Chapter 12 - Natalie

The building stands unassuming–like a silhouette against the New York skyline. It is an older building of modest height with a fire escape nestled against its side like a metal vine.

I look up before listening to the voice message with the address again. Yep, this is the building I was looking for.

Tyler: Be careful.

I didn't bother to send an answer but put the phone in my back pocket. My heart races like a runaway train as I stand under the blue awning that covers the stone steps to the door. For a moment, I don't know whether to climb the stairs or run the other way.

The anticipation I've carried since I was sixteen is finally becoming a reality, but it doesn't feel like a moment of relief. Now that I have found Boris–the elusive thread that connects my past and present–perhaps he can shed some light on the mystery of my heritage.

Standing on the threshold, I take a deep breath, steel my nerves, and climb the stairs.

The door is gilded with gold and glass and looks far too expensive for this part of the city. I don't even want to think about what this Boris guy is involved in. Tyler told me not to ask, and after learning that a man I thought was utterly average, a lovely gentleman, is a mob boss, I think it"s a good strategy not to ask what Boris does for a living.

I don't want to go any deeper into the underbelly of the city than I already am.

My hand drifts to my stomach again, rubbing a small circle before I open the door. It feels incredibly heavy, more like I'm prying open a brick wall than entering a slightly dilapidated building.

The moment I open the door, a man the size of a house stands in my way, looking at me with his arms crossed and his eyes glaring down at me. "Who are you, and what are you doing here?"

"My name is Natalie. I am looking for Mr. Petrovsky and had hoped to see him today. I won't take up much of his time, I promise." I"ll speak my words quickly because I"m afraid I might change my mind at the last minute.

Although the man looks like he could eat me in one bite, he goes to a phone at a small desk, picks it up, and dials someone. When he returns to me, he nods to the camera in the corner of the ceiling. "Look right up there."

I do as he says, hoping that this means Boris wants to talk to me. As I stare into the camera, my heart pounds. I wipe my sweaty palms on my shorts. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up as the phone rings.

The guard shuffles over to it without saying a word. He looks at me and nods toward the door on the right. "Go through there and up the stairs. Mr. Petrovsky will be waiting for you."

Shit! This is a bad idea.

I ignore the voice in my head, pull open the frosted glass door, and see a white staircase. Another camera points at me, whirring as it changes position to watch me walk up the stairs. Every step feels like a giant leap over a ravine.

When I reach the top of the stairs, I want to turn around and rush back down with every fiber of my being. Part of me wishes I"d never come here.

Maybe Mamá is right, and some things are better left unknown.

A door swings open, and a man in a tailored suit stands before me.

The color disappears from his face as he stares at me. "Natalie?"

"Yes." My throat thickens as I look at him and step back to distance myself more. "Do you know me? I mean, besides the fact that you're the one who sends my mom money every month." I get straight to the point.

I don't know what I expected Boris to look like, but I was surprised. He looks very dapper in his expensive suit and shoes, and his short, dark hair with silver streaks is nicely styled back. I think he could be pretty charming, but his expression somehow hardened when he saw me.

"No," he says, short and sharp, steps aside, and gestures to an office with a black floor and beige furniture. "Come in."

"I am sorry. I didn't have your number to call ahead and make an appointment. My mother would be ashamed of me for barging in here, assuming you have time to meet me." I said half-jokingly.

Boris follows me into the room and sits by the window on one of the couches.

I follow his lead and sit down opposite him. "I wanted to know why you're sending us money."

His eyebrows pull together, arms crossing over his chest. "What makes you think that young lady? Who is your mother?"

His eyes darken, and he looks at me sternly, his fingers tapping his arm. Oh God, is he a mafioso too? A shiver runs down my spine, and goose bumps cover my skin. I feel he knows more than he"s letting on, but his intimidation does not deter me. I jut my chin out and look him straight in the eye.

"Her name is Marina Popov. I was adopted when I was five. Look, Mr. Petrovsky, I heard your name in my house a few years ago. I know it's your money that pays our bills, paying for my education, one of the best English schools back home."

He clears his throat. "And where's back home?"

"Russia. But I also know that I lived in the States before I was five and had a family here. And you"re the only link I'm trying to piece together in this puzzle. I must find out the truth about my real family and who I am." My voice rises at the last words, and I clasp my hands together to calm my agitation. This man isn"t going to play a stupid game with me. I've come this far, and I will get my answers.

He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose, and his voice is deep and gravelly; his gaze bores deep into me as if searching my soul.

"Why do you want to find out?"

The question hurts more than it should and borders on an accusation. The words I want to say are on the tip of my tongue, but I don't think cursing will improve the situation. He"s just as stubborn as I am.

I keep my composure and take a deep breath. "I have the right to know who I am, where I come from, and what happened to my family." That came out harsher than I intended. But I wasn't done yet and stood up, pacing back and forth, and pointing my finger at him. "I need to know why I was sent to Russia. Why I wasn't loved, why my family thought it was best to send me away. And you, you have answers, Mr. Petrovsky."

Boris smirks, shakes his head, and stands up. "Easy, young lady. I don't think I can help you. I don't have the answers you're looking for." His brash tone cuts through the air like shards of glass.

"Does … um … Mrs. Marina Popov know you're here right now?"

"No. But I have a friend who does." I snap back.

He chuckles. "Relax. I'm not the type of man to lay his hands on a woman."

"No offense, but that's a classic line for men who do exactly that."

"Fair point." He looks at me, obviously waiting for me to call it quits, but I remain rooted to the spot.

Our eyes lock in a silent duel, and the tension thickens. I will not leave this office without answers. The truth is a price worth my determination.

Boris exhales slowly, his nostrils flaring. "Fuck me. Okay, I may have been the one who sent the money, but it's not my money. It's my boss's."

"Your boss?" A flicker of hope lights up inside me. "Can I talk to him?"

Boris sighs, rubs the back of his neck, and then strokes his stubble. "I don't think you want to meet him. You should turn around and forget you were ever here."

I shake my head. "No, no! I can't do that. I must talk to him now if he"s here in this building. I promise I won't bother you again after today."

"You're not bothering me." Boris walks to the other side of the room, takes down a painting, and presses his hand against a panel on the wall. "But trust me, you don't want to do this."

"Trust me, I do." I hold my head high as a door opens, leading to a long white corridor. "I can handle anything your boss throws at me."

Boris chuckles and shakes his head. "You have no idea what you've just asked for."

He leads the way into the corridor, turns into another, and climbs another flight of stairs. I hurry to keep up with him, pausing only briefly to look at the men in tailored suits walking past us.

The higher we climb into the building, the more Russian I hear behind closed doors.

Finally, we stop in front of a black door.

Boris looks at me over his shoulder. "Wait here."