17. Polina
Polina
My father has been dead for a week now, and I wonder if I should feel sad.
I do, but not because a man’s life ended.
Papa was a monster. He beat me. Sold me. Treated me like property for twenty-one years.
I pace the length of our bedroom.
No, I’m not mad he’s gone. I’m distraught because his death means the purpose of my marriage is gone too.
The marriage was about protection, but the threat has been eliminated.
I wrap my arms around myself, suddenly cold despite the warmth of the room.
For seven days, I’ve waited for Dante to bring up the subject of divorce.
Maybe he's trying to figure out how to tell me gently. Maybe he doesn't want to hurt my feelings.
My phone rings, startling me out of my spiral. It’s an unknown number, and I almost don't answer. But curiosity wins out.
"Hello?"
"Polina." The voice is gruff but not unkind. “This is Gavril Volkov.”
Gavril Volkov? The Pakhan?! The Pakhan is calling me?
“H-how’d you get my number?”
There’s a long pause during which I realize I’m a total moron for asking. He’s the head of one of the largest criminal organizations in Chicago. Of course he can obtain my cellphone number.
Fortunately, he ignores my question.
“I called to tell you that you’re the sole inheritor of your father's estate. You get everything."
I blink. Everything? The house. His accounts. Investments. It's not an insignificant sum.
"You're a wealthy woman now, Polina."
Wealthy. Independent.
My chest constricts until I can barely breathe.
"Thank you for letting me know," I manage.
"And Polina?" His voice softens. "You're family. If you ever need anything, you can come to me.”
Is it my imagination, or does he sound almost guilty?
“Thank you, Pakhan. I appreciate that."
I end the call and stare at my phone for a long time.
I don’t want to leave Dante, but he married me to protect me. He never promised to love me.
I no longer need protecting.
I think about what Bianca said at the party. About how they were supposed to be together. About how perfect they'd be.
I'm not sure I believe her—Dante didn't exactly react favorably to her at the party—but surely he wants to get on with his life. If not with Bianca, then someone else. Someone who wasn't forced on him by circumstance.
The thought of Dante being with another woman sends a sliver of agony through me.
It'll hurt even more to be blindsided with divorce papers one morning over breakfast, and if they never come, I love him too much to make him live a mercy marriage.
I have somewhere to go. Somewhere that isn't charity, isn't an obligation Dante has to shoulder because he entered a strategic marriage to keep the peace.
Better to leave on my own terms. With dignity.