Chapter 9
1080 Words
ISABELLA
I pulled out a notebook and started writing:
THINGS I NEED: 1. Job (something that pays cash and doesn't ask questions) 2. Better apartment (this one is too small for a baby) 3. Prenatal care (doctor? midwife? how do I do this without ID?) 4. Baby supplies (crib, clothes, diapers...how much does this stuff cost?) 5. New identity documents (Elena Petrov needs to be more real)
The list feels overwhelming and impossible. But I forced myself to keep writing, to break the enormous problem of "pregnant and alone in Montenegro" into smaller, manageable pieces.
6. Learn Montenegrin (enough to get by, at least) 7. Stay off the radar (no social media, no contact with anyone from Moscow or NYC) 8. Figure out how to be a mother
That last one made me laugh in a short, bitter sound. As if I could just "figure out" how to be a mother like it was a skill I could learn from a book.
But what choice did I have? I am doing this alone.
I pressed my hand to my stomach again, a gesture that is already becoming habit.
"It's just you and me," I whispered. "But I promise I'll figure it out. I'll keep you safe. I'll give you a life that's nothing like the one I left behind. No violence. No mafia. No men who say they love you and then turn back to destroy you."
As if the baby could understand. As if promises made to a six-week-old embryo meant anything.
But saying it out loud made it feel more real. More possible.
I could do this.
Because the alternative...going back to Viktor, admitting I am pregnant, watching him look at me with those cold eyes and tell me the baby was just another mistake...would destroy what little was left of me.
No. This baby is mine. My secret. My future.
Viktor Konstantin had taken enough from me. He didn't get to take this too.
THREE DAYS LATER
I found a job at a small café near the waterfront. Mrs. Kovač, the owner, is a plump woman in her sixties who asked very few questions and seemed to believe my story about being a student taking a gap year to "find herself."
"You can start tomorrow," she said in heavily accented English, looking me over with shrewd but kind eyes. "Mornings, six to two. Cash pay, yes?"
"Yes. Thank you so much, Mrs. Kovač."
"You call me Mira." She patted my hand. "And you eat. You're too skinny. I bring you burek tomorrow, yes? Good food. You need strength."
If only she knew.
I walked back to my apartment with hope. Something good finally happening to me, I men apart from my new condition. This job means money and money means I could stay here, build a life, prepare for this baby.
I can do this.
I climbed the stairs to my flat, unlocked the door, and froze.
Something is different.
It is nothing obvious at first, nothing I could point to. But the air felt wrong, I feel like my privacy has been invaded. My skin prickled with awareness that I wasn't alone.
"Don't scream."
The voice came from the corner of the room, it is Russian-accented and unfamiliar. A man stepped into the dim light from my kitchen, and my blood ran cold.
He was big. Looking professionally like the kind of man who hurt people for a living. And he is standing in my apartment like he had every right to be there.
"Who are you?" I backed toward the door, my hand fumbling for the handle. "How did you get in here?"
"Dmitri Sokolov sends his regards." The man smiled, and it was the coldest thing I'd ever seen. "Isabella Volkov. Or should I say Elena Petrov? Clever, using a dead woman's name. But that's not clever enough."
Sokolov. Viktor's enemy. The man who'd killed his fiancée.
Oh God.
"I don't know what you're talking about." My voice shook despite my best efforts. "My name is Elena. I'm a student. I don't know any..."
"Save it." He took a step closer and I press myself against the door. "We've been watching you for a week. We know who you are. We know whose money you're spending. And we know Viktor Konstantin will pay very well to get you back."
"He won't." The words burst out before I could stop them. "He doesn't care about me. I'm nothing to him."
The man laughed. "Then you won't mind coming with us. Just insurance, you understand. To make sure the Wolf remembers his place."
He lunged at me.
I screamed and yanked the door open, and run for the stairs. But another man was already there, blocking my escape.
I was trapped.
"Please," I gasped, one hand instinctively going to my stomach. "Please, I'm..."
Pregnant. I was about to say pregnant. But some survival instinct stopped me.
If they knew about the baby, they'd definitely take me. Use me and Viktor's child as leverage.
"Please, I'll do whatever you want. Just don't hurt me."
"We're not going to hurt you," the first man said, advancing slowly. "Not unless you make us. Now, you can come quietly, or we can do this the hard way. Your choice, princess."
I looked at the stairs. At the two men. At the tiny apartment that had been my haven for three weeks.
And I made a choice.
I ran.
Not toward the stairs...they had those blocked. Instead, I ran for the window.
It is stupid. Reckless I know. It is the kind of thing that could get me killed.
But I am Roman Volkov's daughter, and Roman Volkov's daughter don't go quietly.
I shoved the window open and climbed out onto the narrow ledge that ran along the building's second floor. Below me, the cobblestone street was maybe fifteen feet down. It won't be a survivable fall. Not without breaking something.
"Bella, don't be stupid!" one of the men yelled from inside.
But I was already moving, inching along the ledge toward the neighboring building, my heart pounding so hard I thought it might burst.
Just a few more feet. Just a little farther.
My foot slipped.
I grabbed for the windowsill, caught it with my fingertips, dangled for a terrifying moment before managing to pull myself back up.
The men were climbing out after me now.
I don't have time to thin or to be scared of anything. I jump.
- Writer
