Chapter 18
ANYA
I’m sitting up in bed with a pillow wedged behind me, trying to find a position that hurts less than the others.
Breathing is still a labor, so any advantage I can take, I do.
To make matters worse, my morning sickness has become relentless.
I have to keep a trash can next to the bed because I don’t usually have enough energy to run to the bathroom every morning and the heaving is hell on my cracked ribs.
The nurse has been kind enough to empty the trash can without a word every day. She may not be the warmest person I’ve ever met, but she’s a saint.
I shift my weight carefully and still manage to catch a sharp pain under my ribcage that takes my breath away. I grit my teeth and stay still until the pain goes away. This is my reality now. Even my breaths require thought.
Just as I’m starting to feel comfortable, I hear a flurry of activity breaking out downstairs.
It starts with voices, low and clipped, then quick movement through the house, then the front door opening and closing quickly. Something heavy scrapes across stone in the entryway, followed by a second scrape, longer this time, like something is being dragged.
My stomach tightens, and it has nothing to do with the morning sickness. Something is very, very wrong. I stand slowly, using the wall for balance. The pain spikes again when I straighten fully, and I breathe through it in short, shallow pulls until my vision clears. I step into the hallway.
The guard outside my door straightens immediately.
“You need to stay in bed, miss,” he says, like he thinks he actually has any authority over me.
“I’m going,” I answer, keeping my voice level.
He hesitates just long enough for me to move past him. He follows anyway, close behind me like a shadow. I take the stairs carefully, one step at a time.
The entryway is crowded when I finally reach the bottom. Sergei is there, along with two men I recognize from the convoy. Their posture is tight and controlled. Viktor stands near the front door with his sleeves rolled to his forearms, gaze fixed on a long wooden crate sitting on the tile.
The crate is reinforced with metal corners. It looks expensive. There’s an envelope nailed to the top, sealed with wax. I recognize the crest immediately.
Viktor is standing closest to it, which means no one else is going to touch it unless he tells them to.
Sergei is to his left, arms folded, face tight.
Two of Viktor’s men stand near the door with their hands close to their jackets, eyes moving between the crate and the street beyond the glass.
No one is speaking. No one is moving. The silence makes my skin prickle.
Viktor crouches and studies the envelope nailed to the top. He doesn’t touch the wax seal with his bare hand, which tells me he thinks it’s a trap. He’s considering explosives, powder, poison, anything Mikhail could possibly get into this house.
He slices the envelope open with a knife and pulls out a single card. Even from here I can tell the paper is thick and expensive. His eyes move over the words and his frown deepens. His expression stays controlled, but I see the muscle in his jaw jump. Sergei watches him closely.
“What does it say?” he asks.
Viktor doesn’t answer Sergei. Instead, he looks down at the crate.
“Take it outside,” he says.
His men hesitate for just a moment.
“Now,” he says, voice low.
“It’s for me,” I say, and every head turns toward me. “I want to see what he sent.”
Viktor’s gaze snaps to my face and his eyes narrow. “No.”
I don’t back down.
“Yes,” I say. “He was bold enough to send something here. We need to know exactly what we’re dealing with.”
His jaw tightens. The men look between us, wondering what they should do. We all know that Viktor’s word here is law, but even he doesn’t seem sure now.
“Open it,” he finally says.
Sergei takes a knife and slices through the thin plastics straps. They snap loose with sharp pings. Then he and one of the guards each take one side of the top and begin to lift. I take a step closer, and wish that I had just let Viktor dispose of it.
White fabric fills the inside of the crate. I recognize the dress immediately, of course. It’s the one Mikhail decided for me. According to him, it was the only one that made me look respectable.
It’s a huge ballgown with a flowing skirt covering layers and layers of tulle.
The lace and beadwork is exquisite, but it covered all the way up to my neck.
I remember feeling like the dress was choking me.
Even now, I feel that familiar sensation and want to grab at my throat.
Not here, though. Not in front of all these men.
I keep my face composed. I refuse to let anyone see how afraid I actually am.
I stare at the dress and feel my stomach roil again. My hand twitches at my side. I want to grab it and tear it apart. I want to shove it into the mud. I want to wipe the whole idea of it from the world.
I look at Viktor’s men. Their eyes are on me now, cautious and curious, waiting for my reaction. I give them nothing.
“Burn it,” I say.
The words come out flat and controlled. Viktor’s gaze cuts to me, then he looks at his men.
“You heard the woman,” he says authoritatively. “Take it to the trash compactor at the docks and burn it.”
The men close the box and remove it from the entryway. I never want to see it again.
“What did the note say?” I ask Viktor when only he and I are left.
“You know what it said,” he replies, turning on me with the full force of his gaze. “It doesn’t bear repeating.”
I don’t argue with him. If the dress is making me feel this sick, I can’t imagine what the words in that note would do.
This is what Mikhail wants. This reaction, precisely, was his aim.
Even from far away, he’s trying to control me, to make me afraid and to bend to his will.
I could let him win, or I could choose to say enough is enough.
Now doesn’t feel like the moment to be brave, though. Now, I just feel incredibly exhausted. I actually wish I had listened to the guard and stayed upstairs. I turn on my heel without another word and slowly start the climb up, with the guard once again trailing me.
I sit back on my bed and try not to think about the dress or the note. I know it’s no use. I carefully lie down, deliberate with every single movement. I close my eyes for just a moment when I hear a knock on the door.
“Enter,” I answer, annoyed, expecting Viktor has come to check on me.
It isn’t him, though. It’s a guard, and not the same one who was stationed outside my door earlier. In fact, I don’t know this guard. I’m sure I’ve never seen him before. If I were in better shape, I’d sit up quickly and take a defensive stance, but that kind of movement now would cost me.
“Ms. Malenkova,” he says.
I look at him slowly.
“What?” I nearly bark.
He hesitates, then holds something out in his hand. It’s a small, black phone. It looks ancient, but it’s a working cell phone. I haven’t had one in months. My pulse jumps hard enough that I feel it in my ribs and I wince.
“Where did you get that?” I ask.
He swallows. “Mr. Kovalev wanted you to have it,” he answers evasively.
My guard immediately goes up. I should tell him to leave and call Viktor right away. I should call for help. Instead, I decide to handle this myself.
“Who really told you to bring that to me?” I ask, challenging him.
“Please, Ms. Malenkova, just take it.”
I look at him more closely. He’s so young and looks so afraid. He and I both know that Viktor knows nothing about this phone, but he’s willing to lie about it. Someone probably threatened him to bring me this phone. The question is, was it Mikhail or my father?
“Give it here,” I say, resigning myself to my fate.
His hand trembles slightly as he passes it to me.
“You didn’t get it from me,” he adds quickly.
“That depends,” I say. “If Viktor asks, you’re going to tell him the truth.”
His eyes widen. “He’ll kill me.”
I hold his gaze. “Then you should start thinking harder about who you trust.”
He swallows again and nods once, then leaves quickly. My hands are steady as I turn the phone over, but my stomach gives a sharp roll. Just because I took the phone doesn’t mean I have to use it. Then again, this is the only contact I’ve had with the outside world in over a month.
The phone vibrates in my palm before I can decide what to do. A number I know by heart fills the screen. Home. I immediately answer, but I’m too emotional to speak.
“Anya,” my father’s voice says immediately.
I almost sob. Hearing his voice feels like putting healing ointment on a wound. It stings a little, but ultimately it will take the pain away. Then, I remember that he basically sold me to Mikhail, and he’s probably going to ask me to return. The warm feeling runs cold very quickly.
“Otets,” I say, my voice coming out harsh.
He exhales sharply. “So, you are alive.”
“I am,” I confirm.
His voice tightens. “Good,” he says, though he doesn’t sound relieved at all. “That’s good. You need to come home.”
I let out a short breath through my nose.
“No,” I answer immediately. “That’s not going to happen.”
He continues like he didn’t hear me.
“Mikhail is escalating. He believes I’m hiding you. People are dying because you’re missing, but we can still fix this.”
“People are dying because Mikhail is a monster,” I say.
“Do not talk to me like that,” he snaps, and there it is. The familiar edge. The expectation of obedience.
I keep my voice steady.
“I’m not a child. And I’m not an object. You can’t just trade me for protection or sell me off to the highest bidder.”
“Dochka. Listen to me.”
The pet name makes my stomach twist. It sounds like affection, but really, it’s ownership. It makes my skin crawl.
“I can fix this,” he continues. “You come home. You return to our house. You let me handle Mikhail.”
My throat tightens. My eyes sting again, and I hate myself for it.
“You don’t know what he’s like,” I say quietly.
He goes still on the other end.
“What did you say?”
“You don’t know what he’s like,” I repeat, and my voice stays calm because I cannot afford to be emotional with him.
He uses emotions as leverage. “You weren’t there when he started controlling what I ate and what I wore.
You didn’t see him when he started locking me in my room. You couldn’t stop him from hurting me.”
Silence stretches.
My father’s voice comes back sharper.
“We all have burdens to bear, Anya. Marrying Mikhail is the only way to keep our family safe.”
My throat tightens.
“No one can stop what’s coming,” I say hollowly. “Not even me. You made your bed when you chose to sell me off. It’s your turn to lay in it, Papa.”
“Anya,” my father says, and it sounds like warning now. “You do not understand what you are doing.”
“I understand perfectly,” I say. “Goodbye.”
I hang up the phone and throw it on the ground, stomping on it for good measure. It hadn’t occurred to me until just now that he’s probably put a tracker in it. I take it apart, but don’t find one, so I decide it’s probably okay. I take out the battery anyway and flush it down the toilet.
It’s strange to realize that I don’t feel safe around my own father. Maybe I never did, but I was too na?ve to see the truth. I see it now, though. He was always afraid of Mikhail. Our marriage was always a bargaining chip to keep him safe. He never cared about my safety or what was good for me.
That’s why we’re here now. That’s why this war is happening.
The strangest truth of all is realizing that the only place I feel safe is by Viktor’s side.