Her Russian Savior

Prologue

Nikole

Growing up, I wanted for nothing. I had everything I could ever want or ask for, but that isn’t what life is all about. At least, it shouldn’t be. I didn’t know then that it was all from ill-gotten gains. Now that I do, my whole childhood is tainted. My father, Igor Petrov, is the boss of the Bratva in Brighton Beach, New York. How he managed to keep it a secret from my younger sister, Katarzyna, and me, I’ll never know. Men came and went from our house but never actually spoke to us; hell, they barely looked at us. I never once thought that was odd, though. I was sheltered and in for a rude awakening.

I found out weeks ago, quite by accident. I was sick, and even though I’m eighteen, I was looking for my mom, Galina. It was three in the morning, and she wasn’t in her bedroom; neither was dad, but that wasn’t unusual. I went downstairs and followed the sound of yelling. As I was walking down the hallway, something told me I should turn back. Go back to bed and forget this, but I didn’t.

I crept to his partially closed office door and looked in through the crack. My mom was standing there with a big ass gun in her hand while my dad had a knife. I was shocked, to say the least. My mom-jeans wearing, big-hair hair, fake nails, fake tan, and soccer-mom mother threatened someone with a gun. A man tied to a chair and guys I’d seen around the house standing around in a circle.

“Where’s my money, Rico?” Dad asks. Even from here, I can see the spittle flying from his mouth. He’s pissed; I’ve never seen him this mad before.

“You’ll get it,” the man replies, but he’s crying.

“You’ve been saying that for months, Rico,” Mom says, tsking. “I don’t believe you anymore. Do you, my beloved?”

“No,” he replies but doesn’t elaborate.

“Well, that’s that then,” she says. I watch in rapt awe. Equally disgusted and impressed as she sets the barrel of the gun on the man’s forehead and pulls the trigger. I gasp, but no one hears me because my parents are laughing like psychopaths.

“Clean this up,” Dad says, snapping his fingers at the men who just watched my mom murder a man. They move quickly to do what they are told. My mom hands my dad the gun, and he sets it down on his desk before pulling her into his arms. I turn my head away as they kiss. They are always doing stuff like that, but I always thought it was pretty cool that my parents loved each other when all my friend’s parents got divorced.

I crept back to bed and didn’t say anything that night, but soon I couldn’t keep my mouth shut. In the three days since, I’ve learned a lot about my parents. A simple Google search pulled up more on failed indictments and rumors of my father and grandfather being Russian mob. I can’t believe not one person from school ever said anything to me about this. I was entirely in the dark, and I didn’t like that. On the third day, my dad called me into his office. He was sitting in one of the leather wingback chairs that faced the TV mounted on the wall.

“Daughter, this is Sasha. He’s taking you out.”

“Out where?” I ask, looking over at the man who is easily double the age of my Dad, if not older. He looks at me like I’m the steak he ordered for his last meal. I don’t like it. I don’t like where this is going.

“Wherever he wants to. Your mother set out some clothes for you. You will wear them and be ready in ten minutes.”

“What’s going on here?” I demand, knowing instinctively that he’s giving me to this old man.

“Do as you’re told, Nikole.”

“I don’t think I will.” I turn to walk out of the room.

“Control your daughter, Igor,” Sasha says, making me turn to face him.

“Excuse me? I am an adult. I can’t be controlled.” Okay, it didn’t help that I said it like a petulant child, but it’s too late now.

“We’ll see about that,” he says cryptically.

I leave the room and run into my mom on the stairs.

“Have a good time, darling,” she says absentmindedly.

“How could you?” I whisper, completely betrayed. “I kept your secrets, and this is what you do to me?” I demand, trying not to cry. She grabs my arm, her eyes wide.

“What secrets?”

“You’re a murderer, mom. You think I haven’t figured out that dad’s a fucking mobster, and you’re in on it?”

“Nikole, I tried to keep it from you. How did you find out?”

“Does it really matter? I did, and I am not letting you give me to some gross old man.”