Chapter Two #2
Peter was one of my dad’s longest-serving staff; he had been around since I could remember.
My dad said I had given him the ‘Pee’ nickname when I was in elementary school.
He used to drive me to school when I was younger and, even now, he drives me around whenever he isn’t out with my dad—sometimes even when I insist on wanting to drive myself.
In many ways, Peter was the big brother I never had—the much older, big brother.
“This one is the beginning of nothing,” I declared as he opened my door. “It was probably all the microphone noise in the hall. Nothing a good night's sleep can’t solve.”
“Alright, ma’am,” he joked. “See you tomorrow, then.”
“Goodnight. Thank you,” I answered, turning around and heading straight toward the double doors.
Once inside, I tossed my bag on the nearby couch and took my heels off.
“Feels good to be home,” I whispered to myself as I picked the shoes up and went to the spiral staircase.
The sound of my dad’s voice made me stop in my tracks as I got to the hallway. I wasn’t scared; I knew it was his voice. But I was quite stunned. I thought I was home alone. I took another step before I noticed something that made me stop again.
He was practically whispering.
Why would my dad, whose voice fills the largest of rooms on a normal day, be whispering in his own house?
Curiosity made me silently move closer to his office door.
“No, not immediately… You can rest assured, it’s not a cargo you won’t like... Ah, I know you…We’re talking millions here; even I don’t have the luxury of time. These people will ask for it anytime now.”
He was clearly on a phone call.
Whoever he was talking to was definitely not one of the foundation’s sponsors, I was sure of that.
And what cargo is he talking about?
“Don’t worry about that, I told you…No, not because she’s my daughter. Come on, I’m not blind. I see how men drool over her here in Russia.”
I practically stopped breathing when his words echoed in my head, realizing I was the daughter he was talking about.
“Not until I have an exact amount. I can’t sell her off and then find out about some other lingering debts. What would be the point?”
I slapped my empty hand over my mouth. I couldn’t trust myself not to cry out in shock.
Sell me?!
“So, you see where I’m coming from….Alternatively, you could sell her off from your end, you know, to make even more money,” he went on, a low laugh emanating from him like a man discussing the sale of furniture.
“Yes, I just wanted to lay it out…not for another year or more…exactly, it depends on that…okay, then…have a good night.”
Although I didn’t hear the sound of his chair shifting, I backed away from his door, not wanting to risk being caught.
I didn’t know this man anymore. I couldn’t be sure the monster I heard talking about selling his only daughter wouldn’t strangle me if he caught me eavesdropping. I wasn’t sure of anything concerning him anymore.
Not until I was in the safety of my room, behind my locked door, did I collapse on the bed and cry into the pillow.
Since that night, I had started sneaking into my dad’s office in his absence, gathering evidence about his shady operations.
From making transcripts of his calls that I covertly recorded, to making copies of documents.
In essence, everything I didn’t understand.
I saved them all in soft copies on a thumb drive since I couldn’t leave a trail that might implicate me.
I wasn’t compiling evidence against him to sell to anyone; I was gathering it for leverage.
The soft sunlight that shone through the window reminded me of how long I’d been standing there.
With a sigh, I picked up my toothbrush and spread some toothpaste on it.
I looked back at the mirror with a tiny smile as I remembered what today was all about and the relentless efforts that made it possible.
I turned the tap on and placed my toothbrush under it for a second before bringing it to my mouth.
If not for myself, at least I have a reason to smile for others.
********
My feet had barely touched the ground when two security guards walked briskly towards me.
“Miss Markova, we’ve been expecting you. Good evening,” the shorter man greeted, nodding as he went to my right.
“You’re welcome, ma’am,” the one on my left added.
“Good evening. Thank you,” I answered, as we all headed towards the crowded entrance of the three-story building with my driver, Max, following closely behind.
Shouts of my name got louder as the two security men parted the sea of people and we neared the entrance door.
It was a fusion of the usual: camera lights, reporters calling my name, shutter sounds, and the small crowd praising me as the ‘Princess of Philanthropy.’
It was soon time for the ribbon-cutting to mark the opening of the new children’s hospital. Since I spearheaded the project from day one, I was to give a speech and cut the ribbon before the gala began.
I smiled as one of the organizers for the event called me to the front, and the crowd applauded.
“Thank you, everyone,” I started as I took the microphone from the slender lady. “I don’t need to state again that we’re here for the opening of the new children’s hospital because—well, I already did.”
The wave of chuckles and laughter rose and ebbed before I went on.
“I’d like to thank our donors, the very people who parted with their money and made it possible for this building to be standing here today.
I also want to say thank you to the volunteers, those who gave their time and effort to make this day successful.
Special thanks go to everyone who spread the word in one way or another.
I appreciate the love. To the home team, the Markova Foundation staff, I appreciate you. ”
As I took a step forward, more people joined the reporters in front, no doubt making live social media videos with their cameras pointed at my face.
“St. Petersburg is a wonderful city blessed with good citizens who have partnered with the government to further advance different sectors of livelihood. However, this part of the city has had a cogent need for a hospital dedicated to children. The three public hospitals within a 40-mile radius have a few pediatricians, but these doctors are often too swamped to pay enough attention to each child. The fault isn’t on the doctors’ side, nor is it on the side of the parents who take their kids to these hospitals for adequate treatment.
Instead of finding faults, we can find a solution.
And that solution is what we’re celebrating tonight. ”
Another round of applause rang out from the audience standing before me.
“One hand can’t lift many burdens, but many hands can lift several burdens. As we cut the ribbon and go in for the celebratory gala, I’d like us to consider this. Thank you, ladies and gentlemen.”
More camera lights. More applause.
In an hour, I was walking out of the glittering building and into the car. I might have stayed back and mingled for a while longer, but today was not that kind of day. The fact that my dad had suddenly traveled out of Russia to God-knows-where and had been incommunicado refused to leave my head.
I wasn’t going to get bundled off to a foreign criminal without a fight, regardless of whatever my dad had in his devious mind. But the thought of his plan unfolding anytime soon made me feel squeamish.
“Ready to leave now?” Max asked as he settled into the driver’s seat.
“Yeah,” I breathed, resting the back of my head against the headrest and closing my eyes.
I felt the car start moving for about two seconds. And then it stopped. I opened my eyes to ask Max what the problem was, but when I caught him muttering as his eyes darted from the side mirror to the rearview mirror, I turned around to see for myself.
A black SUV was blocking the exit.
“Who the hell are these people? Are they blind?” I asked.
That was when the front door opened, and a tall man in dark jeans and a t-shirt stepped out. Another man in a similar outfit stepped out of the driver’s side.
“Oh, God!” Max whispered, his voice frantic as the men started coming towards us.
“What?”
“They are mafia men. From the Bratva,” he said, panic clear in his expression as he turned to answer me and probably to get a better view of the two men.
“Cool it! Nobody said we’re about to die,” I told him.
If they were from the Lobanov Bratva, which was the primary Bratva in Manhattan and beyond, it might not be the end of us.
I knew the Pakhan’s wife, and even his sister-in-law was my childhood friend.
But the possibility that made my insides cold was of them being my dad’s enemies or creditors who wanted to get to him somehow.
A single knock sounded on the back door, and Max unlocked the car immediately.
The first man with a buzz-cut entered the car, sliding into the space beside me.
“Miss Markova, I’m Stepan. Your presence is required for a meeting with Mr. Lobanov,” he dropped, his tone calm and unyielding.
“Mr. Lobanov. Is that Viktor Lobanov?” I inquired, taking out my phone to call Emilia or Isabella.
“Not Sir Viktor,” he answered, collecting my phone from me.
“How dare you take my phone from me? Do you not know who I am? How can you behave like you’re dealing with a criminal and not a lady?”
He held on to my phone with a grip that was doubtlessly strong.
I sighed, already impatient to see the end of this show or whatever it was.
“How much did they pay you?” I asked.
When he blinked at me like I hadn’t just spoken English, I decided to explain.
“The people who sent you. My dad's enemies. Let's drop the ‘Mr. Lobanov sent me here to fetch you’ act. How much did they pay you? I'll top it, and then you and your partner can leave this place as if nothing happened.”
“I'm here under Mr. Lobanov's order,” he said, shaking his head like my accusation was an unthinkable evil. “I could…” he uttered, rolling his sleeve up, “…show you this.”
I instantly recognized the crest tattooed on his muscular arm.
“If you know the Lobanovs, you should know what it is,” he said.
“The Lobanov Bratva crest.”
My dad’s enemies wouldn’t have the Bratva crest on their bodies.
He’s really from the Lobanovs.
But I knew Viktor couldn’t be the Mr. Lobanov this guy was talking about.
As the absolute leader of the Bratva, he definitely wouldn’t concern himself with a small kidnapping like this.
It couldn’t be Mikhail, either. The man didn’t have the time to orchestrate an operation so organized, in a public space, for that matter.
Could it be Roman Lobanov?
“Yes,” he uttered. “You have to come with me now.”
“I’m not going anywhere with you. If your boss wants to see me, tell him to book an appointment,” I said, flicking my hair confidently.
“I didn’t want to do this. But now you’re forcing my hand,” he muttered. He tucked my phone into his pocket and grabbed my arm so tightly it hurt.
He pulled me out of the car, and I held on to my purse, not willing to part ways with the thumb drive tucked inside it.
“So it begins,” I whispered as the cool night air hit my face.
“You won’t hurt him, right?” I asked Mr. Buzz Cut, gesturing with my chin towards Max.
“We have no business with him. As long as he doesn’t try to be brave,” the other guy answered, going ahead of us to the driver’s side of their car.
I looked around, registering the silhouettes of people who passed through the walkway, oblivious to what was going on.
But I was too busy considering who exactly was responsible for this kidnapping, and what it all meant for me, to scream.