Ava
Cara picks up on the third ring.
“Hello?” Cara’s thick Irish accent fills my ear from the other side of the phone, and it feels like a weight has suddenly been lifted off my shoulders on hearing her voice again.
“Hi,” I say.
A pause and then, “You fucking bitch where the hell have you been?”
I laugh, the sound light and full of genuine happiness. I’m glad to hear she hasn’t changed. “I’m glad you’re fine too. Thank you very much”
“Don’t you try to act coy with me Ava. Do you have any idea how worried I’ve been about you? I fucking called your brother, for Christ’s sake.”
While Cara and I are friends, Aaron and Cara were as friendly as a couple of male geese during mating season. They despise each other, which, in my opinion, doesn’t make any sense since I’ve always thought that they’d be perfect for each other.
You know, When they aren’t trying to kill each other.
“And don’t get me started on your father. The man’s been missing for almost a week now. Nobody can reach him, not even Aaron.”
My body goes rigid at her words, what did she mean by my father was missing? Oh my God, did Nikolai… I quickly shake the thought away from my head. No, if Nikolai had anything to do with my father’s disappearance, he wouldn’t have reacted the way he did after our kiss.
“What do you mean missing?”
There’s a pause at the other end of the line and then she says.”You didn’t know?”
Oh God. My chest tightens. My father is missing? Does he even know that the man he is so desperate to kill has disappeared? And if he does know, Why did Nikolai not tell me? Oh my God, what if I’m wrong and Nikolai is, in fact, responsible for my father’s disappearance or worse- what if Alessandro got back at him for going back on their deal?
I barely have time to process all of the terrifying possibilities swirling through my mind when Cara’s worried voice snaps me from my thoughts.
“Hey? Are you still there” I shift slightly on my bed and nod.
“Of course, I am”, I swallow, “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Why wouldn’t you be? Gee, I don’t know Ava, maybe because you’ve been gone for nearly a week. No phone calls, no texts, nothing. It felt like my best friend had fucking disappeared from the face of the earth and now you’re calling me with an unknown number and acting as if everything is okay when it isn’t” Her voice is laced with worry, a rare softness I haven’t heard in a while and the fact that it’s coming from her makes it all the more rarer.
“I’m fine, Cara, really. It’s just that something happened that I didn’t expect, that’s all.” But even as the words leave my lips I know it’s a weak explanation. I haven’t just been gone and she knows it too.
“Something like what?”
I sigh into the line, “It’s kind of a long story”
“Well then, it’s a good thing I have nothing but time. Now spill”
So I do. I tell her about the arrangement my father had with the Morettis and how my birthday turned into my wedding day and how I almost married the heir to the Italian Mafia in the form of Antonio Moretti. I explain how Nikolai crashing my wedding was probably the best thing that happened that day and how a part of me is still grateful that he did even though I hate him for doing so. I tell her about Kat and how she’s the only person who has shown me a silver of affection since I moved into the Volkov Mansion. I tell her about Kira, who is the newly acquired stepdaughter I have had since I married Nikolai, and her love for pancakes and blue dogs. I tell her how glad I am to finally be talking to her again after what felt like years of having no contact.
I don’t, however, tell her about how my husband is hell-bent on murdering my father and how he intends to use me as a tool to complete his goal.
I also don’t tell her about the kiss between Nikolai and me or how it acted as a form of payment for the device in my hand that I’m currently using to talk to her.
“Wow,”, she says when I finish speaking, “First of all, fuck your dad, I never liked his slimy self and second of all”, a pause, “is your husband hot?”
Her question catches me off guard so much so that a laugh bubbles up my throat at her bluntness. “You know most people will ask if I’m doing okay after telling them all of that.”
“Well, I’m not most people. I know you’re okay because if you weren’t you would have told me.” Another pause. “You are okay, right?” she asks again, worry etched within each syllable.
I don’t know exactly how to respond to that. Physically, I feel fine, better than fine actually but emotionally and mentally? I can’t really say. Most days I find it easier to just be. And then night comes and all these thoughts circle my mind about my father and if he’s really guilty like Nikolai says he is. Sometimes I find my mind gearing towards thoughts of Nikolai, too, and when that happens, all I want to do is scream. Scream and scream until my throat is raw and I can no longer speak from the pain.
“Mostly” I reply, unable to bring myself to tell her how I really feel.
She hums thoughtfully on the other side and I lie back against my bed, my gaze drifting over the intricate patterns on my ceiling. There are four delicate swirls, each etched with precision-a detail I shouldn’t know, but yet, somehow, I do because I have grown accustomed to tracing those patterns in my mind on nights I can’t sleep, which just so happens to be every night since I’ve moved here.
“So back to my question. Is he hot?
Hot is just one out of the many words I could use to describe Nikolai Volkov, along with psychopath, murderer and a great kisser at the top of the list.
“Nikolai can be pretty intense,” I say.
“So what I’m hearing is, he’s hot in a brooding sort of way.” she teases and I roll my eyes even though I know she can’t see me.
“No, what you’re hearing is that he’s intense.” I snort and imagine her waving her hand in front of her face when she replies with, “Same difference.”
“How’s school going?” I ask, needing to divert her attention elsewhere. She groans.
“Terrible,” she says and I imagine her flopping down on her bed and rolling to her side in her student dorm. “We have this project for our painting class that feels like it’s going to eat away at my soul before I even get the chance to complete it.”
My interest suddenly piques at her words “A Painting project?” I ask. Cara and I take some of the same classes together, including Mr Bennett’s class on contemporary art techniques. Mr Bennet can be a bit much when it comes to his methods. He’s notorious for his eccentric projects and often pushes his students to think outside the norm when it comes to art but his methods can get pretty weird.
“You know how Mr. Bennett can be-he turns the simplest of projects into some grand existential crisis. He wants us to express our, ‘inner turmoil’ through our art which is great except I have no idea what he means by ‘inner turmoil'”
“I’m pretty sure inner turmoil is a metaphor for something you’re struggling with,” I tell her, and she groans.
“Exactly!” She exclaims and I hear the rustling of her sheets as she moves around in bed. “I just want to splash some colour around, maybe get high off some paint fumes, but nooo, he wants me to create something that actually means something to me. Can you believe that?”
I nod humming thoughtfully, “I can imagine”
Mr Bennett expected his students to give their all when creating a work, and that can be difficult for someone like Cara, who thrives in her own spontaneous, carefree nature when it comes to creating art. Like most people, she preferred to create as inspiration strikes, not when it’s demanded from her.
I, on the other hand, thrived under the careful guidance of instructions.
“The man must think he’s on his way to training the next Michelangelo, or something. Because how many people does he really think can turn the shitty situations in their lives into a masterpiece before the semester ends. It’s pretty unrealistic if you ask me.”
I laugh at her words and I realize it’s the first genuine laugh I’ve let out in the last week. This is what I needed. Talking to Cara instantly makes me feel lighter, and for a brief second, I pretend like my life is the same as before. That I’m not married to a terrifying mafia boss who has made it his life’s mission to murder my father.
“I’m pretty sure it’s not that bad,” I say.
“Oh, it’s bad, guess what? He says that this project will make up forty percent of our total grade.” she exclaims, “can you believe that? Forty percent” she sighs, ” I knew I should’ve gone to law school like my father wanted.”
Cara’s father, much like mine, was pretty disappointed when his daughter left the confines of their cozy home in Ireland to come to America to study art at the prestigious North Shore Academy. He rather preferred that his daughter followed in his footsteps and studied law like her brothers and sisters, which, to someone as free-spirited as Caras is, sounds like an absolute nightmare.
“I thought you hated the idea of becoming a lawyer?”
“I do,” She says, “but anything has to be better than releasing my ‘inner turmoil’ on a Canvas.” She scoffs, “I’m this close to releasing my inner turmoil on his face.”
The image of my 5’3 best friend standing toe to toe with a 6’2 Mr Bennett to give him a piece of her mind materializes in my mind, too funny to ignore, and I laugh.
“Well, if it makes you feel any better, just name a time and a place and I’m right there with you.” I say and roll onto my stomach, “Maybe we can release our collective ‘inner turmoil’ and call it a collaboration. Double the angst, double the grade am I right?”
Now it’s her turn to laugh, “Now there’s an idea.” She says still laughing “Although I’m pretty sure Mr Bennett might actually love that”
She isn’t wrong. If Cara and I were to pull through with our idea, He might tell us to keep up the good work and our inner turmoil might manifest into something more of an outward expression.
“I can’t wait till you’re back in class, A. My God I’ve missed you. When are you coming back anywhere?”
I pause, drumming my fingers lightly on the planes of my stomach. I haven’t told Nikolai yet about my intention to go back to school. It’s strange; before I never thought I would need anybody’s permission to pursue what I wanted, not even my father’s, but with everything that has happened so far, things have changed.
“I’m not sure yet.”
One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three –
“What do you mean you’re not sure yet? Why? Did something happen?”
If there’s one thing I know about Cara, it’s that no answer I give in this particular moment that isn’t the truth will satisfy her.
To the Italian mafia, Education for women was either seen as something beneficial to the family or a complete waste of time. Either way, I knew that if I had married Antonio like I was initially intended to, I wouldn’t have thought about the prospects of going back to school because a man like him wouldn’t have let me do what makes me happy.
But with Nikolai things are different, less predictable. The Russians seem to value power, resourcefulness, and discipline over normal gender roles. They expected their women to be resourceful with or without the men.
Since Kat was never allowed to finish school by her father, I didn’t bother to ask her if Nikolai expected the same of me, too.
I assumed that despite the glaring differences, both Mafias were still both traditional in that manner which was why I never bothered to tell Nikolai I wanted to go back to school.
“I just have a lot going on right now, and I don’t think I want to go back to school just yet,”, I tell her. It isn’t a lie but it also isn’t the truth.
“Bullshit.” She spits, and I wince, “Tell me what’s really going on Ava, or I swear to God, I’ll fucking trace this call and make you tell me myself.”
Another thing to know about Cara, when she resorts to threats as violent as this one it means that she’s done playing the fiddle and will most likely claw the truth out of you before you even realize her perfectly manicured fingers are down your throat.
“It’s just that I haven’t had the chance to tell Nikolai I want to go back yet.”
“You haven’t brought it up to Nikolai yet?” She repeats slowly and I nod even though I know she can’t see me.
“Huh”, she says, then “Ava, you know I love you, right?” she asks, and I nod, wondering where this is going.
“Yes,” I reply
“So you know when I tell you that you’re being a fucking pussy, it comes from a place of love right?”
I gasp, “Excuse me?”
“You heard me. Since when did the Ava I know wait around for a man to give her permission to do what she loves?”
“It isn’t like that.” I try to explain. Things are different now. I was bloody married for christ sake, but she cuts me off.
” Of course it is. What? A week as a housewife suddenly has you seeking that life? I thought you hated the idea of settling down and waiting around for a man.”
“I do, it’s just that things are different, more complicated.”
“Complicated how?”
“I’m married to the head of the russian mafia”
“So?” She asks, puzzled, “what does that have to do with anything?”
I sigh, “Things aren’t the same, okay. Do you really think someone like Nikolai will sit back and watch me do what makes me happy?”
The man hates me and even if he says he doesn’t I know he does. What else can I call how he treats me? Certainly not affection and most certainly not love.
“So you do it without him knowing then.” She suggests and I bite my bottom lip.
“I doubt I can hide me gone for hours everyday Cara,” I say, shaking my head, “He’s bound to find out eventually.”
For all I knew Nikolai could catch me trying to leave the compound the moment I step outside.
Cara lets out a frustrated sigh. “Ava, listen to me. I’m going to level with you here. If Nikolai is truly against you going back to school then I don’t see any other way out of this other than you lying to him.”
“Lie to him?”
The thought of lying to Nikolai had never even crossed my mind. How exactly do you lie to someone who’s entire persona is built around telling lies?
“I don’t know…” I trail off and Cara sighs.
“Ava, if he’s really as bad as you say he is, then I don’t see any other solution other than the one I’ve just presented.”
I press my lips together. Cara had a point. If Nikolai was actually against the idea of me going back to school and it wasn’t just all in my head. Then the only way I can go back is by lying to him.
Or you could just ask him and see what he has to say about it. A nagging voice at the back of my head sounded and I quickly shut it out
Asking Nikolai for permission to go back to school would inevitably prove Cara right that I had turned into a pussy who waited around for her husband to give her permission to do things she loved.
I am not a pussy and I don’t need Nikolai’s permission to do the things I want to do with my life. I am twenty one years old for goodness sake. I am a grown woman and besides, If I intend to take back control of my life what better place to start than this?
Letting out a breath, I sigh into the phone and give Cara my final answer.
“Okay,” I say. “Let’s do it”