A stormy look comes into his eyes. “Fine. First thing.”
“If you won’t let me go back, did you at least alert the police about what they’re doing to the women there?”
“We’re handling it, trust me.” He stands. “Please, Tanechka, you won’t even tell me that?” He’s so full of emotion; I know this about him, feel his heart. There are so many things I know about this man. It feels like a wagon wheel finding the groove in the road.
“I was in a tree jutting out from one of the sheer faces of Dariali Gorge,” I say.
“Tanechka—” Viktor says, so full of feeling and urgency I think he may burst into flames. He wants to tell me things now.
I hold up my hand. “I do not want to know how I came to be there.”
Viktor and Mischa exchange glances.
“If you’re truly my friends, you’ll be happy for me—happy that I found peace, happy that God sent me to the convent.”
“God didn’t send you—”
“God gave me a chance to start anew—it was his grace—”
Viktor’s voice booms. “No more of this, Tanechka!”
I fold my arms. Something about him stirs me so wildly. I don’t like it.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers, bereft. “Forgive me.”
My eyes go naturally to the pulse pounding madly in his throat, as if I knew to expect it there. I have the sense of his blood racing, a volcano trapped inside of him. I can feel his torment, his compunction. I have the impulse to take him in my arms and whisper words of comfort against his cheek. I find that I do not want this one to suffer. “Be happy for me,” I plead.
Helplessly he studies my face.
Another man bursts through the door, this one a thick-necked man with honey blond hair and a wide, frank face. In another life he could be an innocent country boy, but in this life he’s a killer among killers. He was outside the virgin brothel when they took me. “Tanechka.”
Viktor rests a hand on his shoulder. “Look—it’s Yuri. Your good friend.”
Yuri smiles wide and holds out his hands. “Oh, Tanechka!”
I don’t take his hands. I turn to Viktor. “I’d be so grateful if you would let me contact my convent…”
“Later.”
“They’re my family. They’ll be worried about me.”
Viktor says, “We’re your family. I’m your family.”
My heart pounds. “We were married?”
Viktor snorts, seeming almost angry. “We never had any use for papers or contracts. We were not the running dogs of the state bureaucracy. Our love was so strong, it transcended everything.”
“I don’t know you,” I say. “I’m not her.”
“You don’t know that you’re her, that’s all.”
“You know better than I do?”
“Yes!” Viktor closes his eyes and seems to center himself. He raises his hands. “It’s okay.” He speaks as if to calm me, but he’s the one who needs calming. He’s highly emotional, this man. “You’ll go at your pace.”
“I’ll go at no pace. I don’t know you. That won’t change.”
More people come. Russian men who seem to know me, some other Americans, too.
Viktor comes to me, stands beside me. I feel shivers as his mouth nears my ear, his hand barely grazing my straight spine. “I want you to know you’re safe now. You understand? You’re safe with me. I won’t let anything happen to you, and I’ll never, ever hurt you.”
“I want the women freed,” I say. “Will you do that?”
“We’re on it,” Viktor says. “We’ll take that organization down faster and more effectively than the cops ever could, okay?”
“When?”
“As soon as we can take it down in a way where they can’t put it back up.”
“My sisters there cannot wait.”
“I understand.”
I nod. “I’d like to contact my convent…”
Viktor sighs, exasperated. “It’s okay,” he says, unbidden. “Leave us,” he says to the small gathering.
I stiffen. I don’t want to be alone with this one.
An American steps forward and grabs Viktor by the shoulder. “You sure?”
“Yeah,” Viktor says. “It’s cool.”
The man cups Viktor’s cheek. His hair is longer than Viktor’s, and curly, but otherwise he looks very much like Viktor. Same dark features, same bold noses, same generous lips. An American brother.
Viktor smiles, but it isn’t his real smile. It feels strange, the way I can read this Viktor.
Viktor’s American brother makes a small hand motion. “Let’s move it out.” The group moves as one toward the door—all except for Nikki. Tito takes her by the arm.
“Leave her,” I say to Tito. “If she doesn’t want to go with you—”
Nikki snorts and shakes him off. “I got this, sister.” She eyes Tito. “Can I have a smoke?”
Tito frowns. “Come on.”
Nikki follows him out.
“You were always so protective,” Viktor says.
I say nothing as they head out, the American brother last. He stops in the doorway and turns. “We’re coming back for dinner,” he says. “We’ll bring stroganoff and pirozhki. Okay?”