She’s looking more like herself now. The arch of her eyebrows has that old streak of mischievousness. “Does he know?”
“No. I was serious: you’re the first person I’ve told.”
“That was your trump card, huh?”
“Depends. Did it work?”
She nods slowly. “I’m going to be an aunt.”
“Being an aunt requires both of us to get out of here in one piece,” I remind her. “We’re made of stronger stuff than they think we are, Polly. We can fight them. We can get out of here. I will have this baby and you’re going to be the best aunt.”
She’s looking a little teary-eyed again, but I’m pretty sure these are the good kind of tears. “Thanks for sharing with me.”
“Of course.”
“Can I ask you something?” When I nod, she asks, “Why haven’t you told Uri yet?”
I hesitate. If there was ever a time for honesty, though, it’s right now. “For the first few days after I suspected that I might be pregnant, I was in denial. Then, when it became obvious, I was scared to tell him. Things with Uri and me are… complicated. I wasn’t even sure he’d be happy. And to be honest, deep down, I knew I wanted this baby.”
“Uri will be happy, too, you know. He just might not know it right away.”
I snort with laughter. “That’s comforting.”
“But seriously,” Polly says, adjusting her position on the mattress, “he’s going to be a great father.”
I nod. “I already know that.”
Polly smiles. “And you’re going to be a fantastic mother.”
It’s the first time I’ve heard that word used out loud in relation to me. Mother. It sounds so important. So heavy. “I don’t know about that.”
“Are you kidding me? You’re so amazing with Lev. You bonded with him in days when I didn’t manage to in years. That comes from a natural mothering instinct.”
“Polly—”
Before I can finish my sentence, we hear the bolt unlatch. Polly’s eyes go wide with panic and the color drains from her face.
“A-are they coming for me?” she gasps.
My instinct is to jump out of bed and shield her with my body. But these fucking restraints. Every time I pull at them, the sting of my raw, bloody skin makes me regret it.
“Hey now,” I tell her urgently. “It’s gonna be okay. You’re stronger than they think, Polina Bugrov. You’re as Bratva as your older brothers. You’ll survive this. Remember who you are.”
I’m not sure if the words are getting through to her. Her eyes are fixed on the same two Russians who came the first time. Tattoo Arm licks his lips when he sees me and flings a plastic package onto my bed. I don’t bother examining it just yet—I’m concentrating on Scarface, who’s making a beeline for Polly’s mattress.
Oh, God. They are here for her.
“No!” she screams, realizing the same thing. “No, please! NO!”
Scarface says something in Russian with a deep, throaty chuckle. He undoes Polly’s restraints and hoists her into his arms. She looks like a little ragdoll against his muscular chest.
My sense of calm breaks. “Please. Don’t take her. Take me instead. TAKE ME INSTEAD!”
Both men look at me with amusement. “We would, gladly,” Tattoo Arm says with another lip lick. “But the boss has other plans for you.”
They turn back to each other and continue talking in Russian. I can’t understand anything they’re saying. Over the sounds of Polly’s frantic screams, I can’t really hear much at all. But I do catch a name amidst the strange, slurring words.
Dominik.
“Polly,” I yell as they lock the cell door and take her up the stairs. “Remember what I told you. Remember who you are!”
The door slams shut. The bolt latches again. Polly’s screams are cut off abruptly.
I’m completely alone now.
It feels like madness.
4
URI
“This will work.”
But my confidence is born out of desperation rather than determination and Nikolai knows that. He eyes me carefully, pushing the cup of black coffee towards me. “It will work as long as he complies,” he replies. “If he chooses to fuck us over—”
“He won’t.”
“You overestimate how much people fear death, Uri. If I were that rat down in the cellar, I’d know I was dead already. Regardless of how cooperative I decided to be.”