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Vera

I don’t react when I get the news.

No tears well in my eyes. No sadness tightens my throat.

I feel nothing.

It’s been many years since the man who fathered me has felt like any more than a part of my name.

I scrunch the letter in my hand until the paper cuts into my palm and try to feel something.

There’s still nothing, so I toss it to the table and walk away in disgust.

My brother Yakov’s voice seems uncomfortably loud in the quiet room. “Of course you’re upset.”

I’d like to tell him the truth, that I couldn’t care less, but that would be unwise. My brother is a dangerous man just like our father was.

So I say nothing .

In the quiet of my own mind is a little tap, tap, tapping. An insistent noise reminding me of the words of the American agent in the visa office. We could protect you.

I doubted him then. I doubt him still.

I’ve seen what my father and brother are capable of.

But with my father dead and his men in chaos, this might be my best chance at escape.

“Vera, are you listening? We will need to go ahead with the marriage. If anything, it will need to take place sooner. We need as much stability as we can buy right now.”

I turn back to him and study his face. It’s round, with the first hints of lines around his mouth and on his forehead where the skin seems permanently creased into a frown. Yakov is only five years older than my twenty-seven, but it has always seemed like more to me.

It feels bitterly appropriate for him to use the word buy. That’s exactly what he and my father planned to do. To use me like a commodity to buy their own rise in power.

“Yes. I know,” I say coldly.

Clearly waiting for any further reaction, he grows impatient when I don’t give it.

He sighs. “I will make the arrangements. I suggest you pack your things. You could be flying out as early as next week.” He gives me a small nod as he turns and leaves the room.

This is the extent of any emotion exchanged between us today.

Instead of doing as he suggests, I pull out a hard wooden chair and sit at the table. I don’t want to sit on the sofa where plump cushions decorate the sumptuous furniture. It feels somehow more appropriate to sit with my back straight and my bottom afforded no measure of luxury.

If I go through with my plan, I can forget about luxury. I might have grown up a spoiled Bratva princess, but I’d give that all up in a heartbeat to avoid the fate my brother has planned for me.

Thoughts of Dmitri sneak unbidden into my mind and I shudder. He’s not an ugly man. In fact, his high cheekbones and strong features might be called beautiful.

His soul is anything but.

Another Vors in the underworld criminal organization labeled by those in the West as the Bratva. Another prince among thieves, with none of the charm or elegance those words might bring to mind.

My fingers feel numb as I take my phone from my pocket and unlock the screen. My whole body feels close to frozen. My movements are sluggish like my mind.

I need to make a decision. Do I go through with my arranged marriage or do I take a risk that might cost me my life for a chance at freedom?

Not knowing what else to do, I send a message to Inga Romonovna, the lady who reads my tarot every month.

Vera: Do you have time for an extra reading this month? I could use some guidance.

She replies instantly, as she always does.

Inga: For you my darling, anything.

Vera: Today?

Inga: Of course .

There’s a moment of quiet before she answers the video call. I set my phone up on the table, propped against a mug of tea, and try to avoid looking at her penetrating gaze.

Eventually she sniffs and shuffles the deck. “This would be better in person, you know, printsessa. There’s only so much the cards alone can do.”

I nod despondently. I’d like to visit her little shop, but Yakov will question where I’m going if I go out again today. “I know.”

There’s another pause. She makes a low humming sound as she turns over the first card. “Six of Swords. A journey across the sea.”

No surprises there. Dmitri lives in the United States of America on the East Coast. Naturally I’ll need to cross the sea if I’m going to marry him. If I have any chance of escaping my family I’ll also need to leave Russia and cross the sea. Preferably to get as far away as possible.

Inga turns over the next card. “The Fool. For new beginnings. This card urges you to take a leap of faith.”

Again she studies me and I keep my face impassive. I’ve always been a little more honest with her than strictly necessary, but I still don’t let her see my inner thoughts. There’s no guarantee she’s not working for my brother.

The final card makes her thin brows raise. “Four of Wands inverted.”

I frown. I’ve never seen this card inverted before. “What does it mean?”

“Homecoming. But not the way you expect. This is coming to a new home. To a found home. One where you can be secure. Perhaps the cards are telling you to have faith in this arranged marriage and in your future.”

I look down at my hands clasped on the table in front of me. “Thank you, Inga.”

“Does that answer your question, printsessa?”

I mask any emotion from my face as I speak. “Yes. Thank you. I think it does.”

We end the call, but instead of dressing for dinner, I find my coat and gloves and order a car.

There’s no way a new home that’s secure means anything to do with Dmitri. The cards must point to my escape.

“I had a call from the American embassy,” I tell Yakov before I leave. “There’s a problem with my visa. I have to go back so they can issue a new one. They said they would fit me in this evening, but I will miss dinner.”

His expression darkens, but he nods. “Fine. Do not let this deal fail, Vera. You call me if those Americans cause difficulties about the visa. I know a man.”

With this chilling reminder that nowhere is safe, I tuck my coat tightly around myself and step out into the already dark street. My breath puffs from my mouth in little clouds as I walk from the house to the waiting car. Once in the back seat, I push my hands into my pockets so the driver does not see them trembling.

Any error now will cost me.

At the embassy, I speak the code words to the lady at the reception desk. She seamlessly nods and invites me to wait in a meeting room to one side of reception. Twenty minutes later, the small thin man who interviewed me when I first applied for my visa joins me in the room. “Gospozha Boreyeva. Thank you for returning. May I hope to be of assistance to you?”

This is it. This is the moment I make my choice.

When he first took me aside and told me the FBI was looking for information about my family’s connection with the US, I played dumb. Told him nothing. Just what is expected from a good little printsessa. He was patient with me. Perhaps this is a game he’s played before and won.

He told me to return if I ever wanted to talk and told me to ask for him with the phrase I used at reception.

Now he folds his hands on the desk in front of him and gives me a wide, ridiculous American grin. “There’s no rush, but if you don’t tell me anything, I’m afraid there’s not much I can do to help you.”

What else could The Fool be telling me other than to take this leap of faith?

So I clear my throat and leap. “Suppose there was certain information I could provide to you,” I begin.

The agent sits a little straighter.

“What protection could your government offer me? You must understand what a risk I’m taking even in coming here tonight.”

He nods grimly. “Of course. Rest assured, I completely understand. I could provide you with a new identity and passage to America where you would be safer—” When I open my mouth to complain that nowhere is safe, he holds up his hand and continues. “And I know that nothing is perfect. So you have to make the choice. Would a life under the protection of the American government but in relative freedom be better than the life you’re going to live if you go through with this marriage?”

I swallow my retort. “Yes.”

“Then if you can give me twenty minutes more, I have some papers to sign and we will arrange for you to make your statement once your safety is taken care of to the best of our ability.”

On the journey home I can’t shake the feeling of unease that tracks me like a mangy street dog. That was a little too easy. I will have a new passport, a new visa. A visa that lets me stay in the US indefinitely. The only catch: I have to marry someone else.

The agent assured me this would be safe.

It’s better than the future I was facing, but I’m hesitant. What if I’m betrayed? What if this is an elaborate ruse to trap me into revealing my duplicity so my brother can punish me?

There’s something not quite right about this, but I have no choice. Just meeting with this man today was a risk. There’s every chance Yakov will find out about it.

Time is ticking and I need this ticket out of Russia.

Though I’m on edge all the next day, my mask stays in place. I go shopping, I pick out wedding lingerie and new outfits as if I’m really planning on going through with the match to Dmitri. I’m about to enter the fitting room of the fifth shop I visit. In fact, I’m waiting for the shop assistant to push aside the heavy curtain when a young woman with a freckled face and a bright-eyed rural look approaches me, holding out a fitted jacket. “Excuse me, did you drop this? I thought I saw you holding it before.”

I look at her more closely. Her voice holds the hint of a foreign accent, though it’s very well disguised. So much so that I can’t work out what accent it is. She waits patiently, simply holding out the jacket to me, and though I’ve never seen the item before, something makes me reach out and take it. “Thank you.”

She turns and leaves and I enter the changing room. When the curtain falls and I’m hidden from view, I hang the jacket on a hook and slip my fingers into the pockets. Sure enough, a folded paper note is inside the left one.

How would you feel about a monster husband? It would mean leaving this week. We need your answer today. Leave the jacket on the floor if you agree.

It’s not addressed to me. Despite there being no name, I know it’s from the agent at the embassy.

My head spins and I wish I had more time to consider.

You don’t see many monsters in Moscow. They keep to themselves, usually in remote rural communities. I’ve never met a monster in the flesh. At least not that I know of.

But nothing could be worse than the human man I’ll have to marry if I let my brother have his way.

Without allowing myself to linger on the decision and change my mind, I slip the jacket off the hanger and drop it to the floor at my feet. Then I leave the shop without trying on any of the clothes I had taken in with me.

As I slide into the back seat of the car and the driver pulls away from the curb, I wonder if I’ve made a mistake.

I guess only time will tell.

Still, this is just another obstacle in my dash for freedom. One more hurdle to be cleared. It would be more unnerving for this to be too easy. Then I would know something was wrong.

I sit back against the cool leather and tell myself it’s going to be alright.