She had no fear because everything they could have done to her had already been done. Humiliation, yes, but they would never win. She’d played their role of a whore in order to survive, but she’d defeat them all, find her freedom and escape. Her small pile of money, stolen in bits and pieces from the grocery funds or the pocket of a drunken man who’d passed out after raping her was growing every day. But most important, she had the sharp fish knife taken from the dark corner of the abandoned toolshed. Along with her cash, the weapon reminded her that she would have the ultimate revenge. Damir would pay with his life when she slit his throat, leaving him bleeding on his own ugly brown rug.
Chapter 2
The overcast skies brought little warmth to the antiquated sunporch, but the two children happily shared an old picture book that Ana had found in her closet. Sitting side by side on the couch, the small cousins bore little resemblance to each other; Ana long and lean, her curly dark hair and brown eyes giving a hint of the beautiful woman waiting to bloom and Anton, a sturdy preschooler with baby-fine blond hair and shiny blue eyes that mirrored his grandmother’s in the portrait.
Intelligent and insightful, Anton was big for a three-year-old. His unexplained cuts and bruises had healed since she and Sacha had picked him up at the police station three weeks earlier, and a low-grade fever and runny nose had been defeated by his child’s robust immune system. Despite his quiet nature, Anton’s fear of Damir ran deep, igniting a relentless hysteria when they were together. Flustered, Damir had ordered Zoya to keep the introverted child out of his sight, but Anton had grown so attached to her that she’d had a hard time separating from him, even sleeping on the floor of his room when the nightmares woke him from a restless sleep.
But underneath the relative peace, a deeper unrest existed in the dark household. The boy almost never spoke, processing every sight and sound with an intense concentration and an ugly stuffed rabbit clenched in his arms. Other than the toy and the clothes on his back, he’d come to them with nothing, and no plans were made to retrieve his things. She and Jelena had gone through closets and attics to find hand-me-downs from Damir’s sons so he’d have something to wear. More concerning, he never asked for his mother or father. It didn’t require a lot of presumption to declare Damir’s complicity in their disappearance.
“Zoya,” said Ana with rare excitement. “I forgot to tell you. I got my history test back today, and I got a 95% on it. Thank you for helping me study for it. Even Papa can’t be angry with a 95%.”
“Good for you,” said Zoya, hugging the little girl. “You worked hard getting ready for it.” Between the government’s ever-changing versions of Russian history and Ana’s challenges with simple reading tasks, Zoya had been concerned. “There is a letter for you from Luka,” said Zoya, nodding to a pile of mail on the table.
For a second or two, Ana’s tiny face fell before she exploded with a temper that mirrored her father’s. “Throw it in the garbage. I don’t want anything to do with him.”
“I’m sure he misses you,” Zoya added. When she’d first arrived in St. Petersburg, Zoya had seen herself in the little girl, a motherless child with a distant father, but the nine-year-old had sounded like a bitter adult. “Jelena says that your brother has been away from home for a long time.”
“Did Jelena also tell you that my mother shot herself?” spat Ana. “Because she did. She and Papa were fighting over Luka, and it was Luka’s fault. Papa threw away the rug with her blood on it and all of her pictures, too. You can throw those things away, but you can’t change my mind or erase my memories. I was there right after it happened. I saw her.”
“I’m sorry, Ana,” she said, choosing her words carefully. “I didn’t know any of that. It must have been very hard for you, too, especially when your brothers went away to school.”
“Papa got rid of all of them, but they wanted to leave here and leave me, even Luka. I’ll never speak to him again as long as I live. I wish… I wish I had been born a boy, and I could have gone away too, but Papa wouldn’t waste money educating a stupid girl like me.”
“Just because reading is hard doesn’t make you stupid.” Zoya put her hand on the little girl’s head, but Ana angrily pulled away. “It just takes you a little longer, and you can’t give up because something is hard. The best thing you can do is to get good grades and prove that your father is wrong.”
“Dadja Damir is a bad man,” said Anton, still leafing through the old book. “Mama told me to stay away from him. When her was hurt, that’s what her told me.”
Facing the longest sentence the little boy had spoken since he’d arrived, both Ana and Zoya stared at him. In this family, keeping secrets was the key to survival, but she turned to Ana. “Do you know what he’s talking about?”
“No,” said Ana, shaking her head. “But my father’s a horrible person. If they do business in the dining room, I can hear him through the heat register in my bedroom.”
“You must always keep that information to yourself,” warned Zoya. “And he is a horrible person, but none of this is your fault. Stay out of his way. Don’t make him angry. You’ll thrive when you’re away from here.”
Jelena’s voice drew their attention to the doorway. “Why would you fill her head with such treachery? You have enough to worry about. The master wants to see you in his study, so don’t keep him waiting.”
Zoya pulled Ana in for a hug, but this time, the little girl returned the embrace, holding on for an extra-long few seconds. With Ana still in her arms, Zoya turned to Jelena. “You aren’t doing her any favors by letting her think she’s doing something wrong. She needs to be protected from him both physically and emotionally until she’s old enough to earn her own living.”
“I’ll be fine,” said Ana with a tilt of her chin as Jelena walked toward the kitchen stairs, shaking her head. “I’ve managed him this long, and I’ll win in the end.”
“Just remember that, but I need to see what he wants.” Keeping her tone casual, Zoya added, “Take Anton to the kitchen for a snack. He’ll stay with you if you keep reading to him.” Damir had always avoided her when Ana was nearby, but she waited until the children walked down the stairs, praying that Anton wouldn’t try to follow her. Ana wouldn’t be big enough to stop him if he had a tantrum, and Jelena was unlikely to even try.
“Zoya!” shouted Damir from the door of his study. “How many times do you expect me to call for you?”
Despite his obvious impatience, it had been weeks since he’d truly lost his temper, and she was unprepared for his hard slap that dropped her to the floor as soon as she’d entered the room. “You fucking slut,” he roared. “What were you planning? To stab me in my sleep after robbing me?”
Her need to survive came before evaluating his tirade. She stayed on the floor, pulling herself into a smaller ball as he kicked her ribs with his heavy boots, knocking the air from her lungs. From the top of his desk, he picked up both her fish knife and the envelope filled with cash that she’d hidden under her mattress. “Where the fuck did you think you were going with this? You couldn’t have gotten a bus ticket across town with those coins. I would have found you, Zoya. I will always find you, so don’t fucking forget that.”
Wrenching her shoulder, he yanked her to her feet, causing her to cry out in pain. He hit her again, a brutal, angry blow to the side of her face, leaving the metallic taste of blood in her mouth. “What can this fucking weapon of yours do?” he asked. His tone was slurred, and his wild-eyed gaze was terrifying. He pulled the sharp knife from the sheath, the sunlight catching a glimmer of hardened steel.
She ran to the door, but the handle wouldn’t open quickly enough to allow her escape before he grabbed her, forcing her arm behind her until his breath stained the back of her neck. Locked in his grasp, she frantically twisted and pulled, but he was too strong. He held the blade to her throat, the cold steel pressing against her skin. It couldn’t end this way, her life extinguished in that cold household without experiencing wha
t the world had to offer. She froze, afraid to breathe for fear it would push him to the unimaginable, whimpering while his grin grew wide with a brutal satisfaction.
“Stop!” shouted Jelena from the doorway. “Damir, for the love of God, don’t kill her.” Damir took a breath, but he lifted the knife from her throat and pushed her to the floor. Zoya remained on the carpet in a surreal fog, gasping in an attempt to fill her sore lungs with air. “Think of Ana,” Jelena pleaded. “She’s already seen so much death. Don’t let her go through it again. You have all of the paperwork to get rid of this one. Let Sacha take her to the airport tomorrow.”
With a grunt, he made himself another drink, giving her the chance to crawl to the opposite corner of the room. Leaning against the wall, she continued to take deep, choking breaths that aggravated the pain in her chest. Covering her bruised ribs with one arm and rubbing her neck with the other, she mentally prepared to take another stand to defend her life.
“She’s taking the fucking kid with her, too,” growled Damir. “All he does is stare at me. Lock her in her room until Sacha comes tomorrow. I never want to see her face again.” He hurled her money and her knife to the back of the fireplace where the flames destroyed her tiny bit of hope. He left the room without looking back, slamming the front door on his way out of the house.
“Let me look at your injuries,” said Jelena, reaching for her.
“Don’t touch me,” hissed Zoya, slapping her hand aside. Jelena was the only one who would have betrayed her, handing Damir her money and destroying her only chance to escape. And Anton. She’d be responsible for him as well; the tiny boy whose life had barely begun would disappear into a world of crime and horror, dramatically reducing her already pitiful chances to escape. “I want nothing from you.”
“I’m sorry,” said Jelena, but her superior tone offered no comfort. “I found those things in your room, but this is your fault, not mine. Without Damir, I have nothing and neither does Ana. I need him to trust me. A wife has a responsibility to keep her husband safe and informed.”
“Wife?” she responded. “You’re married?”
Jelena stood taller. “We’re keeping it a secret so people don’t judge us. There are unfair rumors about his involvement in Nina’s death, and he needs to protect himself from that scrutiny. She was far from the innocent girl people portrayed her to be. After her parents died, my parents took her in. I know what she was capable of.”
“Are you insane?” With her adrenaline still in control, she was prepared to battle. “You’ve sat here, in this house, and watched what he’s done to me? Your husband? How do you know that your marriage is even legal? He told my father that he married me, too.”
“You’re a fool, Zoya. The fake marriage was for your benefit because he’d hoped that you’d leave Georgia peacefully. Men will do what they need to survive, and your father wanted one less mouth to feed and a handful of cash. Period.”
“That’s not true. He never would have let me go if he’d understood what was going to happen. And you’re just as much at fault for my situation as Damir.”
“Don’t ever judge me,” hissed Jelena, pointing her long skinny finger at Zoya’s chest. “I’m sorry that you’re in this position, but I have no control over any of this. I understand that I am a marriage of convenience, but my own parish priest performed the ceremony. Damir had tremendous guilt over Nina’s death. She pulled the gun on Damir, but it went off when Luka grabbed it. She didn’t commit suicide, but that was a better story than the truth. Luka shot Nina, I’m sure of it. He was a horrible, violent child, and Nina’s death has only deepened his anger. Damir has done Ana a favor by keeping him away.”
“Are you even listening to yourself?” she asked incredulously. “How can you trust anything that he says? Your husband brought a sex slave into your home, and you watched it happen from your place in his kitchen. You don’t even share his bedroom. What kind of a relationship do you think you have?”
“I’ve told you, I’m fed. Many rich men seek prostitutes and mistresses. I’m no different from a thousand other wives in this city.”
“I’m neither! I’m his prisoner. I have given him neither consent to continue nor approval after the fact. This is rape, Jelena. Where is your sense of pride?”
“After Nina’s death, he went through three different housekeepers in six weeks. I owed it to her to care for her child, and I was tired of the uncertainty in a transitioning world.” Jelena moved toward the doorway. “Come, he told me to lock you in your room. You’re not going to escape. Reconcile yourself to a fate that you can’t change, and your life will be easier.”
“Reconciling myself to this fate is to be defeated,” said Zoya. “But Ana, you must take care of Ana. I’ll go peacefully, but promise me that you’ll care for her.”
“Ana will be safe,” Jelena said, pointing to the portrait above the fireplace. “Just like her American-born grandmother, they’re Petruskenkovs, resilient and strong. And save your judgmental tripe for somebody who cares. I live in a beautiful house, and I’ll have wonderful jewels and a place in society when he announces our marriage to the public.”
With her dark blue eyes, the stunning stranger in the painting dared Zoya to fight for her freedom, but she had nothing left to use in a battle. “You’re willing to sacrifice your life for jewels,” she stated flatly.
“Not just any jewels. I will have those jewels. That necklace was designed by Fabergé for the cousins of a czar, and it has been in his family since the turn of the last century. By custom, it is given to the most important woman in the family, and that will be me. You’ve been sold to his brother in New York. In exchange for you, Pavel will return the necklace to its rightful place after he stole it when he returned to his mother on her deathbed.”
New York. Thousands of miles away from her family and friends. Another culture and language of which she had no knowledge and another prison in a Petruskenkov household with another brutal criminal. But the terror from her close brush with death had yet to subside and her ribs remained sore when she took a full breath. If she refused this plan, the guards standing on the other side of the front door would most certainly kill her, dumping her body in the river where it would never be found. There were no options for a penniless, weaponless woman.
“Care for Ana,” she begged. “And tell my father where I’m going. His name is Tamaz Zhvania. You can reach him at a pub called Armazi’s in Batumi almost every Saturday night. It’s the least you can do for me.”
Jelena led the way to the staircase without making a commitment to care for Ana or make the phone call. Broken-hearted, Anton was crying for her in the kitchen. He would have a restless night, but in the morning, they would be together to face the new threat. Her plans to escape had almost gotten her killed, but she wouldn’t fail a second time. Pavel Petruskenkov would pay for both brothers, another faceless mobster who deserved to die.
The sun hadn’t risen when Sacha unlocked the door to her room. She’d slept little during the long night, watching the stars from the attic window and listening to Anton’s intermittent crying with no way to support him. Taking her suitcase and oversized bag, she followed Sacha to the second floor where she woke Anton and took him into her arms. Startled, he wrapped his chubby baby arms around her neck, whimpering and rubbing his face into her shoulder, but she comforted him with gentle kisses on his rosy cheeks until he smiled.
Setting him on the floor, she mustered as much cheerfulness as she could manage. “Come, Anton. We will go on a wonderful adventure and ride on a big airplane, but I need you to walk. You’re too big to carry while I’m managing our suitcases.”
With his fat stuffed bunny clenched in his arms, Anton’s dark blue eyes stared distrustfully at Sacha. Zoya packed his few things into a discarded suitcase, and her heart broke for the motherless child. He deserved a room filled with toys and a family who rejoiced at every new milestone, not banishment to a new country where nobody would love him.
“Put
your bunny in my bag, Anton,” she said gently. “I don’t want him to get lost. I promise that you can have him back as soon as we get on the plane.” The toy was his only connection to the past, and she was surprised when he complied without an argument. He’d guarded it with a ferocity that was at times overwhelming, but a lost bunny would be a disaster that might push both of them over the edge.
“I need to say goodbye to Ana,” she said to Sacha. “She won’t understand if we leave without saying a word.”
“We both know that isn’t a good idea,” he said, pointing to Damir’s closed bedroom door. “Just take the boy and come without causing a scene. You don’t want to deal with him any more than he wants to deal with you, so make this a clean break.”
At that early hour, the city was almost deserted with yellow-tinged security lights reaching through the darkness to highlight the empty streets. Sacha merged onto the expressway and wove around the few cars at a breakneck speed. “How do you expect me to do this?” she asked quietly. “The only time I’ve been on a plane was when I was drugged on Damir’s rented jet. I have no passport or ID and no money.”
From the seat next to him, he handed her a thick manila envelope. “Everything you need is in there. Russian passports and visas for both of you and airline tickets. I’ve also added Anton’s birth certificate and the paperwork Pavel will need to gain legal custody of him in New York. Give it all to Pavel when you land. He’ll know what to do with it.”
She opened the package, but the documentation was in Russian, a confusing mix of squiggly lines and indecipherable characters. Georgian was an ancient language with no ties to Russian or their alphabet. Despite the communist attempts at Russification in their multiethnic empire, she’d never mastered reading the foreign script, but that wasn’t her biggest problem. “There’s no money in here.”
Sold To The Russian Page 2