Caterina doesn’t say anything, but I can see a dawning horror in her eyes.
“Someone else would have picked her up, not long after she went out onto the streets, penniless. They would have sold her to a brothel or or pimped her out themselves. Pumped her full of drugs so that she could fuck ten, fifteen men in a night, one in each hole until she was so used up that they could barely wring a penny from her. When she reached the point where no one would fuck her any longer, they would have taken her out back and shot her, like a dog or a racehorse that’s outlived its usefulness.”
“And that’s better than what you were going to do to her how?” Caterina is still defiant, but I can see it wavering.
“Sasha was a virgin and extraordinarily beautiful. I had a sale lined up for her to a prince of a small Middle Eastern country, where she would have been a part of his harem, pampered and cherished for the rest of her life. He might have had her trained as a dancing girl or perhaps elevated to one of his concubines to have his children and be given even more luxuries. He was willing to pay millions for her. He would have treated her like something thatcostmillions. She would have lived in luxury for the rest of her life, instead of dying in a cold Russian alley that stank of piss, her body used up by callous, filthy men.”
“And you lost millions because of that man.” Caterina’s voice is very quiet. “So why didn’t you kill her?”
For a moment, I’m so taken aback that all I can do is stare at her. I’d known she believed me to be brutal and cruel, but I hadn’t known it ran that deep. That she would think such a terrible thing of me.
“It wasn’t her fault,” I tell Caterina, unable to hide the surprise in my voice. “She did nothing wrong. I would never harm a woman like that. I killed the one responsible for stealing from me and gave her something in recompense for what she lost.”
“And if he hadn’t raped her?” Caterina asks quietly. “If she’d seduced him instead, to choose who she gave her virginity to? What would you have done to them then?”
I grit my teeth with frustration, letting out a long sigh. “Caterina, there are penalties for breaking the rules in our world. Youknowthat. None of this is strange to you. Do you think Luca would behave differently if a woman stole from him? Cost him money and reputation?”
“He wouldn’t murder her.”
“Maybe Luca wouldn’t,” I concede. “He is, at times, far too soft for the position he holds. But your father? He would have. For fuck’s sake, he would have killed Sofia if she hadn’t agreed to marry Luca. Simply to keep her out of the Bratva’s hands. Did you hate your father?”
“No,” Caterina says softly, looking away. I catch a glimpse of the pain in her eyes, and I hate being the reason for it. But this stubborn refusal to face the facts of our life has to come to an end. “I loved my father. But I know that in many ways, he was an evil man.”
“So you can forgive his sins and love him, but not mine.”
Caterina glances back at me. “There was never any talk of love between us.” Her hands knot together in her lap, and she looks out at the passing sky, the clouds puffy below us. “I didn’t have to go to bed with my father, Viktor. I didn’t have to provide him with a son to carry on those same atrocities. My love for him and my hatred of some of the things he did could live side by side. But you are my husband, Viktor. It’s different.”
“And Franco?” I dig deeper, even though I know it’s salt in the wound. “After Ana? Sofia? Could you have lived with that? Given him children?”
“I hated Franco before I knew about any of that,” Caterina says quietly. “He hurt me in ways that I know you will not, Viktor, and I’m grateful for that. But you can’t expect me to be happy about this lot. You can’t expect me to bear you a son cheerfully, knowing that you will teach him to exploit women, to buy and sell them, to hand them over to other men to choose how their lives will go.”
“Your life has always been determined by men,” I point out. “And you’ve lived a generous, comfortable life because of it. That’s all I’m doing for these women. To say that your comforts have not come because of the men who provided them to you is a lie, Caterina, and to argue that these women are exploited, and you are not is hypocritical.”
“I know I am, too,” Caterina says, looking away again. “And I know that I’ve benefited from it. I thought for a moment that I’d be free of it after Franco died. But then you demanded my hand in marriage, and I knew that was a silly dream.”
“And that freedom?” I shake my head. “It would have come from the money your father left you, the house that he gave you, the money your dead husband gave you. None of it would have been your own doing, Caterina. You can’t change that.”
She bites her lower lip, refusing to look at me again.
I let out a long sigh, resting my head against the back of the seat as I close my eyes. I hadn’t intended to fight with her. But her stubborn refusal to open her eyes and admit that her life has not been so different, that what I do isn’t black and white, is frustrating me beyond my ability to keep quiet.
Vera hadn’t been able to live with it, either. And in the end, that’s the reason that she’s gone. I don’t want the same to happen to Caterina, no matter how much she frustrates me. No matter how difficult our marriage has been from the start.
My hope is that this trip might change things. That she might be able to open her eyes and see some of the truths that I’m trying to explain to her.
But the stubborn set of her jaw, even after all of that, tells me that it won’t be easy.
At least I’ve never shied away from a challenge.
* * *
“You have an apartment in Moscow?”
It’s the first surprise that I’ve heard from her, and I allow myself to enjoy it a little as I show her up to the flat that I keep here for business trips. “It’s not as luxurious as our home in New York, but it’s comfortable enough.”
“It’s beautiful,” Caterina says as we step inside, looking around wide-eyed, and I smile with pleasure at her tone. I’d hired a decorator for this flat myself. It’s simply done, in cool tones and filled with plants and wooden fixtures, as well as imported rugs and furnishings, with an abundance of art on the walls. There are large doors in the living room that lead out to a balcony, and Caterina goes straight for them, opening them and stepping out to take in the view of Moscow.
It reminds me of the night of our wedding, seeing her out on the balcony of our hotel. I’d worried then that she would jump, and I feel a small pang of fear now, but I don’t think she would, not in front of me.