tear escapes. I try to process what’s happened in front of my eyes. The lifeless body of the man, his blood staining the spotless floor. The men cheering Mikhail for committing a horrible crime right before our eyes. And even though I was just a bystander, I feel like I’m somehow responsible for a man dying.
My heart pounds in my chest, threatening to break.
“Please, Mikhail. I need air.”
“Okay,” he says gently, guiding me through the doors. “Let’s step outside.” Mikhail places a firm hand on my shoulder as we stand in the driveway. Security glances over at us, their expressions the same as if nothing had happened. Am I the only one who cares?
“Are you okay?” Mikhail asks.
I nod mechanically, unable to speak.
“Suka blyat! Is this the kind of security you expect to provide for your wife?” Natasha hurries down the front steps, her face twisted in fury and her voice hard as iron. “Where did that ublyudok come from?”
“He came out of the woods,” I whisper. I look at Mikhail and Natasha, their matching expressions determined and dangerous. What if that had been my dad? I hold my stomach. “I don’t feel good.”
“Come, lucky girl,” Natasha says, her voice softening. She wraps her arm around me, taking me away from Mikhail.
She guides me toward a quieter wing of the house, far away from the party. Once we are alone, I start to cry like a baby. A barefoot baby in a ridiculous peach satin dress. I feel like a fool when I should feel anything but. I can’t get the image of Mikhail with blood on his hands out of my head.
He killed a man and didn’t even blink.
A moment later, Larissa joins us and after a few exchanged words with Natasha, walks me over to the limo. I climb obediently in and stare at my wrist, which is covered with that man’s blood. Some of the blood has run down to my palm, and I can smell its metallic tang in the air. A wave of nausea roils through me again.
Mikhail put blood on my hands.
Larissa tries to wipe it away with a tissue from her purse, but it won’t come off. She dabs a tissue on her tongue and resumes the work until the red smear slowly begins to fade.
I stare at the smudge where the blood used to be. My sobs slow to wayward tears as the limo pulls away.
“You’re okay, Maria,” Larissa says softly as she hugs me close. “Mikhail won’t let anyone take you away from us.”
I look away when she says those words, searing hot tears rolling down my cheeks.
He won’t let anyone take me away.
And that’s exactly what I’m afraid of.