The alarm finally off, the security guard allows a moment of silence, before uttering, “Pretty sure Missy’s going to win.”
I turn slowly, looking affronted. “You’re on crack, dude. Natalie’s got this in the bag. Missy will be lucky if she leaves with her dignity intact.”
The guard snorts a laugh. “No way. Missy broke her leg, and she cries a lot. People love that sappy shit.”
I beg to differ. “Not true. Nat’s ruthless, a back-stabbing she-devil.” A sly smile tilts my lips. “Everyone loves a villain.”
The elevator door pings, and as we step out, I discreetly press the activate button on the app on my phone. The security guard’s walkie-talkie bleats. Stopping midstep, he lifts the device to his ear and holds down the button. “Radio room, copy.”
Nothing.
“Sy? Do you read me?”
Once more, silence.
The guard sighs, “Shit.” Turning to me, he mutters, “You got to be quick. I need to get back down.”
So I make of show of juggling my phone, my satchel, and the letter. “Sure thing.”
Pressing the second button on the app, the guard’s walkie-talkie comes back to life, hissing and crackling, “Get down here, Johnson! Code red in the basement!”
With another click of a button, the walkie-talkie dies once more. Johnson, now panicked, shakes and hits the radio. “Hello? Sy, come in? Shit.” He looks up at me. “I’ve got to go down. You stay up here until I come get you.”
The guard is already running in the opposite direction when I call out, “But Survivor, man!”
The elevator starts to close as I see him shrug. Before the doors close, I shout, “Then hurry your ass up!”
And with a single press of a button, the app I had made powers down the building. With one guard stuck in the elevator and the other lost in the basement, I’m free to do as I please.
Reaching up, I pull the hoodie up over my head and make my way to the office at the end of the hall, the one where countless Russian cuss words are coming from. With only the safety lights shining, I knock on the office door. Andrei booms, “Enter,” but I’m already inside.
Andrei beats the side of his computer, as if that will somehow make it work again. While he does this, I walk over to the side of the office to retrieve the crystal decanter of vodka and two glasses.
As I set them down and open the decanter, Andrei notices I’m not security. A heavily accented, “Who are you?” comes out of his jowled mouth.
I pour in silence, placing a full glass of vodka in front of him. I reach for my phone and, a moment later, the room is illuminated by strong white light.
Ah, technology.
I lower my hood, wanting my reveal to be something of nightmares. When Andrei spots my face, he blanches a single moment. Then he tips his head back and wheezes with laughter. His eyes dance as he shakes his head in disbelief. “Dead man walking.”
Inclining my head, I pick up my glass and sip. The vodka is strong but smooth, no doubt something expensive. Andrei lifts his own glass and downs the entire thing like it’s water. Being a Russian and over the age of fifty, I’d like to think he washes his face with vodka in the morning.
Andrei sits and gestures to me. “Why would a dead man come to me?”
I stare him in the eye and then take another sip. He knows why I’m here.
He watches me closely, thinking. His smile falls then disappears completely. After a moment, he sighs. “I suppose there is no stopping you.”
“It’s just business, Andrei,” I answer, steel determination in my voice.
He sits quietly before straightening. He nods. “Make it quick.”
I reach into my satchel, pull out my stolen .36-caliber and remove the safety. I lift my arm and point the gun at his forehead, then lower it. It’s his last night of living. I know I shouldn’t bother, but I do. “How ‘bout another drink?”
Andrei Ivanov smiles at me, and there is no malice in this smile. I don’t understand it.
“Why you smiling, Andrei? In two seconds, your brains are gonna be splattered all over your whiteboard.”
His shoulder jerks. “I am sick of living half a life, Twitch. My wife left me. My kids hate me. My business partners want my money. Everything I once lived for now wishes me dead. And I have no desire to live anymore.” He stands, filling our glasses. Lifting his own, he salutes me. “Na zdorov'ye.”
To your health.
Oh, the irony.
My hand lifts with swiftness, and a second later, a bright flash accompanied by a loud bang echoes throughout the office, Andrei Ivanov falling backward on the floor in a bloody heap.
And for the first time in my life, I actually feel bad about having to kill someone.
Shaking my head, I walk over to the window and open it. Climbing out, I walk down the fire escape and type out a text.
Me: Meeting with Number 1 was short.
A moment later, I get a response.
Happy: Glad to hear it. Don’t think you’ll be so lucky with No 2.
Thanks, fucker.
Don’t I know it.
But a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do.
Being the wife of Dino Gambino affords me some leniency. I get to do things other wives do not. But in saying that, I don’t get the freedom those women get.
I get to attend family meetings. Something no other woman is allowed to attend. Of course, I am a mob princess married to a mob prince and heir, who will become king of the domain when his father passes.
I do not, however, get to do anything on my own. Whenever I step outside of the house, I have someone on my tail. That person is there to “protect” me, but I know that it’s just another way for Dino to break my spirit. I understand the message he sends every time I’m blindsided.
I own you.
Any other woman in my position would make the most of their free days, go to a café with her friends, get her nails or hair done, or just go to lunch, and for a while, I did, but my friends got sick of the dogs on my ass, and without meaning any harm, they stopped reaching out. I shouldn’t have been shocked by it, but I was. I was hurt and upset. I can’t say I blame them. Dino did what he set out to do.
He alienated me from my friends and relatives.
I wasn’t allowed to visit people without a reason. Not even my family.
I know what you’re thinking. Why not just do it anyway?
Simple answer:
Because it isn’t worth the price of broken ribs, or rape.
More complex answer:
I am afraid of my husband. And I am afraid that one day, he’ll kill me without meaning to.
“I don’t understand why you were there all day yesterday,” Dino utters as he focuses on the road.
I fight a sigh as I attempt to answer without a note of sarcasm. “I was there because my sister just lost her husband, Dino. Veronica is heartbroken. She needs support.”
He huffs through his nose. “She’s got other brothers and sisters. She doesn’t need you there all day.”
I grit my teeth and try again. “Yes, but my other sisters are young and don’t understand what it would be like to lose a husband. She just needs someone to talk to.”
He turns to me, searching my face. “Would you be upset if I died?”
The question has a spark of excitement flair inside of me. I want to crow, “Fuck no!” but instead, I reach over and grip his hand, frowning, trying in vain to ignore the staccato beat of my rapidly beating heart. “You know I would. Don’t even joke about something like that.”
His eyes narrow at me, searching for any signs of insincerity, but he finds none. His hand tightens around mine as he mutters a gruff, “I love you, Ana.”
I smile, but it’s stretched thin, flat as a deflated balloon. “I know, baby.”
I spent an hour covering the bruise on my temple before we left. Dino’s brother Gio is rough in bed and usually used as a punishment to me when I do or say something Dino finds offensive. Gio i
s a large man, even bigger than Dino, and I’m a small woman. Gio is also emotionless. Heartless. Needless to say, the punishment works, because Gio enjoys it so much that he always takes it a step too far. Every time Dino calls on Gio, I’m left a broken shell of a person. Each time, a piece of that shell crumbles away. I worry that soon enough, there won’t be a shell left and I’ll just be, open and agreeable, with no part of Alejandra left inside of me. After Gio rapes me, Dino helps me shower, washing me with care, kissing every bruise, every scrape, normally ending making love to me gently while I cry, a broken woman. All the while, he croons, “See how good I am to you? You can have this all the time, baby.” He normally finishes with a whispered, “All you have to do is love me.”
Sometimes, days go by without me seeing the nasty side of Dino. Sometimes, things are so good that I’m transported back to when I was eighteen, when we laughed often and spoke for hours. In those rare times, I willingly give myself to Dino, knowing I won’t have my best friend back for long. And it never does. Last long, that is. Often, I’ll wake in the middle of the night and look over at my husband. My chest will pang with sadness, because I know that the angelic-looking man sleeping by my side is nothing but a vicious monster.