1. Natalia

1

NATALIA

Everyone is staring.

The people I pass look at me as if they can see every single thing I've done. Like my sins are splayed across my face and written in blood on my hands for the world to see.

What? I want to scream at them. Never seen a desperate woman before? Never seen a pregnant murderess?

I didn't kill anyone, though. At least, I pray I didn't.

He can't be dead.

The moment I think of how Andrey sagged to his knees, the smell of gunsmoke still so strong and acrid it makes my eyes water, my stomach churns and my chest tightens until I have to stop walking.

But I can't stop. If I stop, they'll kill me.

If not Slavik, then Viktor.

If not Viktor, then Nikolai.

If not Nikolai, then… well, hell, if Andrey is alive, he probably wants to kill me, too.

The same way I wanted to kill him. Because that's the only reason I would've picked up that horrible, terrible, life-stopping, death-bringing instrument, isn't it? That's the only reason I would've pointed it at another human being, right?

All I see when I close my eyes is the nameless criminal with his gun pointed at my mother and then my father. All I can think about is how easily and carelessly he pulled the trigger.

I'm no better than him now.

Teetering off course, I stretch my hand out and grasp the closest object I can reach. I sag against a sign post, the only thing keeping me from collapsing in a puddle of tears.

People keep walking past me without bothering to stop and check in. I don't mind. No one needs an audience when they're spiraling into madness.

Until one man slows and pauses. "Excuse me… ma'am?"

I flinch at the voice, kind and concerned though it may be.

The man addressing me has a young face, but deep-set wrinkles around his eyes. He's wearing a navy jacket and a wool bucket hat that comes down to his eyebrows.

"Are you okay?"

I blink at him and he seems to think I can't understand him, because he repeats the question again.

"I'm fine," I mutter. "Just waiting for someone." The lie flows off my tongue so easily, so smoothly, that I'm impressed with my own presence of mind.

But I don't know this man. I don't know who he's working for or what he wants with me.

I can't stay here. I can't stop.

Picking up my feet, I force myself to walk away, moving farther down a road I don't know the end of.

I don't even know how I got out of the manor in the first place. All my mental and emotional bandwidth is focused on keeping me upright, keeping me functioning long enough to get somewhere "safe."

Then again, now that I've shot the man who practically runs this city… is there such thing as a safe place?

I eventually find a bench and drop down onto it. People still hurtle past in every direction, their features blurring, morphing into the next, and the next, and the next.

I think I see people I recognize in the crowd. Katya, Mila, Misha, Shura… but none of it is real. I'm surrounded by strangers. One after the next after the next.

As I sit there, growing numb, something cold weighs against my chest. I claw at it and feel the pendant Andrey gave me.

I curl my fingers over the interlinked cherries and bite back tears until I taste blood.

Please don't let him die.

I wish I could ask someone how he's doing. But I don't have a phone or a purse or money or hope. I'm a sitting duck. Waiting for retribution. For the cavalry. For the consequences I know I must face.

I tuck my knees to my chest.

For a moment, I close my eyes, but then I see Yelena's wide-open mouth as Andrey slashed her throat open. I shudder and tear my eyes open.

When I'm sick of sitting, I get to my feet and walk into the nearest restaurant. It's a small shop with faded pictures of pizza displayed in their greasy window.

Ignoring the gnawing hunger in my stomach, I approach the portly older woman behind the counter. She reminds me of Yelena. I shudder again.

"Can I help you, sweetheart?"

"Uh… I'm sorry—" I cringe at my own ineptitude. But maybe it can work in my favor. "I-I need help…"

The woman's smile falters.

"I was on my way to meet my husband." I place my hands on my pregnant belly and step away from the counter so she can really appreciate my predicament. "When I was mugged?—"

The woman gasps. "You poor thing!"

I don't fight back my tears. They're real, though not quite for the reasons this woman might suspect. "H-he took everything," I stammer. "My purse, my phone. If you could just let me… let me c-call my husband?"

"Of course, cara mia . There's a phone in the back. Step behind the counter." She ushers me back with a raised arm. "That's right, come, come." She shows me to a phone in the kitchen and then backs away around a corner to give me privacy.

There are only two numbers I know by heart, but I can't call Aunt Annie. Especially not in her condition. So I call Katya instead.

When we were drunk and stumbling home, we swore we'd always be each other's emergency calls. If she needed bail, if I needed to bury a body—we're each other's person.

Problem is, that was before Katya got involved with Andrey's closest friend.

Funny how her romantic choices always come back to bite me in the ass. Although, that's precisely why she owes me.

I hate myself for even thinking it. But I'm a desperate woman with no options left. Punching in Katya's number, I pray to God that she's not with Shura when she picks up.

"Hello?"

"Kat…" I breathe, pressing my lips into the receiver as another waiter rushes past. "It's me."

"Nat!" she practically yells. "Oh, thank fuck ! Where?—"

"Are you alone?"

The urgency in my voice silences her. "I… Yes, I'm alone."

"Shura can't know I'm calling. No one can know, okay?"

"Nat, you don't sound good." I can tell she's straining to hear me. Hell, I'm straining to hear myself. "What's with all the noise? Where are you?"

"I'm at…" Looking up, I find a neon sign. "—Francesca's Pizzeria. I need your help, Kat. If you can get my phone and my wallet here, I swear I won't ask you for another thing for as long as I live."

"You're still planning on leaving? Now ?"

I don't have time for her shock or her reservations. "Kat, please . I'm desperate and you're the only one I trust."

There are a few gaping seconds of silence. "Okay, Francesca's Pizzeria. I'll send you what you need. Don't move, do you hear me?"

Clutching the phone tighter still, I ask the one question that makes my heart want to burst right out of my chest. "Kat—" I take a deep breath, the words still coming out in a hitch. "I-is he okay?"

She doesn't pretend not to understand. "Shura's with him now. He's going to be fine."

Only with that assurance do I hang up.