For a while, he and I look at each other silently. Then he turns to Marina and sends a hard slap across her cheek. She lets out the high-pitched but undramatic yelp of someone who’s used to this. I watch as she shrinks back, slouching near the kitchen door, the confidence she always wears gone.
The man steps toward me, and I step back into the living room, keeping a few meters between us. Better to be here in an open space if I’m right about what’s going to happen next.
“I’m Leo,” he says in Russian. “And you call yourself Sofia, is that right?”
“That’s right.”
Leo nods, steps closer. I don’t retreat this time. “The protection tax is three hundred a week. Which is pretty fair, right, Marina?”
She looks up, her cheek red from the slap. “Yes, Leo.”
“What’s that now?” he says.
“Yes, Leo,” Marina repeats. “Very fair.”
His eyes narrow. “But for you, with late fees, penalties, I figure a thousand. How about it?”
My muscles tense, poised and at the ready. Whatever fear is in me blurs into the background of my mind, behind the desire to punish this man, behind the knowledge that I’m capable of doing it.
I cant my head to the side. “I’m going to take my things now, Leo. Then I’ll walk out the door.” My voice sounds certain, even cocky, in a way I’ve never heard it before. And I like it. “As for my money, it’s mine. It belongs to me. That means I’m not going to give it to you.”
I step to the side, take up my backpack, and shove my phone and charger and the few things of mine that are lying around inside. Leo is staring at me with an expression of curiosity. I’ve presented something new to him.
As I move toward the door, I face Leo and turn as he turns, never letting him see my back. Then he makes his move, a sloppy grab for my left arm.
The muscle memory Yael beat into me kicks in. I catch his hand and twist it away from me. Leo’s arm is now a lever steering his body to where I want it—groin pushed forward and to the side. I launch my knee into his balls with the force of a baseball bat. As he doubles over, I seize the sides of his head, digging my nails into his hair and scalp, holding him tight.
Two more knee strikes, to Leo’s face this time, and on the second strike, I hear something crack. I let him go, and he takes a few steps back, falls to his knees. Then Leo raises his eyes to mine. They shine with humility now. This is what happens, Leo, when you try to take what isn’t yours.
Marina’s right about Leo being a teddy bear. It took me maybe four seconds to bring him down, and that just isn’t acceptable. So I pivot on my right foot and arc my left leg through the air. My toes meet his head at the temple and snap his neck to the side. He does a half turn and collapses, landing hard on the floor.
Leo is unconscious, or near enough that he doesn’t protest as I fish a small pistol from the pocket of his jacket along with a roll of euros. The roll is made of smaller rolls, paper-clipped together, one from each girl on this morning’s rounds, no doubt. Leo stares back at me dumbly. Maybe comprehending what’s happening to him, maybe not. His nose has swollen to twice its natural size and is the color of eggplant.
Elation washes over me like bath water, and I feel my lips flutter into a profane smile. Behind me, I hear Lyuba shrieking and Marina calling Leo’s name.
I stare down at the pistol in my hand. It’s a little thing but heavy for its size. There’s a sliding mechanism on the side that’s meant to be moved with the thumb. An orange dot embedded into the metal reveals itself as I work it. The safety?
Leo stirs on the ground, pawing with his thick fingers through his pockets looking for the gun. I level it at him and pull back the hammer with my thumb until it clicks into place. It’s what they do in the movies to get the other guy’s attention, and it works. Leo holds out his hands in front of him in surrender, fingers spread, shaking. A voice inside me says to leave now, to leave it at this. But Yael told me a good warrior goddess always finishes what she starts.
Lyuba and Marina rush past me. I expect them to continue beating him, to take out of Leo what Leo took out of them. But Lyuba, tears flowing down her cheeks, takes his head into her lap and cradles him, wetting her fingers with spit to wipe away the blood on his face.
Marina turns to me, red with fury. “Oh, you stupid bitch! No jihad shit, I told you!” She comes in close, unafraid of me, unafraid of the gun. She snatches the roll of money out of my hand. “I worked four years to get it this good.”
“He’s not going to own me, Marina,” I say. “And now he doesn’t own you, either. This is your chance. No more Leo.”
“There’s always another Leo! Ten more by tomorrow! I go somewhere else—Paris, Chicago, fucking wherever—look, there’s Leo!” She raises her hands to the sides of her head, sinks her fingers into the mass of her hair, and lets out a gasp. “Are you this stupid about the world? You going to stick around and take the other Leos down for us too?”
I blink at her, my mouth wide with shock. “I’m sorry. I thought—I was helping you…”
“You get to walk away now. In fact, you’d better. But what happens to Marina when you leave, Sofia? Ask yourself what happens.” Marina shoves my shoulders hard, and I stagger back. “Want to be a hero, Sofia? Leave this world you don’t understand just as it is. Save your own ass. Let me look after mine.”
She bends down, picks up my backpack, and throws it at me. I catch it but remain standing where I am.
Marina points to the door. “Now go fight your war in someone else’s house.”
*
Triff mich, reads the text from Christian. Meet me. This is followed by the address of a Turkish restaurant in a neighborhood called Pankow. I agree, setting our date for three hours from now.
Sunlight glares off every surface in little bits of photonic shrapnel, stinging my eyes. It’s the first warm day my body can remember. Inside the S-Bahn headed to central Berlin, I lean back in my seat and feel the sun filtered through the dirty window on my face, evaporating the tears. My plan now is to get new pants that don’t have Leo’s blood on the knee. Then find a cheap hostel where I can take Christian. Nothing fancy. Nothing where they check the passports of Russian girls too carefully.
I am so sorry, Marina. I am so very sorry. The sight of Leo, bloated and bloody, had left me gleeful and proud. It was the right thing to do. I was sure of that. And I’m the one who did it. Strong, powerful me—me the hero of this story. Now, Marina, you’ll have to cut Leo’s throat to finish the job I started—or not. But either way, it’s you I left behind to clean up the blood. I couldn’t even be bothered to grab a mop. Please forgive me. Please take Leo’s money and run as far and as fast as you can.
But as for Leo’s gun, that’s in my pocket. Every time I touch it, my breath catches in my throat. Oh, the things we’ll do together, you and I.