by Nicole Fox
It’s not like I’ve been completely detached from the city’s tragedies. I’ve written up articles about some of them. But I’ve been far enough away from it to think spreading truth was worth the pain and sorrow. An uptick of violence will eventually resolve itself when the police manage to dismantle the other criminal organizations.
But time is passing without any resolution and it’s becoming more and more apparent that Maksim’s prediction for what would happen to the city was stunningly accurate. I interviewed the chief of police a week and a half ago and, off the record, he agreed with me that the Bratva had been like a paternal figure to the other criminal organizations—it kept everyone in line, punished those who disregarded their rules, and kept everyone out of their territory, which cut off many of the organizations from spreading violent chaos. He adamantly stated he thought my article was important and necessary and that the Bratva needed to be taken down—but he also told me he wasn’t confident he could deal with all these smaller criminal groups that are thriving more than ever.
In the end, I’ve brought the city into an era of cruelty and destruction and I lost Maksim in the same stroke. He was terrible for using Lily and me as pawns, but after all this time apart, I know I love him and that’s a terrible conclusion to come to after everything that’s happened.
“Can you tell Mr. Maksim that I hope he doesn’t work too hard? ’Cause I know that’s not healthy, like, when someone never takes a vacation.”
My forehead furrows. “That’s very nice of you. I’ll tell him that.”
She is the sweetest kid. I can’t be certain because I’ve never felt this way about another kid, but I don’t think it’s just because she’s my kid. Every time I leave her at her foster home, I feel a sense of loss. I’ve been contemplating the idea of adopting he. It would be hard to be a single mother, but I’m certain it would be worth it. I’m just not certain if it’s the best thing for Lily. If I learned anything from Maksim, it’s that love isn’t always enough. Sometimes, it’s just an inflatable raft in a hurricane—it only gets you deeper into trouble you had no business being near.
She smiles at me, happily biting into her panini. I shift the discussion to her classes, her idea to create a brand-new board game from scratch, and her soccer practices. I avoid looking at the TV.
After I drop off Lily, the ache returns with a vengeance as I walk away from the foster home. When the ache starts to grow, I start jogging. It doesn’t make me feel any better, so I start sprinting. I dodge through the people on the street, trying to run fast enough that my emotions can’t catch up with me.
I run until I reach the door to my apartment. Sweat sneaks down my temples and I’m gasping for breath. When I step into my apartment, my eyes instinctively check the kitchen counter, hoping to see a rose or some other sign that Maksim has been here. When there’s nothing, I move quickly past it, jumping into the shower. I wash away the sweat and the anxiety, but the anxiety returns as soon as I step out of the shower.
I get into my pajamas and settle into bed. I stare up at the ceiling. I try to forget the newscast and Lily’s face as I left her at the foster home, but they refuse to leave my head. I let them take over until my mind gives up and slips into a restless sleep.
The room is full of eyes.
I blink, jerking awake. All the eyes from my dream disappear except for two sets of them. The black ski masks slowly come into focus as I realize two men are standing over me. I swallow back a scream.
I dive toward my end table, where I keep a Beretta Nano, but the two men lurch forward, grabbing for my arms. The one on the right manages to grab onto my right arm, but I slip my hand out of the left one’s grasp. I hit him twice, my fist colliding against his arms as he attempts to restrain me again. When he manages to grab onto my arm, I yank my arm closer to me to pull his arm near my chest, and I bite down hard.
“Son of a bitch!” he cusses, wrenching his arm away. I spit out the clothing fibers as I slam my fist into the other man’s chest. This one is more barrel-chested and when my fist hits him, I might as well be attacking a tank. I fight to get my legs out from under my blankets as the Tank snatches my other arm, gripping onto me so tightly that it hurts. I spit at his masked face. He wrestles me off the bed. The other man grabs onto my hair, yanking it back.
“No,” the Tank snaps at the other man. “You know the orders. Necessary force only.”
“It seems pretty damn necessary at this point,” the other man growls.
“Do you want to deal with the fallout of any injuries? You know he’s ready to commit a bloodbath.”
The man releases my hair, roughly grabbing onto my arm as the Tank releases it. I throw my weight recklessly, hoping the combination of my weight and gravity will loosen one of the men’s grasp, but all my prior struggling has taught them a new level of vigilance.
“You better get off me,” I threaten, channeling Maksim’s gravitas, but the fear trembles in my voice and they ignore me as they drag me toward the door. “I know people who will kill you if you hurt me.”
It’s all a façade. Not only have my father and Maksim disappeared from my life since the article about the Bratva was published, but I’ve also discovered that I’m less brave than I thought. I’ve been terrified of facing Maksim, seeing how my actions have hurt him. I’ve found that disappearing is easier, and now these two men are going to force me to disappear one last time. Permanently.
As the two men tug me down the stairway, I see the apartment building is empty. It must be between 3 a.m. and 5 a.m.—after the drunks have stumbled home and before the morning shift employees have left. As they yank me outside, the cold air seeps past the thin material of my pajamas. A black SUV rumbles in front of us, its headlights shining on a bag of trash on the sidewalk.
The two men pull me toward the SUV. The smaller man wrenches open the back passenger door. He moves aside a dress that’s hanging from the grab handle as the Tank shoves me into the back. The smaller man slams the door shut. I try to open it, moving aside the dress, but the child lock must be on because it won’t budge. I turn to the other side of the car.
A middle-aged woman sits on the far end of the back seat. Her blonde hair is tied into a tight bun with several decorative barrettes embellishing it. She’s wearing a blue dress with simple silver jewelry and her demeanor belongs to someone who has never suffered from uncertainty or low confidence.
I turn away from her, having no interest in talking to someone involved in my kidnapping. I shift the dress out of my way to try the door handle again. When it doesn’t open the door, I let the dress sway back in front of me. As I stare at the dress—its stark white shade, the lace, the intricate beading, and the layers underneath the skirt—I realize it’s a wedding dress.
“You have a lot of questions,” the woman infers. I blow my hair out of my face. “Which would you prefer to have answered first?”
“What the hell is going on?” I demand.
“We’re driving across the city,” she says. “We need to get you ready.”
Her phone, lying on her lap, lights up as someone sends her a text. She taps on the screen and hands it to me.
“That will be for you,” she says. I take the phone from her.
Maksim Akimov: I will remind you of our agreement, in which I stated that if you did not come willingly and stay, there would be a much more difficult route to take. I was not bluffing. I fulfilled my side of the deal and it’s time for you to fulfill yours. We will be marrying tonight or I will ensure that you never see Lily again.
The woman slowly takes the phone back from me, her hand barely touching mine as she takes it.
“Mr. Akimov hired me as your stylist,” she says. “He wants you to be ready by the time we get you there, so I suggest that you get into the dress, so I can start your hair and makeup.”
I glare at her, a series of threats ready to burst out of my mouth, but I keep my lips tightly closed. I felt some sympathy toward Maksim before, but now everything I f
eel toward him is downright dangerous.
Maksim’s two soldiers open the doors to the office of the city clerk. They walk closely by my side, but they don’t restrain me now. After we’ve entered the building and I notice the darkness and complete lack of people, it occurs to me how strange it is that the building is unlocked this late at night. I walk carefully, unfamiliar with the taller heels. The heels are as intricate as the dress and the dress isn’t lacking in detail. The beading crosses over my shoulders and down my arms. The material is a mix of silk and lace that touches the shoes. The stylist also braided small sections of my hair and pulled it into a low bun. Everything about me feels a little wrong, but as we step into the building, I find myself looking for Maksim, which is stranger than anything after everything he’s done.
The two soldiers guide me toward one of the rooms. They don’t try to touch me again. It’s irritating that Maksim didn’t simply retrieve me himself. If he wanted a fight, I’d give it to him.
When I enter the office, the first thing I notice is Maksim, who is dressed in a black suit. He’s standing in front of a desk, where an older man is standing on the other side. In front of them, I can see my driver’s license, his driver’s license, a marriage license, and a few other pieces of paper. Maksim glances back at me but focuses on the papers in front of them.
“Eduard here is going to be our witness,” Maksim says, gesturing to one of his soldiers.
“Fine,” the gray-haired older man says. His face is strained with anxiety. “Let’s just do this.” He gestures for me to step forward. His hands are shaky. Considering the late hour, I realize that Maksim must have called him in.
“Sir, if you don’t want to be here—” I start. He glances up at me, his forehead furrowed and his eyes reflecting fear.
“He’s fine, Cassandra,” Maksim says. It’s the first time he’s talked to me since I told him I had sent the article in. His voice is colder than when we first met. “He’s not under duress unless you count the fact that I have enough dirt on his son to bury him twice. He’s here because he struck a deal with me—just like you.”
“Yes. I’m gladly fulfilling my side of it.” The older man taps on the desk. He glances between the two of us, standing up straighter. “Let’s begin. Do you, Maksim Akimov, take Cassandra Balducci to be your wedded wife, to cherish her, to love her, to honor her and keep her for better or worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, and forsaking all others, to love her faithfully, for as long as you both shall live?”
“I do,” Maksim says, his lips slightly curved up in contempt.
The older man turns to me. “Do you, Cassandra Balducci, take Maksim Akimov to be your wedded husband, to cherish him, to love him, to honor him and keep him for better or worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, and forsaking all others, to love him faithfully, for as long as you both shall live?”
Everything is moving so quickly. It feels like I’m underwater, moving so slowly and unable to breathe while everyone else around me is on land, going about their normal lives at a normal pace without noticing that I’m drowning. I look over at Maksim. For the first time tonight, he’s looking right back at me. His eyes are filled with searing grief. He’s lost everything in his life and he’s trying to keep this one thing—me.
I don’t owe him anything, but I can’t live a life without Lily. He knows exactly how to keep his grip on me. He didn’t get this far in the city’s underworld by sheer luck. He knows everyone’s pressure point.
“I do,” I say.
When I sign the marriage license, my hand is steady, but as I take a step back, I realize it’s the last time I’ll sign with the last name Balducci. I’m Maksim’s now. I’m an Akimov.
My life as Mrs. Akimov begins with Maksim ignoring me.
The marriage officiant skittered out a couple of minutes ago. I stand aside, leaning against the wall in the shadows while Maksim talks to his men. I stare at my hands, devoid of a ring. I should feel irrevocably different, but I might as well be in one of Lily’s games, where we pretend to be someone else and we’re just waiting for our turn to move forward.
His two soldiers bow their heads toward Maksim before stepping back and walking away from him. Maksim turns to me, but his gaze quickly shifts from my face to my hands, which are twisted in front of me.
“I need you to follow me,” he says. I obey, trailing behind him as he walks out of the office of the city clerk. I stop as I see him heading toward his truck in the parking lot.
“Where are we going?” I ask. The last time I got into a vehicle, it directly led to me being in this wedding dress with a new last name.
“Just get in the truck.”
He’s angry enough at me to do something dangerous, but he’s not going to kill me after marrying me. He’s too strategic to make such a colossal mistake. He will, however, punish me by preventing me from seeing Lily. I see all the scenarios he could create—get someone else to adopt her, convince the Neals not to let me see her, get me arrested, keep me in captivity in his house, or tell Lily that I abandoned her the moment she was born.
I get into the passenger side of his truck.
As he drives, I focus on what’s in front of us. A line of red brake lights flashes. In the distance, ambulance sirens wail. Even in the middle of the night, NYC is agitated. Maybe that’s why I came back. When I’m restless, I know that NYC will be restless just the same. There is some comfort when the exterior environment is the same as the environment in my brain. And even when it’s not, the city’s entropy feels like a lullaby—like the city raised me, so the noise is too familiar to not be comforting.
Maksim doesn’t talk. His motions are jerky and aggressive. I wish I could find a way to apologize and to admit that he was right about what would happen to the city, but after this whole charade, I can’t find the energy to communicate with him. It seems like we were always meant to destroy each other.
By the time Maksim parks, I’ve almost fallen asleep against the door. He gets out. I follow him. In front of us, the bright lights of a hospital illuminate every inch around the building. My wedding dress drags against the dirty parking lot, but after everything, I can’t be bothered to care. He leads the way into the ER and talks to one of the women behind the desk. He continues to lean against the desk, refusing to look at me, as she calls someone. A couple of minutes later, a surgeon opens the locked doors and indicates for the two of us to walk through.
I stay behind Maksim and the surgeon as we walk through the halls. Maksim refers to him as Dr. Lisov. I vaguely remember him mentioning a Dr. Lisov before. He was telling me about one of his soldiers getting shot while trying to evade the police and how Dr. Lisov, the Bratva doctor, helped to stitch up the wound.
We get onto an elevator. Dr. Lisov uses his key card and presses on the basement button. The elevator lurches down. I don’t know what Maksim is going to show me, but there’s a sinking feeling in my gut.
When the elevator doors open, Dr. Lisov leads the way with Maksim’s pace slightly slowing down. It’s another one of those things that other people might not notice, but I’ve seen him walk enough that his pace is ingrained in my memory. I’ve never seen him hesitant about doing something before.
As we get farther down the hall, I see the first gurney with a white sheet over an uneven shape.
We’re heading toward the morgue.
I nearly trip. I recover as Maksim quickly glances back at me. Dr. Lisov opens a pair of swinging doors. We all step inside.
The room mostly smells like chemicals—formaldehyde, I’d guess—but there is a faint stench of rot. We approach a steel table with a sink attached to it, but Dr. Lisov turns, heading toward another room. Maksim and I follow him, though Maksim’s pace slows down again, so we’re walking side by side. Dr. Lisov opens another door and we step in.
A blast of cold air hits me, but it’s meaningless as I look at the line of dead bodies on gurneys in front of me. There are seven bodies, all tightly
packed in this one room.
“I’ll give you two a few minutes,” Dr. Lisov says. “I’ll be at the elevator.”
He leaves. It’s just Maksim, me, and seven corpses.
“All of these men died yesterday,” Maksim says, adjusting his cuffs. “You know the first one. Look at his face.”
I don’t move. I don’t know what to expect. If my father had been killed, I’d assume someone would have called me. But maybe Maksim found out his identity before anyone else. Maybe my father struck my name from the family tree after I was no longer useful to him, so nobody felt the need to tell me he was dead.
Maksim barges forward to the first gurney. He yanks down the white sheet.
Death changes people’s facial features. At first, it looks like any other man, simply more gray-skinned. But as I keep staring at him, I see the unruly eyebrows and the way his nose slants slightly to the left.
It’s one of the soldiers that Maksim had following me. The one I hit with pepper spray.
“His name was Fedot Belyakov,” Maksim says. “He was twenty-seven years old. When he heard that your father was attacking Dunlop’s Bookstore, he felt compelled to protect his brothers and our firearm inventory. He was shot in the lung. Avgar, my soldier who survived after being shot in the chest, told me that Fedot begged for his mother before he choked on his own blood.”
Maksim carefully places the sheet back over Fedot’s head. He turns around to the second gurney. He pulls down the sheet. The man is missing the right side of his face.
“Yury Kasyanenko,” he says. “Thirty-one years old. Loved his four-year-old son, Jack, and his wife, Leona. They just celebrated their fifth anniversary two weeks ago. They were looking to put their son into a great preschool.”
He covers Yury’s face with the sheet again. He flips over the next sheet.
“You know Bogdan,” he says. “I was ready to turn him into a lieutenant. Loyal, tireless, able to take initiative when it was necessary, and willing to do anything for the good of the Bratva. Before he joined us, he served in Special Forces. I shouldn’t be surprised that he and Yury died together, but your father certainly knows how to twist the knife. The police suspect he was the last to die because he was shot execution-style after suffering a gunshot wound in his abdomen and his left leg. He was an honorable man who didn’t deserve to die like that, but your family wouldn’t understand that kind of honor.”
