I’ve been trapped in here for twenty-four hours. I’m starting to go crazy.
It’s strange, because I’m notorious for hiding out in my apartment for days on end. When I was first living in the city and building my portfolio to apply for freelancing jobs, I once spent eight straight days without setting so much as a toe outside. I survived on Cheetos and Diet Coke like a rat trapped in a gas station.
I might have continued longer in that fashion, if it weren’t for the fact that Mia decided to visit unexpectedly. When she realized I hadn’t been out of my apartment in more than a week, she threw a hissy fit.
She said something Dad used to say to me all the time when he thought I was being too timid or too meek: Living is for the brave.
“I am living,” I’d argued back to her.
She’d just shaken her head. “No. You’re hiding from the world because you’re scared of rejection. That’s not living; it’s surviving. And the difference between those two things is the most important difference there is.”
She dragged me all the way out to Central Park, and little by little, I re-entered society as a functioning adult, with vegetables and sunshine and human interaction, et cetera.
But those words kept ringing in my head. They still do.
Living is for the brave.
“I’m not brave, though,” I whisper. I’m not sure whether I’m talking to Dad or Mia or myself. “That was the problem from the start: I was never brave. And trying to be has only landed me in one mess after another.”
The gardens below seem to stretch out for miles. Moss and creeping vines climb up the red brick walls and wrap around the banisters of my balcony. When I take a deep breath, I can almost imagine I’m at some exclusive luxury resort.
Something knocks around behind me. I spin towards it, heart in my throat.
The room is empty and the door to the hallway is closed. The other two doors—one that leads to a walk-in closet and another that leads to a bathroom bigger than my entire apartment—are also closed.
Nothing moves. I’m still alone.
And then I hear another distant thump. This time, I can tell it’s coming from the hallway.
Another thump. Another.
Footsteps, coming towards the room.
I back up just as the door unlocks. I’m braced against the wall, expecting Aleks, but the person that walks in is a small woman with rust-red hair. She’s carrying a small tray and wearing a soft expression.
“Hello.” She smiles. “You must be Olivia.”
I frown. “Who are you?”
“I’m Yulia,” she says, as though that’s explanation enough.
She’s dressed impeccably. The skirt is ivory white. Cashmere, by the looks of it. Stark black buttons run down the front. Her blouse is black silk. It drapes around her petite figure, highlighting just how small and fine-boned she really is. She must be in her sixties, but at first glance, she looks much younger.
“Are you here to let me go?” I ask.
“Unfortunately, that’s not my call to make.” She gives me another sympathetic smile and glides past me. “Oh, good, you have the balcony doors open. The view of the garden is wonderful from this room.”
She steps out onto the balcony and puts the tray down on the table. “I thought you might appreciate some tea.”
I stare at the plates on the tray. One with finger sandwiches, one with pastries oozing chocolate, and a third bearing an assortment of sugar-dusted cookies.
“Why don’t you sit down?” she suggests. She doesn’t say it rudely, but it isn’t really a question. Or, if it is, it’s the kind of question to which only one answer is allowed: compliance.
I join her on the balcony and sit down stiffly. “I’m not really hungry.”
“Hm. I noticed that your trays from lunch and dinner came back mostly full.”
“I guess being abducted has ruined my appetite.”
She doesn’t react to my sarcasm at all. But she does take the empty seat next to mine.
“Starving yourself isn’t going to get you free any faster,” she says, offering me the tray of cookies. “Try one; they’re delicious. I had the chef bake a batch this morning. They’re best when they’re eaten fresh.”
Even in the midst of my captivity, I can’t bring myself to be rude. I want to refuse her, but I grab a cookie anyway.
She hums in satisfaction, sets the plate down, and gazes out over the garden. “The hydrangeas on the east side are looking a little shabby, don’t you think? I’ll have to get the gardeners to come in an extra day next week.”
“Does that make you the housekeeper?” I ask.
“You could say that.” She takes a bite of the cookie in her hand and sighs. “So lovely. I love the taste of coconut.”
“I’m sorry, but do you really expect to sit here and make small talk with me?”
She chuckles pleasantly, but again, I detect a measure of steel just below the veneer of her manners. She is a tough woman; that much is certain.
“Everyone hates small talk,” she remarks. “But how else do you start a conversation with a new friend?”
“Where is he?” I ask, cutting to the chase.
“Working,” she says, still unfazed. “He’s always working.”
“I want to speak to him.”
“I’m sure you do.”
I grit my teeth, but I force back the resentment that’s building up inside me. “I need to speak to him. Please?”
“My dear, Aleksandr is not the type of man to do anything just because you ask nicely.”
My heart sinks. If I can’t even talk to him, then how can I convince him to let me go? Or at the very least, ask him for proof that my family is alright?
I’m not sure this woman, Yulia, will have the information I want. But I give it a shot anyway.
“Do you know why I’m here?”
She nods. “I have a vague idea.”
I frown. “And you don’t have a problem with the fact that I’m being kept here against my will?”
“You’d be surprised what a person can ignore if the stakes are high enough. You’d be surprised what a person will tolerate. It’s all about familiarity.”
“Meaning what?” I ask. “You can get used to committing crimes if you do it long enough?”
“Something like that.”
I stare at her, realizing just how little I relate to this alien stranger. She probably feels the same way about me. I watch her nibbling at her cookie. Even the way she eats is dainty, graceful, composed.
My stomach rumbles. She notices.
“You’re hungry,” she says. “Just eat. As I said, depriving yourself of food is not going to get you out of this room.”
“What will?”
“You’d have to discuss that with Aleksandr.”
“I’m trying,” I snap. “But how can I if he won’t see me?” I set the untouched cookie back on the plate and lean towards her imploringly. “Please, please, just talk to him. Tell him I need to speak to him. He owes me that much.”
“Owes you?” Yulia scoffs. “Honey, you really are new to this world, aren’t you?”
I decide that’s not a question worth answering. “He can’t keep me here forever.”
“Actually, he can.”
She says it with a confidence that speaks to experience. How many other women have spent time isolated in this room?
Was one of them Isabella?
“I know you work for him, but do you know everything he’s done?” I ask. “Do you know the full extent of his crimes?”
To my disappointment, she just shrugs. “I have an idea.”
I shake my head. “My brother’s fiancée disappeared over a year ago. No note, no warning signs, no explanation. Just poof, gone. And that just doesn’t make any sense. I mean, my brother’s an FBI agent. He has access to resources other people don’t have. He’s certain that Aleks is the one that took her.”
She stares at me with an unreadable expression. “Do you believe that she’s dead?”
“My brother doesn’t think so, but… it’s been too long for her to still be alive,” I say. “Listen, Yulia: the FBI is closing in on Aleks. They’ll find out what really happened. And when they do, he’s going to be put away for his sins. Do you really want to go down with him?”
“What are you trying to say, dear?”
“I’m trying to say that, if you help me, I can help you when they come for him.”
She looks at me levelly for a long time. Then she sighs. “That’s quite the offer. And I do appreciate it. But I’m afraid I’m too deeply entrenched in this Bratva to remove myself from it now.”
“Is that the only reason?” I ask tentatively.
She smiles. “I understand that, to you, the FBI is a formidable organization. But they are not the Bratva. They are not Aleksandr Makarova.”
“He’s still just a man,” I point out. “He’s not invincible.”
She shrugs. “He was raised to be exactly that.”
“You can’t honestly believe that. My brother is—”
“Your brother cannot win, Olivia,” she says firmly, cutting me off. “If he tries, he’s going to end up dead. I’m not saying this to scare you—I’m saying this to help you. Or at the very least, to prepare you.”
“You’re wrong. Rob is smart and capable and—”
She raises a hand to interrupt me again. “I’m sure he’s all those things. But that still won’t make him a match for Aleksandr. You want to know the best way to survive this? Keep your head down and do as you’re told. Then, maybe, you’ll see your family again.”
I feel a sob of frustration and fear clenching in my chest, squeezing so tight it’s hard to breathe. But I have to keep focused.
“Do you know if they’re okay?” I choke out. “He… he left them all bound and gagged… My mom is not as strong as she used to be. I need to know if they’re okay.”
“That I can’t tell you, my dear.”
A traitorous tear slips down my cheek. “Can you please ask him if he’ll see me?”
She considers my request for a moment and then gives me a curt nod. “Very well. I’ll do my best.”
Then she gets up, dusts off her hands, and walks back into the room. I stand up and follow her to the door. I didn’t want to talk to her to begin with, but now that she’s leaving, I find myself wishing she’d stay. I’m not sure when I’ll see another human being again.
“You really don’t ever regret getting involved in all this?” I blurt.
She gives me a slight shrug. “There are some circumstances in which we’re not given choices.”
“But… he’s a monster,” I say. “He might be responsible for the abduction and murder of an innocent woman. You really don’t care about that?”
“I can’t afford to care.”
“Why?”
“Because I can’t walk away from this,” she says. “I am eternally loyal to him.”
“Why?” My hope for an ally dies a quick but painful death. “Why?”
She exhales tiredly and gives me a sad smile. “Because he’s my son.”
