27. Nona
NONA
I’m doing my best not to cry. I’m not going to give him the satisfaction, despite the fact that my heart feels like it’s been ripped from my chest.
The sight of Alex being thrown to the ground as they dragged me away has been replaying in my mind. They are going to kill him. The thought twists my heart up in my chest so tight that the pain is almost more than I can bear.
I won’t be able to say goodbye to him. He’ll probably be dead before we even get to my father’s house.
I’m wedged between two men in the back seat as my father curses about his wounded shoulder.
He tells the driver that when this is all done, he wants the shooter found and castrated.
As angry as I’ve seen him, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him this full of rage.
Constant streams of curses keep erupting from him every few minutes.
I focus on the rain as it mists over the car and onto the road. I have no doubt that Papa meant what he said about killing me too, and I suppose this is the point where I reflect on the last night of my life.
But I can’t. I don’t want to die. And I don’t this baby to die, either.
I see the apartment coming up and the car turns down the block, taking the alley behind it. Of course we’re going through the service entrance. Who would tolerate seeing a young woman dragged through the apartment lobby?
The next thing I know, I’m being pulled out of the car and pushed toward the service elevator. My father gets in with me, then tells his men to stay available. It’s not until he closes the gate that I realize that he’s planning on killing me himself.
The outer doors close and we’re on our way up.
“You are such a disappointment,” he says through clenched teeth.
“After everything I’ve done for you…” He stands a little straighter and despite his wounded shoulder, he straightens his jacket.
“I suppose I should have expected this. Alex Molotov is a much older man than you and you are so naive. I was a fool to think you might not be entranced by a more experienced lover.”
The elevator stops and so does my heart. The outer doors open to the back hallway leading to the kitchen and he pulls the gate open. Then he grabs me by the hair and drags me out, pushing me down to the floor.
“Letting yourself get pregnant,” he growls as he advances on me. “I could have forgiven almost anything that you’d done with him. But bearing his child?”
He goes to kick me and I pull my legs up, guarding my stomach. The heel of his shoe lands in the meat of my thigh. I cry out in pain as I start scrambling away from him.
“You’re going to take this beating, you ungrateful little tramp! And when I’ve had my fill of you, I’m going to slice that demon out of you and toss it out the window!”
He reaches for me, grabbing my hair and yanking me up, then slapping me across the face.
He hits me again. The third time his hand raises, my arms go up and I dig my nails into the side of his face, dragging them through the skin of his cheek.
He grunts and pulls back, his hand releasing my hair.
I fall back to the floor and as he glares at me in shock, I manage to get to my feet.
I start to run, but he’s on my heels, grabbing my hair again and yanking me back.
I flail, my hands hitting his head, his face.
He yanks me around by the hair, throwing me into a wall.
He presses his good arm to my throat, pinning me there.
The air is squeezed from my throat as he puts his weight behind it, crazed eyes swirling as he glowers in my face.
“You little bitch,” he snarls. “When I’m done with you—ARGGGH!!!”
I grab his wounded shoulder, digging my thumb into the hole of his jacket and deep into the warm, squishy insides of his shoulder. He screams out in agony, flinching away from me and releasing me all at once.
I cough and sputter in the rush of air through my sore throat as I push him away and start half running, half stumbling down the hall. The sound of his rage bounces off the walls around me as I push through the kitchen door.
He’s right on me as I clear the kitchen and make it to the living room. I grab one of the crystal lamps on the end table by the couch and throw it behind me. It shatters as it hits him in the face and he goes down.
I keep running, sprinting madly for my room, my mind on autopilot to find safety. I take the stairs two and three at a time, running down the hall until I get on the other side of my bedroom door. I lock it just as I hear him stomping up after me.
He’s going to break it down, I think as I step away from the door, my entire body shaking violently. What do I do?
His footsteps approach, stomping like an elephant, then the whole door shakes as he bangs on it. “Nona! Darling! Open the door!”
I’m looking around the room frantically for a weapon. Getting through that door is only going to be a matter of time and I need to be ready. But with what? This bedroom that I left months ago is virtually untouched save for all my personal belongings.
And then I spot my nightstand. I run to it and push it across the carpet to the door, bracing it against the wood as he pounds against it. At least I can buy myself some time.
“Get this door open! Now, you little bitch!”
It won’t be enough. He’s not going to stop until he gets through. Madness takes me as I run to the window and open it.
We’re on the twenty-third floor of this high-rise. It’s the bottom third of the building, but if I jumped, there is no universe where I would survive. And there is no ledge for me to climb out onto. It’s just glass all the way down.
Glass. That’s it.
I close the window and look around for something heavy to break the glass. There’s nothing. Not a single chair or a baseball bat.
The door starts to splinter and I run to the bathroom, closing and locking the door behind me. Through it, I can hear the muffled sound of Papa cursing mixed with the wood in the door splintering.
On the sink is a small, but heavy-bottomed glass sitting next to the faucet. I pick it up and look at the mirror above it. That’s going to have to do.
I stand back, then throw the glass at the mirror as hard as I can. The mirror splinters in a dozen shards, some of them falling into the sink. I get a washcloth and wrap it around the biggest shard.
A great muffled crash sounds in the bedroom and I know he’s through it. I stand back from the bathroom door, holding the shard of mirror out in front of me.
If he means to kill me, fine. I’m not going out without a fight.
“Nona!” he shouts. Then I hear his footsteps stomp to the door. The knob jiggles. “Open up! Let’s have a discussion about all this.”
A discussion? He has lost his mind. I shout back at him, “Leave me alone!”
“Don’t you see, Nona, my darling? I can’t leave you alone. You’re my daughter. And this is a matter that must be resolved—”
“Go away!” I scream it, my voice shaking with fear.
He goes silent and for just a second, I think that maybe, maybe he’s gone away.
Then the pounding starts again. The bathroom door’s much flimsier than the other one and almost immediately starts to splinter with every violent vibration.
I’m ready for him, though. The wood finally breaks after the third hit, his fist coming through the splinters already covered in blood and bruises. He reaches for the doorknob…
I slice into the back of his hand. He howls and draws it back. “You cut me! You little shit!”
His hand reappears and I cut him again. He draws it back faster this time, cursing.
“You’re going to pay for that, Nona. You’re going to pay dearly.”
The blood covered mirror in my hand shakes. I don’t know what comes next if he gets the door open. I’ve never stabbed or killed anyone before. I’m so afraid that I won’t be able to do it, even if it’s to save my own life.
I see movement through the hole… slow, then fast, and the door bursts open as he kicks it loose from the lock. His face is dark and twisted, eyes bloodshot with rage as he stalks toward me.
I swing the mirror, catching him across the face, then his hand. He jumps back, holding it.
“Drop it,” he growls.
“N-No.”
“DROP THE FUCKING GLASS, NONA!”
“NO!” I shout back at him. My voice sounds strong and confident as it bursts from my body. “If you want to end my life, you’ll have to take it. I will not give it over freely.”
He regards me with a shocked expression—eyes wide, mouth dropping open. “Just who the hell do you think you are?”
“I am a Bratva Queen,” I say through clenched teeth. “And I’m not going down without a fight.”
His face shifts. The shock slides away as his mouth turns up into a maddening smile as he starts to laugh.
“You are nothing, Nona Sokolov. You are married to a weak Pakhan unworthy of this family’s legacy.
And you have the nerve to carry his child with pride.
When you are dead, I am going to give him your head and his dead baby and watch your great king break like the fragile little boy he truly is. ”
He lunges at me, and I raise the shard up. It sticks into his shoulder, half in and half out of the bullet wound that’s already there. It doesn’t stop him, however. His hands are around my neck as we both fall backward into the shower.
I scratch his eyes, digging my nails across the lid of one and directly into the other. He releases me immediately and I lean in, kneeing him in the balls.
Down he goes, falling to his knees, grabbing his crotch. I dart around and way from him, running from the bathroom and out of my bedroom altogether.
“I’ll kill you!” he screams after me. His voice barely registers. I run down the stairs and to the nearest hall. There’s a panic room just past the parlor.
I make it there and press the wall open, slipping into the room and locking it behind me. The room is small, just enough for two, maybe three people. Metal walls, a small couch and refrigerator, monitors to the cameras around the apartment, and a landline to call for reinforcements.
I’m still shaking… but I’m safe for now. He can’t get in here once the door has been locked.
But now what? I look down at the landline and my heart sinks. I can’t even call Alex… He’s more than likely dead by now.
On the monitor and faintly echoing through the walls, I hear him screaming my name. He steps into view and onto the staircase landing, shard of glass in his shoulder, face and hands bloodied, one eye closed and irritated.
As soon as he realizes where I am, he’ll probably call his strongest men and have this hidden door ripped down. And then what?
My hand goes to my stomach, cradling my child. Then I’ll fight. I’ll fight right to the end.
I meant what I said. If he wants my life, he’s going to have to take it, and I don’t plan on making it easy for him.
He stumbles down the stairs, yelling my name. I wonder how long it’s going to take him to figure it out.
I just hope he doesn’t. I watch him across the monitors as he searches the house. Then he stops at the kitchen door and turns around, a sickening smile across his face.
“You stupid, stupid girl,” he says as he turns around, headed for the hallway leading to the parlor.