Chapter 18 - Bianca
The day is gloomy, not doing much to alleviate the dread I’m feeling settle deep into the pit of my stomach. I’ve arranged a group of bodyguards to take me to the doctor's appointment I’ve secretly booked, having to snoop around for days until I overheard one who spoke in a sympathetic way about me. It’s not the most solid of plans, but it will have to do.
His name is Boris. He’s a good man, having worked with the Barkovs for years. It only took a few brief conversations before I dropped the bomb on him, begging him to sneak me out for a doctor’s appointment. Luckily, his wife is currently pregnant, too, and that helped me sway his reluctance towards a curt nod when I made my request.
The logistics of it was the hardest part.
Now that I’m seated in the car, the soft hum of the vehicle the only accompaniment to my thoughts, I allow myself to relax. The planning was meticulous—I began a week ago, strategizing on which route to take to the OBGYN so that if we were tailed by Aleksei’s other —more loyal men —we’d lose them on the way. It’s fine , I reason with myself, I will tell him soon . It’s just that it can’t be now, and he most definitely can’t find out I’m pregnant through my visit to a doctor.
No matter how I look at it, the situation stresses me out. I throw my head back against the seat and groan. This isn’t meant to happen now, not so soon. Not when I don’t even fully understand what I am feeling towards Aleksei. I look down at my stomach, petting at the soft cotton fabric of the cream shirt I opted for today.
“I’m sorry, little one,” I whisper, pushing back tears that threaten to spill over. “But I’ll make it all alright. Mama will make sure.”
Maybe it is weird, but in the last few days, I discovered a new habit of mine that helps calm me—talking to her. Or him , I remind myself. It is an unknown, foreign feeling—to hold so much love and care for someone I don’t yet know, but it brings me so much comfort to have them with me. I’m not just fighting for me or for Giorgia—not even for Aleksei or the family I’m a part of now. No, I am fighting for my baby.
I’m going to be a mom.
The thoughts scare me. I’ve never had a mother. How can I be one myself? The past few nights have been wrought with me tossing and turning in the sheets into the early hours of the morning, the question plaguing my mind. I’ve never met her—my mother—but in many ways, I feel for her. The rejection she must’ve faced. I often wonder if she’d grieve being forced to give me up, if she ever thought of me. Then there is Sasha, who is the furthest thing from a mother I could possibly imagine, her sympathy and love saved only for her one biological daughter. This cycle of never-ending tormenting dilemmas chased me, by which time I’d usually give up and head to Aleksei, falling asleep in his embrace. I don’t allow myself to go unless there’s absolutely no other way to alleviate my anxiety, because I can’t seek comfort in him—not like a real couple would. We’re something different, more fucked up. Partners in crime.
I can’t allow myself to grow emotionally dependent on him, or grow love for a man when I’m not sure if the feelings I harbor for him are reciprocated.
I blink myself back into the moment, recognizing the buildings around me. In the span of a second, I feel the sickly, nauseating taste of bile in my mouth. Conveniently, the screen separating me from the driver rolls down in the moment.
“Ms.Barkov, in a few minu—“ he doesn’t have the time to finish before I interrupt him.
“Stop the car, please,” is all I manage to spit out in a panicked tone before covering my mouth in hopes of buying some more time. I notice the driver’s worried gaze gauging the gravity of the situation through the rearview mirror, dashing out of the car as soon as it screeches to a halt, proceeding to empty what little content I had in my stomach. Boris steps out after me but still keeps his distance. How odd it must look—seeing a sick woman and a man who just stares at her, motionless. Luckily there were no bystanders that I took note of. I take a few deep breaths, readying myself to turn back to the car, when a booming voice echoes behind me. Boris’ brows are furrowed. Fuck.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Grigor shouts, murderous as he marches towards me.
“Hey,” Grigor shouts louder, the thunderous rage seeping from him. “What the fuck are you doing outside of the compound?”
I want to respond, truly , but my mouth is still permeated with the taste of the vomit, and I’m worried I’m about to barf again.
“Why the hell are you sneaking out behind our backs? I was right about you, you know. You’re nothing more than a dirty spy.” He enunciates the last two words.
“What?” I respond, having shooed most of the nausea away by now. I look around, stunned. “Do you think I’d be here of all places if I was a spy , Grigor?” I can’t help the sarcastic tone of my voice. It really is starting to piss me off—the constant questioning of my loyalties, the fact I’d never belong anywhere because of my lineage, something I had no choice over. And now, I bear the responsibility for the two of us, not just me.
It's now that I begin to take closer note of our surroundings. We are standing in an almost empty parking lot, a rarity during this time of day in New York. The hustle and bustle of the city still permeates the background noise, but it is muted. It almost feels eerie, I note. Or maybe my senses are misleading me, irritated and hypersensitive. The man I managed to bribe to come with me steps closer, having aimed to step between me and Grigor, before catching Grigor’s eyes on him and freezing. I look back at him, nodding my head in a ‘it’s fine‘ gesture. He steps back, giving us more space, but Grigor doesn’t let up.
“And you,” he spits at Boris, pointing his finger at him. ”Will be lucky if you make it out with all four of your limbs from Aleksei’s office.”
“Hey!” I shout, irritated that this man who has no idea of what I’m even doing here is so willing to threaten an innocent man. “He was helping me. So back the fuck off Grigor. He has no part in this other than my order to take me out of the compound.”
He laughs at that. What a condescending prick. That is when two more men emerge from the slick truck Grigor came here in —meatheads in utility clothing and shaved heads.
“Your order ?” He scoffs again, looking like I was speaking a different language to him. “You’re nothing more than a glorified prisoner, darling. And this stunt you pulled…” He trails off, spitting onto the cold concrete.
I scoff at Grigor.
“Are you fucking serious? Several men for me? Am I such a big threat to you?” I notion to the men standing behind him. It’s ridiculous, really, that he saw me as being lethal enough to warrant this stand off.
He narrows his eyes at me in irritation.
“I don’t know what you’re capable of, Rossi, but I do know you’re a threat.”
I take a deep breath in an attempt at calming myself, but I can feel myself begin to get really fucking fed up…
“Oh my God, Grigor.” I half-shout with frustration. “Can you leave it be? Leave me be? I know you see me as a threat but grow up! I’m not some spy, you’re just fucking paranoid!”
His face now goes red with anger, jaw clenching and unclenching. He doesn’t say a word, slowly advancing towards me as I counter his steps with my own in the opposing direction. He opens and closes his mouth, as if catching what he was about to say at the last second, the two men behind him burly and as still as statues.
“You’re coming back with me . I hope you’ll be able to explain yourself to Aleksei as to why it is so necessary for you to have ran from the compound.”
“I’m going absolutely nowhere with you,” I counter, warning as my voice drops lower than I ever have before, hands in front of me now. He’s only a few steps away before his hands grab at mine in an attempt to pacify me. I thrash in his grasp, feeling more irritated and violated than ever. I know I am still a hostage in his eyes—just an asset to Barkovs—but I feel tired of justifying all my actions and smallest steps to him to quell his suspicions. In a moment of surprise, I shove at him hard, causing him to stumble backwards.
“You idiot. I’m going to the doctor for a check-up, okay? I’m pregnant. I’m not ready to tell Aleksei yet and I—“ I sob, feeling the weight of the fact on me. I hate that the first time I’m telling someone of the news that is meant to be a cause for celebration is one done out of necessity, for defense. He grows lax, and I chance a look on his face, which now bears a dumbfounded expression.
Head shaking side to side, I start walking backwards, wanting to get away from here as soon as possible. But when I look up to see if he’s intent on following me again, his eyes are focused on something behind me, a deep crease in his brows. His chestnut hair is sticking to his face now, drenched in the downpour that comes just as suddenly as my tears. He’s turning back mid-shot towards the mountains of men standing near the vehicle when several shots ring in the air.
Pat your body down, look for injuries. Years of preparation, a mantra repeated to me by both my family and then in med school. When a patient comes in you need to locate the wound; the source of bleeding. With shootings, the victim oftentimes doesn’t even know they’ve been shot, the adrenaline is overriding the sensation of the wound, so they don’t locate it and inhibit bleeding. This can mean the difference between surviving and dying, those few precious minutes translate to how much blood loss you can stave until help arrives.
You’re not looking out just for yourself now, there’s two of you now. The voice In my head is frantic.
I pat around, hands shaking, breathing a guilty sigh of relief when I make sure there is no injury. No shot wound. But then I look up, Grigor staring at me as he kicks into full gear mode, stepping towards me. There’s two slumped bodies behind him, both obviously dead. Head shots and direct body shots too, just to make sure I suspect. His arm yanks at my hand in an attempt to pull me into his car, but I look back, remembering Boris, his kindness the only reason I was able to get this far in the first place.
“No!” I yell, but it’s too late by then too. He falls to the ground, grabbing at his neck to stall the blood spurting out. I sob as Grigor now takes my entire body towards his jeep, but we’re both too late. Maybe it’s because of me, frozen, but I suspect we wouldn’t have gotten much further regardless.
Several—I can’t count them, too many —masked figures jump out of a white van, coming straight for us. Grigor is pulled apart from me, holding so tight that I feel his scratches burn my skin as he attempts to stay stuck together.
Fuck. Fight, Bianca. I’m frozen, but the rain and the cold and the clammy hands pinning me down at my waist bring me back. I’m back in the alley now, powerless as they put the fabric over my head. I couldn’t remember anything in the way of self-preservation then, but I can now. It’s coming back to me.
There is nothing obstructing my vision this time. Two men are holding me down. Three are at Grigor’s side. I grow limp, pretending to have fainted, and the moment I feel the hands at my waist loosening, I kick into defense, kicking the masked man directly in front of me straight in the groin. He topples over onto the wet concrete.
The one holding me down tightens his grip again, but I bring my head forward and swing it back with as much force as I can muster. There’s a sickening crunch of bone and cartilage behind me, causing a pulsing throb at the back of my skull, where I hit with impact. Keep going. The man grasps at his nose with one hand, a moment which I use to untangle myself from his other arm.
In a moment I’m running, feet struggling to reach in front of the other, I almost trip over myself several times. I look back, remembering they still have Grigor.
“Run!” Grigor shouts, but it’s too late. The moment spent looking back is enough for me to lose my speed, a large body tackling me to the ground in that moment. I fall down trying to soften the blow with my hands, but they’re not quick enough. Then darkness comes.
I come to in the back of the van. The obscure figures still around us, balaclavas still on their head. Grigor’s familiar face brings me some comfort as I try to blink the fuzziness in my vision away. I look around. He breathes a sigh when I sit up, yanking at the ties binding my wrists and ankles.
“Almost had a heart attack when you fell. Glad you’re awake now.” Grigor’s hair is still wet, jaw clenching and unclenching as he spits his words out.
My right hand instinctually goes up to my temple, a sharp hiss escaping my lips when I realize the tacky substance my fingers come into contact with is drying blood. “Who the hell are these people?” The question escapes my lips before I have time to ponder my thoughts. I brace myself for the hit I’m expecting from the masked figures, but nothing comes, leaving me more perplexed than I would’ve been had they reacted with violence. My thoughts race faster than my brain can process, and I try to think who these men could be working for.
A bitter laugh escapes my mouth. I would’ve slapped my hand against my forehead if my hands weren’t bound.
“A double victim of kidnapping now. That’s kind of lame, you know? Just when I was getting used to you guys.” I smile at Grigor, feeling the tension I undoubtedly should be feeling ease by the absurdity of this entire situation. The state of our situation— my situation —is so unbelievable it ventures into complete hilarity.
He looks concerned but smiles a small smile my way nonetheless, probably thinking I’ve completely lost it.
The ride isn’t long at all before we roll to a stop, two of the men sitting around us getting up. I see one of them yank Grigor’s head back by his hair, and then I feel someone do the same to me before tightly tying a strap of fabric to obstruct my vision. Everything goes dark again, but this time I actively focus on breathing to mitigate my anxiety.
Everything is louder, but no one talks. All I can hear is deep, labored breaths and shuffling of rubber soles against the floor as we’re hauled out and pulled to walk. When we pull to a stop, I take yet another steadying breath, nimble but aggressive fingers behind my head working swiftly to untie the blindfold. The moment it’s off I look to Grigor, who’s already turned towards me, a deep purple bruise already formed around one of his eyes.
I don’t have time to look around us before I hear it. Maybe, if I did, I would’ve realized I recognize the room we’re in.
“Bianca!” The word is half-shouted, startling me. My head snaps on its hinges, now facing the figure running towards me. She waves at the men around us, flailing her arms. “Take this off of her now! We told you to keep her safe , not to fucking tie her!” Giorgia’s soft eyes bore into mine as I take her in, jaw falling open. I can’t really process what I’m seeing—I know it’s Giorgia, all her physical traits, the sound of her voice point to that. But the past month and a half I’ve spent with the Rossis made me all aware that I didn’t know if I would see her for a really, really long time.
“Giorgia?” I whisper, feeling my treacherous lower lip tremble with restrained emotions. The pregnancy is already taking a toll on me , I joke in my head, and everything makes me cry . “Is it really you?”
She nods her head frantically, the small figure standing behind her now coming into my field of vision. The feeling of relief startles me, in relation to the person I’m associating it with now; it’s not something I’d think I would ever experience. Sasha Rossi is taking steps towards us with a concerned look on her face as she runs her gaze across my face. When she reaches us, she runs her hand across my cheek in an uncharacteristically tender gesture. She’s never done this before.
“Bella, are you okay ?” She asks. I can’t figure out whether her concern is genuine or not, but it scares me that she might be genuine. What the hell is going on?
The hands now hanging by my side feel extremely heavy and I bring them up to my face to examine them. The marks on my wrists are red but should heal soon—they’re not raw. I look back at Grigor, who’s observing what’s happening with a confused frown on his face. Before I can think about my next course of action, I run towards him, tugging at his restraint before he winces. I retreat my arm, scared I hurt him, but he’s still just observing my face, silent.
I look around at everyone, confused more than I’ve ever been before. “Somebody! Take the cuffs off him!” I shout the last part of the sentence with growing anger. No one moves towards us. “What the hell is going on?” I look back to Bianca and Sasha, who both look perplexed. Giorgia is the first one to take a step towards us.
“Bia, it’s fine. You’re with us now. We can deal with him.”
“No Gia, you don’t understand. Take his gun and untie him, please . He hasn’t done anything wrong.” I turn back to Grigor to look back to his arms, trying to gauge if there’s any way I can undo his bindings without hurting him, if no one else is willing to do so.
“Don’t fucking touch me.” Grigor growls and I jolt with fear. I look up to him, but the face that was just a few moments confused now drips with pure loathing. “You knew, didn’t you?”
I shake my head, not understanding, before it hits me. He thinks I knew all of this? Of my family planning to take us?
“No, no. No , Grigor. I had no idea, now please.” I turn back again, pleading with the people around us. “Untie him!” Still, everyone apart from Giorgia remains still. “What the hell is wrong with all of you!”
A cool, soft palm at my cheek turns me to face Giorgia, her eyes wide and growing, almost unsettling in their intensity.
“Listen to me, Bia. We need to talk. Aleksei’s brother will stay here and will be well taken care of. You’ll need to go with me though, we can’t talk here.” She glances back at him, his eyes stubbornly avoiding looking anywhere in our direction.
“Will you let him go then? Will you let me go?” I ask, not sure what answer I’m looking for. I need Grigor free and safe from harm, but if I am given the choice now to leave, what would I choose? What should I choose?
Giorgia nods and stands up. I take the hand she offers, stumbling to get up. We leave the room then, two men standing by the oak door taking a step aside to let us through. It’s then I recognize where we are—a smaller estate situated in our gardens, a few minutes away from the main mansion. We walk through the corridor swiftly, but I note one man following after me, Sasha and Giorgia.
“Why is he with us?” I ask, defeatedly nodding behind me. Sasha responds in her low, usually composed voice.
“It’s for you too, Bella. We don’t know what they did to your head while you were there.” I scoff at her answer, almost stupefied by the implication. I was gone for weeks, and then my father had no qualms about shooting at the vehicle I was in with Aleksei, but the Barkovs are the ones who mentally tortured and rewired me?
The small office we enter is one I recognize, spending quite a bit of time here in my younger days. It’s tastefully decorated, with a small desk, walls filled with abstract art. It’s Sasha’s personal office, where she often used to take me to shout at me when younger. To shape me into a proper woman , she’d say.
I pace around the room and wait for impact.
“Your father arranged a meeting with Aleksei to be able to create a window of opportunity to get you back from those—“ Giorgia stopped her, probably sensing Sasha would say something that tipped me over the edge.
“What mother is trying to say, Bia, is that this was the best way to do it. To bring you back after they took you.” I let out a sigh, stopping to look at her. Why the hell does no one ever ask —or respect—my own goddamn decisions. Yes—I might’ve been a glorified prisoner under Aleksei’s hold, but going about recovering me in this way hurts no less than Aleksei betraying my trust at Inferno the first night we met.
“You planned this? Father planned this? Do you have any idea what this will mean—“ She stops me mid sentence, and I catch a flicker of something— annoyance —that quickly passes her features.
“I have an inkling, but none of it matters. Dad has been sick with worry this entire time. He arranged a meeting with Aleksei, and thankfully we were able to track down your location to be able to get you back home. You’re safe now.” The words home and safe echo in my head, further intensifying my confusion and general unrest. I feel jittery, and I hate that with her words comes the realization that I somehow felt more safe and at home with Aleksei than I ever have here.
Then the barrage of worries I was holding back starts crashing down like an avalanche, almost making me topple over. Aleksei will think I had a hand in this, won’t he? I didn’t tell anyone apart from Boris that I was going to the doctor today, and now he’s dead. Because of me.
I gulp down on the heavyweight of guilt that weighs me down. If I didn’t ask him to accompany me then he would still be alive. If it wasn’t for me, several more lives would still be here. It’s you, it’s always been you, the voice I thought was long-gone echoes in my mind; the voice that used to laugh at me all those years ago when I was forced to kneel in the Church, apologizing for my existence. I was the root of all the problems. I am the root of all those problems . Sasha’s voice echoes in the expanse of my brain, ricocheting around. The memory stings, but not at all like the realization that I have blood on my hands.
“Father?” I whisper, gulping down the ball in my throat. “He was worried?”
“Oh Jesus,” Sasha sighs with her signature annoyance, her usual demeanor returning for a moment. It calms me down somewhat, seeing her returning to her persistently miserable self. “Of course he was. Don’t make this all about yourself now, do you know how much we suffered waiting on more information? Not knowing whether you were alive or not? Knowing those bastards had you?” Had me . They had me. Sasha’s language is strangely reminiscent of how I felt in the beginning. Like a possession—a pawn in a game I wanted to have no involvement in.
But that makes no sense at all, I realize, once again recalling almost getting shot by Father’s men. In the limousine with Aleksei. If he had an ounce of parental care in him, he surely wouldn’t merely see his daughter as collateral and shoot at her. Bastard daughter , I remind myself. Maybe it all made sense somehow, even if I couldn’t see it now. How a father would’ve placed bets on his child’s life, but still cared for her.
“A medic will be with you soon, Bianca.” Sasha simply announces before walking to the door. “Giorgia and I have some business to attend to, but you are free to walk the premises of this safehouse for now. Remember—we rescued you. You aren’t our prisoner. Not anymore, Bella.” The last word has so much venom dripping from it my head shoots up in her direction, confusion clouding all of my thought processes.
It all feels too fast—too wrong. Why is Father not here if she claimed he cared? What the hell is actually going on? The mental barrage is interrupted when a singular word comes back to me, suddenly lending all the clarity I seek in the moment. Grigor.
I stumble out of the room, looking around frantically. Men are posted everywhere, watchful eyes following my every move but remaining entirely silent. And fully armed , I note, dread settling deep in my bones. The place I'm in is not a mansion —not in a sense of the Rossi mansion or the Barkov —it’s much smaller, but labyrinthine nonetheless. I remember it vaguely from the few times we spent here, just outside our main property grounds.
I know where I am, but not how to get out without being spotted, so I opt to pace down the corridors trying to find a way out or map a potential escape route so that we’d be on our way once I get Grigor, but they all end with tall, burly men preventing me from leaving. I can't help the small voice in my head reminding me that it is more of a prison than a safe haven, despite what George and Sasha said. I already knew I can’t trust anything Sasha says, but worst of all, I don't feel like I can trust Giorgia either.
My head is still spinning when I pass the rooms, dizzy from… I’m not sure what, exactly—a possible head injury, or being treated like a prisoner of war. By my own family. I sneak through the dimly lit hallways, my heart pounding with each step. The rooms I quickly scanned were all empty, so I make my way to the stairs leading to the basement—the only possible place where Grigor could be.
It's there that I find him, huddled in a corner and bound with chains at his feet. The sight of him bound and behind steel bars ignites a tempest of various emotions within me. I push the urge to cry aside, opting for anger instead. If that is what it’ll take to motivate me, then so be it.
“Jesus Christ.” The murmur is out before I can help it, and Grigor’s head turns to me faster than I can finish any of the rest of the words hanging on the tip of my tongue.
“Can you quit the act?” He spits the words at me, and I take note of the several new cuts and bruises forming on his face. “You must take some sick pleasure in this, Rossi. To come in here like you have nothing to do with this.”
I shake my head, one hand gripping the cold metal of the bar. I need him to understand.
“ I have barely any idea what is going on either, Grigor. Giorgia and Sasha gave me no information other than this being my Father’s doing.” Grigor cuts my rambling with a roaring shout.
“Get the fuck out of here! Or do you want to be here to see them kill me? You fucking snake.” I shake my head in dejection at that, deciding then that no argument I’ll have for him will make him trust me. I do need to treat him, though. I look back to the men behind me, testing the waters to see if they’ll respond to me.
“Look at the state of him. He's hurt and he needs basic medical treatment —I can provide that for him. Please open it up, I need to treat him.” I plead to the guards.
They don't respond, one of them simply opting to leave the other standing next to him and going up the stairs. He comes back within the span of a few minutes, nodding his head at me and undoing the lock on the steel gate with a small plastic bag in his hand. He throws it to the ground unceremoniously, and I scramble on my knees to assemble the supplies.
Grigor is entirely still and silent, sitting there like a wounded kitten as I get to work on his face, gently dabbing the antiseptic over any open wounds. He hisses a few times when the cotton swab comes into direct contact with a bloody cut but makes little sound otherwise.
By the third time I'm swabbing at the shallow cut on his cheek, I get closer to him until I whisper. “Do you have anything I could use as a weapon?” He looks at me hesitantly, nodding. I nod back at him, continuing my work.
“I’ll find a way to get us out of here,” I whisper. I pray he won’t respond with a loud outburst, but he remains quiet as his eyes unfocused. “I’ll go look for any possible routes. Trust me, please .”
“Don’t have much choice, Bianca.” He murmurs, looking more distant that I’ve ever seen him. It propels me to move, and with that, I exit the cell and head upstairs, the clang of the metal lock ushering me out of the basement.