Page 15 of Vasily the Nail

Would Tony force me to marry Vasily? That’s what usually happens if it’s advantageous. It doesn’t matter who the man is. If he can’t be murdered, he gets a wife. I’ve known men to steal girls that way. The idea of becoming one of those girls has my stomach churning.

I’m moving before I’m even thinking through the plan. It’s better that way; I don’t know when the groceries will arrive, and I don’t know what kind of hours pawn shops keep. Besides, the more I think about it, the more I’ll second-guess myself.

I need to look like a normal person if I’m going to pull this off. I rush to Vasily’s closet to see if there’s anything I can possibly make look appropriate on me and discover an entire wardrobe of women’s clothing. Shirts and sweaters, pants and dresses. A nice coat and a couple pairs of boots.

Weird, but I’m not going to dwell on it.

I can’t pack a bag. I don’t want to carry anything too bulky if I’m sneaking out. But I layer: three tanks, a blouse, a sweater, and a coat, leggings, dress pants, and a skirt. Two pairs of socks in the boots. None of it is very nice, but it’ll be a decent start.

I consider looking for a gun, but I’m worried I won’t be able to get on a bus with it. I grab a small knife from the kitcheninstead, figuring it’ll help in a pinch and I can ditch it at the bus station without worrying about too much happening if it’s found.

I hop up on my toes to look through the peep hole on the door, finding the other side to be a non-descript hallway that ends with this unit but extends the other way for at least four apartments on the opposite side. Most of the doors have signs and mats. Nothing too crazy. But as I lean to look, I notice the door’s fairly loose in the frame, moving and springing back. On a whim, I attempt to turn the doorknob.

It’s unlocked.

I tug, and it opens right up. My eyes bug out as I realize I can just leave, and the situation sinks back in.

I can’t really do this, can I? My entire life, I’ve been groomed to be a Mafia wife. I have no real skills other than being a decent actress, but I’m not making it in Hollywood any time soon.

If I run, this sort of apartment is going to be my life. A 2-bedroom on the fourth floor in the industrial district of a third-rate city, probably working in both a coffee shop and a grocery store just to afford this dive. Wearing someone else’s clothes and burning eggs.

But on my own. Living my own life.

No one deciding for me.

I slip out the door.

I have no idea what I’m doing. On a cellular level. This is the exact opposite of who I am as a human being. I’ve never even snuck out after curfew. I’m playing the Mission: Impossibletheme in my head as I close the door behind me gently to keep it from making a sound, but as soon as it clicks, I realize I don’t even know which way to go. There’s an elevator halfway down the hall, but directly across from me is the stairwell.

I regret this immediately.

I reach back for the doorknob to go back inside and pretend I never left and sit there quietly for the rest of the day because this isn’t something I can do.

It’s locked from the outside.

With that, there’s nothing left for me except to go. I opt for the stairs, figuring I have more control. I open it cautiously, tiptoe my way down three flights of stairs, and peek through the window at the ground floor door to suss it out. There’s no one visible, and there’s an exit right next to me. I’m able to slip through one door and then the next without setting off any alarms or seeing anyone else. I did it.

Holy cow, I did it.

And it iscold. I have layers on and appropriate shoes. I’m dressed right that I won’t look strange, just poor, but my nose immediately begins to feel numb. If nothing else, it’s the motivation I need to get myself moving to the coffee shop.

It’s just busy enough no one notices me hustling past the park and over to the local cafe. I feel like people there will be more likely to help me than the people at the Starbucks.

I make myself look lost, not hard to do, then grope my pockets. I’m not sure if anyone is paying attention to the show, but it’s more for me to get myself into character. There are a few people sitting outside, huddling up with their hot coffees, andmy gut instinct has me walking up to the table sat with a guy and a girl instead of the three girls who are chatting over each other. If the guy and the girl are a couple, I may ruffle feathers, but that’s a them problem.

“Super sorry to bother you,” I say to the guy, whose attention snaps right to me. They’re both about my age, probably college kids, and yep, she’s already shooting daggers at me with her eyes, while the guy’s attention is locked on me. “Is there a pawn shop near here? I’m supposed to meet my boyfriend there to look at engagement rings, and silly me, I forgot my phone!”

Hopefully the mention of a boyfriend will ease some of the pressure off the guy, although the flicker of panic atengagement ringmakes me think I replaced one nightmare for another.

The girl snatches up her phone. “Lemme check for you! Oh look, L&M Pawn & Jewelry? It’s two blocks down and around the corner.” She shows me her screen, and I thank her and follow her directions.

I have this hope that with Jewelry in the name, it’ll be a nicer place than I imagine a typical pawn shop to be, but it’s disgusting. The floors are ancient, scuffed and stained linoleum. The cases are filled with student-grade musical instruments, knock-off designer hand bags, and costume jewelry. The fluorescent lights burn my eyes as badly as the bleach fumes burn my nostrils. I immediately think I need to turn back, go somewhere else, but where would I go?

Panic begins to choke me again as I wait five, ten, fifteen minutes, all counted out by the overactive cuckoo clock, for one of the workers to help me. The squat, older gentleman with Coke bottle glasses and a bad limp leads me back to a dingy, clutteredoffice, but at least he has a proper loupe and a good light to study my necklace under.

“These are natural diamonds,” he says after a time. “I’m going to level with you, I’m not the guy for this. This should be in an auction house.”

“I need the money now. I don’t have time for an auction.”

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