Chapter 2
ANYA
Ialmost make it away from Mikhail’s useless thugs.
My heel connects cleanly with one man’s shin and he folds just enough for me to twist free. For half a second, I’m clear of their grip. I pivot toward the mouth of the alley and take two hard steps before another body slams into me from the side.
The impact drives me into the brick wall. My shoulder takes most of it. I swing blindly and catch someone across the jaw, but there are too many of them and they’re prepared for resistance. One hooks an arm around my waist and lifts. The other grabs my wrists before I can rake his eyes.
“Enough,” one of them says. “We don’t have time for this.”
The back door of a black sedan is already open and the engine is running.
They’re done with the fight. They’re taking me, come hell or highwater.
They shove me toward the car with coordinated force that surprises me.
I genuinely didn’t think they were smart enough.
I brace my foot against the frame and refuse to bend.
One of them punches me in the ribs to break my stance.
Air leaves my lungs in a sharp burst, but I don’t cry out.
It wouldn’t matter if I did anyway. They’re not worried about hurting me. Their instructions are probably just to take me back to Mikhail alive. He very likely doesn’t care what state I’m in when I arrive.
The realization settles coldly in my stomach as they lift me and force me into the back seat. My shoulder hits the opposite door hard enough to rattle my teeth. The door slams shut before I can crawl my way back out.
The car pulls into traffic immediately.
I lunge forward toward the driver’s collar, but the man beside me drives his forearm across my chest and slams me back into the seat. Another fist lands against my side. I absorb it without sound and try to pivot again.
Rope appears from under the seat.
They work quickly. My wrists are yanked behind me and tied high enough that any leverage will strain the joints. Then they tie my ankles so I can’t run when the car eventually stops.
Mikhail probably warned them I’d put up a fight. He may have even told them to let me get in a few licks. He’s sadistic enough to want me to think I have a chance, then take it away completely. As my freedom starts slipping away, my hatred for him only grows stronger.
The sedan merges onto Neptune easily, blending into the traffic like any other local. No one out there would care that I’m being dragged back to a man I hate and being forced to marry him. No one would bat an eye if I begged for help.
That’s why I didn’t scream. It’s why I didn’t plead for mercy. I’m in this alone now, and my only savior is myself.
I sit upright as soon as the pain in my lungs recedes.
I don’t slump or close my eyes. They won’t get any humility from me.
Instead, I stare one of the attackers right in his face until he looks almost uncomfortable.
Good. If I’m really going to have to marry Mikhail, I’m going to make sure these assholes never get a moment of peace because of me.
The one with the crooked jaw wipes blood from his mouth and glares at me. I recognize him from Volna. He’s a low-level security guard who probably took this job to increase his chances of a promotion. He’s a peon who thinks he’ll ever have the chance to be something more.
“You should have come quietly,” he says.
“You should have gone to college and made something of yourself,” I shoot back. “You really think Mikhail will reward you for this? You’ll be back doing the graveyard shift at Volna tomorrow and it will all have been for nothing.”
The man rolls his eyes at me and turns away, though I can see him curling his fist in anger. It wouldn’t do any good to get hit now. That isn’t my goal. I just need to see that I can get under their skin.
The rope cuts into my skin as I test it carefully.
They tied it tight, but they’re no Boy Scouts.
Whoever taught them how to tie a knot did a sloppy job at best. I can probably get out of it if I maneuver carefully enough.
Not that it’ll matter. Mikhail is always going to find a way to come after me.
The city slides past the window in streaks of neon and shadows. Music from the various clubs fades behind us, and I feel my future slip away with every block.
“He didn’t say the bitch could hit so hard,” the man in the passenger seat says quietly to the driver.
“She’s no threat to us,” the driver replies. “She’ll break easily.”
I stare straight ahead and let them talk, plotting all the ways I’ll prove them wrong. I’ll never break, not as long as I live. Especially not because of Mikhail Grinkov.
He tried to be civil when we met. He brought flowers and my favorite chocolates and a tacky diamond bracelet. He pretended to try, at least.
My father hosted dinner in our Brighton house.
The long table was set with imported crystal and the fancy silver that my grandmother brought over from Russia.
Silver that she would have screamed at Papa for using for any occasion other than a wedding or a funeral. Then again, maybe it was my funeral.
I didn’t understand at the time why Papa had invited me to come to dinner. He never involved me in his business affairs. I also couldn’t understand why Mikhail was being so nice. He repulsed me, and his reputation more than preceded him.
The conversation revolved around shipping routes and dock access for the first hour. I tried not to look as bored as I felt. Some decorum was warranted.
Mikhail spoke softly. That’s what surprised me the most about him. I assumed he would be boisterous or commanding, especially given his reputation for intimidation. It didn’t take long to realize that he didn’t need to raise his voice to command a room.
He forces men to lean forward when he talks. It’s a classic power move. He’s a snake that way. He’ll smile in your face, then stab you in the back.
I couldn’t believe Papa had even stooped so low to take a meeting with Mikhail.
Our family is well off on our own and business is good.
At least I thought it was. Then the topic shifted, so smoothly it had to be on purpose.
Papa made a comment about strengthening legacy.
Mikhail talked about the unity of our families.
Then my father brought me into the conversation, like an afterthought.
“Dochka,” Papa started, already trying to butter me up with an affectionate pet name. “Mikhail and I have been discussing a few things for some time, and we’ve come to the conclusion that you two should get married.”
I nearly spit out my wine. I looked to my mother, but she was looking down at her hands, refusing to engage.
This wasn’t a meeting after all. It was an ambush. Papa thought that if he brought this up in front of Mikhail, there’s no way I could say no to him. He underestimated me.
“It would be good for our families to form an alliance,” my father explained. “We have assets that would help the Grinkovs and vice versa. Your marriage makes sense.”
“No,” I said, without another thought.
Then I got up from the table and stormed away toward my room. I wasn’t going to be a pawn in my father’s endless game. I certainly wasn’t going to agree to marry Mikhail Grinkov. I grabbed the flowers from the entryway and tossed them in the garbage.
It was only a minute later when Papa came bursting through the door, his face so red. it was almost purple.
“I seem to have misspoken, moya doch,” he said lowly. “You are going to marry Mikhail. You are going to do your duty to this family and you aren’t going to embarrass me again.”
“Perhaps you misheard, otets,” I shot back angrily. “I said no. You can’t force me to marry that gnil. I would rather you shoot me in the head right now.”
Another shadow appeared in my doorway, and I looked up to see Mikhail standing there, assessing me. He didn’t look angry, but he was definitely sizing me up.
“You will come around,” he said quietly and confidently.
I knew in that moment that there was no choice to be made. My father and him had already made the alliance. As far as he was concerned, I was his property now, and he was owed a bride. So, I did what any rational woman would do.
I left the house that night and stayed gone for three days.
I didn’t run far. I’m not na?ve. I know the geography of power in Brooklyn too well to pretend I could disappear entirely. I stayed in a borrowed apartment under a different name and waited to see how far Mikhail would push.
Within a few hours, the apartment was surrounded by Mikhail’s men. They didn’t come to the door or try to drag me away. They just stayed a safe distance away, watching me. It was Mikhail’s way of telling me that, no matter where I went, he would have eyes on me.
When I returned home on my own terms, Papa didn’t punish me for leaving. Not directly, at least. He did increase my security detail. He insisted we would continue discussions, and that I would eventually say yes.
Mikhail, for his part, tried to woo me. He sent me a bouquet of flowers every single day. They smelled rotten, and each had a card that said something to the effect of, “You will be my bride.”
It was a threat. A reminder that I had no real agency on my life. Whether I liked it or not, it was my duty to do whatever my father told me, and this awful thing was his wish.
I burned all the flowers, watching with a little glee when the cards burned up too. What a waste it all was.
The sedan turns down a darker stretch of road. There are fewer storefronts here, which means fewer pedestrians. Fewer witnesses.
I stare out the window and imagine the wedding. He’s going to force me into some couture gown and make me smile for the cameras while holding a metaphorical gun to my back. Men I’ve known since childhood will smile and applaud like I’ve consented to any of this.
Then, I’ll be trapped forever, tied to a monster who can do whatever he wants with me. I’ll fight him at every turn, but I wonder how long I’ll have to fight. How long until I lose the will? When we have children? When I have to protect other lives apart from my own?
I’m being led to my death sentence. In the months since our engagement was arranged, Mikhail has proven over and over what a horrible man he is. Tonight is just another example of how far he’ll go to try and control me.
Just as I’m resigning myself to my fate, the car jolts violently. Metal slams against metal from behind, hard enough to snap my head forward. The driver curses and jerks the wheel, making the tires screech.
He’s forced to brake hard when the car that hit us swerves ahead and stops short in front of us. What the hell? We don’t even have time to react when gunfire erupts from the car.
I immediately duck as the windshield shatters inward in a spray of glass. The man beside me instinctively reaches for his weapon. He fires blindly through the broken frame, but he hits nothing. Just as useless as I suspected.
The attacker could be anyone, I realize. It’s not like Mikhail has a shortage of enemies. Who would be so bold, though? It doesn’t matter, this is my chance to get away. This idiot is unknowingly my savior.
I work at the binds on my hands, trying to break free while my captors are distracted. It’ll hardly matter to them now. I’ve almost got one hand out when the back door is yanked open with force. Cold air rushes in, surprising me.
I look up to see an unfamiliar man standing there, his gun cocked and pointed in the vehicle.