Chapter 12
12
OFELIA
“ E at.” Alexei pushes the tray toward us with his foot.
“I’m not hungry.” I huddle against the wall, holding Masha close.
The door behind Alexei opens, and Vilnus Orlov glares at us across the small room. “My dog told you to eat. Do as he says, or I’ll let him play with that knife he loves so much.”
I shudder and take a bread roll from the tray, nibbling the edge of it. Masha takes a bunch of grapes. She eats obediently, as she has with anything else Alexei has put in front of her. Masha has gradually thawed to Alexei over the few days we’ve been here, not that I really understand why. He never speaks, except to give us orders, and he rarely moves at all from his station in the corner of our cell, not even to sleep. The only times we have left the room is when Alexei has taken us to use the bathroom across the corridor. At least we’ve been able to wash in the sink there and been given fresh underwear. No clothing change, though. I’m pretty sure Vilnus plans to make us look as rough as possible for whatever ransom video he plans to make.
Apart from a few short breaks when he’s used the same sink to wash or to change his clothes, Alexei hasn’t left us alone for a moment.
He has, however, used his knife.
More than once.
I shift slightly and try not to wince. The cuts Alexei made are shallow, but they still sting. They’re under my armpits.
“Cut her where the marks won’t show,” Orlov said. His voice comes through a speaker on the wall most days, but I know he’s watching us from behind the smoked glass on the wall. The wounds bled a lot when Alexei made them, but oddly, I barely felt them at the time. I have an uncomfortable suspicion that he knows exactly where to cut for maximum blood and minimum pain.
I don’t like to think about how a man might learn skills like that.
Masha, of course, believes it is a game. Which is why I have to pretend the cuts don’t hurt and that the blood is fake.
A guard appears at the door and murmurs something in Vilnus’s ear. He smiles, the unpleasant, leering smile I’ve come to dread, and nods. “Bring them here,” he orders, and the guard disappears.
“Well, Ofelia.” Vilnus’s piggish eyes roam over my torn dress, lingering on my almost entirely exposed breasts. “It seems you’re about to have some visitors.”
In the corner, I notice Alexei stiffening.
It’s an odd distinction, given that he barely moves at all. Being so close to him for so long, though, I’ve started noticing the smallest changes in him. The way his face shuts down before he cuts me, for example, his fierce blue eye going strangely dull, as if part of himself has disappeared. Or how gently he hands Masha the food he seems to know she will like the most. How he changes the instant one of Orlov’s guards opens the door, becoming weirdly invisible, so it seems like they don’t even notice him.
And then there are moments like now, when every muscle in his body seems drawn tight, like my piano strings when they’re freshly tuned. He does this any time Vilnus Orlov or one of the guards is in the room. This time, he seems particularly tense, as if he can sense that what is coming is bad.
Which makes me more nervous than I’ve been since we got here, and that’s saying something.
“Where are you taking us?” The voice is loud and injured—and I’d recognize that whining, childish tone anywhere.
A moment later, Uncle Nicky stumbles into the doorway.
He’s still dressed in the tuxedo he was wearing at the ball. His eyes are red rimmed and exhausted, and there’s dried blood from a blow someone has given him to the side of his head. His hands are cuffed behind his back, and he looks dirty and disheveled.
He glances at me briefly, then his eyes slide away and fix on Masha. “I want my daughter.”
Oh, no.
Suddenly it’s all starting to make sense.
Uncle Nicky thinks Masha is his daughter.
That’s why he took photographs of her. And why he helped kidnap her.
Not that it explains why he’d want to take me as well. It isn’t like Nikolai has ever even liked me.
But there’s clearly something going on that I don’t understand.
I’ve been trying to make sense of Vilnus’s comments about daughters ever since we’ve been in this room. Some of them make sense now, but not all. I can hardly ask Alexei what they mean, not without upsetting Masha. It wouldn’t make any difference if I did.
Like I said, Alexei doesn’t speak.
Vilnus sneers at Nikolai. “No wonder Borovsky never trusted you with anything more than that pathetic nightclub.”
Borovsky. That name again.
“You really are the dumbest Stevanovsky, aren’t you, Nikolai?” Vilnus puts his face close to Nikolai’s. “Masha isn’t your daughter, Nikolai. She’s mine.”
Masha looks up from her grapes, frowning. “What that mean, ’Felia?”
“Nothing, myshka ,” I murmur, tucking her head against me and praying she can’t feel the frantic pace of my heartbeat. “They’re just talking, that’s all.”
“Bullshit.” Nikolai turns his head over his shoulder. “Inger, tell him the truth.”
Inger?
Mama is here?
I want to call out to her, but my voice feels strangled in my throat. Everything is strange, and none of it makes sense. If Mama and Nikolai helped kidnap us, why is Nikolai bleeding?
Then Inger stumbles into view.
She, too, is still wearing her ballgown. And just like mine, it’s ripped and dirty. Her hair is a mess, and there’s dirt on her face. She’s looking around in confusion, and she’s clearly not here willingly.
Just like that, all my suspicions about her disappear.
She’s my mother, after all.
“My babies!” She lunges toward us, bursting into tears. A guard wrenches her brutally back, and she cries out in pain. He covers her mouth with his hand.
“Mama!” I jump to my feet, reaching for her. In an instant Alexei is on me, his hands binding me like steel clasps.
“No!” Masha clings to me, staring up at Alexei. “Let her go! ”
Alexei looks down at her, his back to Orlov.
Pretend , he mouths.
Masha’s eyes widen. Then, to my surprise, she stops struggling.
Uncle Nicky turns to Vilnus. “You’re making a big mistake, Orlov. Roman is going to kill you when he comes for us.” But he sounds more desperate than strong, and Vilnus just laughs.
I hate Vilnus’s laugh as much as I hate his smile. Both are fake, and his mean eyes never change.
“Oh,” he sneers, “you’ll see Roman long before he comes for me. You’re going to send him a little message for me, Nikolai. But first, let’s get the truth out there, shall we? It’s about time these girls learned who they belong to.” He turns to Inger. “My guard is going to take his hand off your mouth. If you scream, if you say a single word except to answer my questions, I’ll tell Alexei here to use his knife on you, like he has on your daughter.” Mama’s eyes widen in horror. She nods mutely, and the guard takes his hand off her mouth.
“Now,” Vilnus says conversationally. “Why don’t you tell Nikolai here who Masha’s daddy is? The truth, now, Inger. It’s too late for lies.”
Her eyes dart left and right, as if she’s searching for an escape. All of a sudden, I’m back in the summer when I was ten years old, on Deda Yuri’s yacht, listening to her and Uncle Nikolai fight.
“Why are there paparazzi photos of Vilnus Orlov with his hands all over your body?”
“It’s none of your business who I go out with! You don’t own me, Nikolai!” Inger’s voice is shrill.
“Oh, so you can just fuck who you want now, Inger? What do you think my brother will say about that?”
“Don’t pretend you care about Mikhail!” Something smashes against the deck. “Or me! You only ever wanted me to spite your brother—”
“That’s not true! I love you, Inger. I’ve always loved you.”
“Well, I don’t love you!” Her shrieking makes me shudder. I want to put my hands over my ears, but I can’t seem to stop listening. Even Mickey is sitting up in bed, his face pale. “Vilnus Orlov has known me since I met your father. He’s an old family friend. He’s like a father to me.”
“Oh, sure.” Nikolai’s tone is scathing. “An old family friend who just happens to have his hands on your ass. You can go to hell, Inger. And you better believe I’ll be telling Mikhail about this—”
“No, please, don’t do that.” She begins to sob loudly. “I never should have left Mikhail. I love him. I’m going to ask him to take me back.”
“You’re unbelievable.” Uncle Nicky’s voice is fading. I look out the small window in my room and see him standing in the small tender we use to get to shore. He looks angrier than I’ve ever seen him. “Fuck you, Inger. Screw Vilnus Orlov as much as you want. I don’t care anymore.”
“You’re Masha’s father.” I stare at Vilnus Orlov, mentally matching his face to the paparazzi shots I poured over on the yacht. “You and Mama had an affair, the summer we were on Deda Yuri’s yacht. I remember your face from the paparazzi photos.”
He smiles, that horrible, oily smile that makes me feel sick. “See, Nikolai? Even the Borovsky bitch is smarter than you.”
Borovsky bitch?
Nikolai pales, staring at Inger. “You swore to me Masha was mine.”
She faces him, pale and shaking. “I thought she was, Nicky!”
But I know my mother. I’ve watched her lie before. I know the telltale signs, the darting eyes, the way she bites her lip.
She knew.
What else is she keeping secret from me?
The Borovsky bitch . . .
“Mama.”
Inger’s eyes swivel to me. Despite where we currently are, despite Alexei’s arms locked around me like a vise, the whole world seems to slip away, so there is only Mama and me.
“Why is he calling me a Borovsky bitch? Who is Borovsky?”
“Ofelia.” Mama’s eyes are wide, her tone pleading. “Please. It was all a long time ago. I didn’t know—”
“Yes, you did.”
It’s Nikolai who interrupts. He’s staring at Inger as if he’s seeing her for the first time and doesn’t at all like what he sees.
“You knew Roman was Ofelia’s father, and still you let Mikhail believe the baby was his.” He says it slowly, like he’s just putting the pieces together in his head.
Wait.
Roman is my father?
The room swims in and out of focus, the fabric of my world coming unstitched, then reforming in a new, unfamiliar pattern.
If that’s true, then why are they calling me a Borovsky bitch?
Roman’s name is Stevanovsky.
None of this is making a single bit of sense.
“I bet that happened the first time you saw our yacht, didn’t it, Inger?”
The world snaps back into focus as Nikolai stares accusingly at Inger.
“Roman was just a street kid with nothing. Why would you take him when you could have the Stevanovsky fortune? I bet you dumped him so fucking fast he didn’t know what had hit him.”
Inger looks defensively between Nikolai and me.
But she doesn’t deny it.
She doesn’t even look guilty.
“And look who’s finally joined the party!” Vilnus claps Nikolai on the shoulder, grinning like this is the funniest thing he’s watched in years. “Glad you finally caught up, little Stevanovsky. Now, why don’t you finish the story and tell Ofelia why all this matters so much?”
Nikolai scowls and turns away from Inger to look at me. “Roman’s real family name is Borovsky,” he mutters Borovsky. Not Stevanovsky. I’m still reeling. But so what? The name means nothing to me.
Roman is my father.
Roman Borovsky is my father.
“Oh, come on now, Nikolai. Tell her the rest.” Vilnus is still grinning.
Nikolai casts him a resentful glance. “Roman’s father built a vault here, years ago. For Darya’s—Lucia’s, that is—father. Vilnus wants to open it, but he needs Roman and Darya to do it. That’s why he took you, to blackmail Roman.” He looks at Vilnus. “That’s right, isn’t it?”
“Among other things.” Vilnus’s smile fades, the mean eyes settling on me. “I need your father to come here, Ofelia. The Petrovsky slut, too. Then, with my tame dog here”—he nods at Alexei—“they can open the vault, and I will finally get what I’m owed. But for that to happen, I need everyone to play their parts just right. And that means that our friend Borovsky needs to understand what will happen if he tries anything.” His eyes flicker coldly to Inger. “And your mother needs to understand that she’s only alive as long as I get what I want—and so are her daughters.”
He nods at Alexei. In a sudden, lethal rush, I’m on my back, Alexei looming over me.
“No!” Inger screams.
“Spread her legs,” Vilnus orders, and the sudden excitement in his voice makes me want to vomit. “Show me if she likes the knife as much as Darya did.”
There’s a sickening tear, and my dress falls open from groin to floor. The tip of Alexei’s knife, cold and dangerous, slides beneath the thin fabric of my underwear, slicing it away at the hip. His boot hooks under my knee and pushes it slowly outward, then the other knee, exposing me to the whole room.
I want to close my eyes in shame. I don’t want to see Vilnus and his guards staring eagerly between my legs, any more than I want to see the way Uncle Nicky’s eyes slide sideways then back again, as if he just can’t help but take a look, or Mama’s pale face, staring accusingly at Vilnus.
“ Look at me .” Alexei’s voice is barely a whisper, a breath pushed through his lips, inaudible to anyone but me. I glance sideways. Masha is watching me, her face frozen in terror.
Alexei moves subtly, his body hiding my face from the group at the door. I hold Masha’s eyes with my own and force myself to smile.
Pretend , I mouth.
Masha’s eyes dart to Alexei. He gives her the tiniest of nods, and to my relief, the acute fear fades from her face. Suddenly she bursts into a fit of hiccuping tears, drawing the attention of all the watchers at the door.
If I hadn’t seen her pull the same trick with at least a dozen nannies, even I would buy it.
“ Don’t move ,” Alexei breathes under the cover of her tears.
I look up at him.
His eye hasn’t gone dull, like it normally does when Vilnus makes him take a knife to me. Instead it blazes a furious, intense blue, boring fiercely into my own. Strangely, the intensity isn’t frightening. It’s strengthening, like being injected with some vital force that makes my blood thrum through my body. His hand slides up my thigh, higher and higher, so close to the most intimate part of me that I can barely breathe, then halts. I feel the chill touch of the blade, right at the juncture of my thigh.
“ Trust me ,” he breathes.
The flat of the blade presses against my outer folds, a strange, cold pressure that makes me suck in my breath. His eye holds my own, and I bite my lip as the point pricks my skin.
“ Scream .”
I do, a high-pitched shriek that fills the room and somehow manages to override the pain as Alexei’s knife slices the join of my thigh in a lightning flash of pain.
It’s only when he steps away that I feel the sudden rush of blood down my thigh and see the sickening fascination on the faces of the watching men.
I shrink back against the wall, wincing as I fold my legs, trying to tuck the remains of my dress around them. Masha runs to me, and we clutch each other close.
“That’s enough.” Inger’s voice is shrill.
“Oh, no, it isn’t,” says Vilnus silkily. “Nikolai is here to send a message, remember? Let’s give him something to take back to Roman. A little memento, something to prove that we mean what we say.”
Nikolai struggles against the arms holding him. “Don’t you dare cut her again—”
“As you wish, Nikolai.” Vilnus nods at the guard holding Inger, smiling unpleasantly. “Her, then.”
The guard pushes Inger into the room, covering her mouth with his hand. Alexei moves forward, wiping my blood from the blade with a cloth.
“A finger is all we need, I think, Alexei.” Vilnus’s eyes flash with excitement. “Given Inger’s history of infidelity, let’s make it the wedding ring finger, shall we?” He kicks a chair toward the guard, who forces Inger down so her hand is splayed on it.
Alexei moves over to the chair, positioning himself so she’s blocked from Masha’s and my view.
“Leave her alone!” Nikolai roars. “Inger!”
“Aw, look at that.” Vilnus’s smile widens. “Even now, he still seems to care what happens to you. I guess that’s what happens when you’re a boy’s first love. You picked the wrong brother, Inger. You’d have had this one following you around like a puppy forever.”
“Nicky!” Inger shrieks, struggling in vain against the guard as Alexei grips her hand. “No, Vilnus, you can’t do this!”
His smile doesn’t falter. “Oh, but I can, Inger. And so much worse.” He nods at Alexei.
I don’t see the cut of the blade.
But the sound of it slicing through flesh and bone is a sound I will remember for the rest of my life.
As is my mother’s scream.