Page 4 of King’s Promise

And Papa’s death? I’m sure I’ll be told to stay out of it.

I relish the fact I am able to enjoy my life at the university and make a few friends. I’m such a nerd, I love homework and reading books on any subject. I find knowledge to be liberating and exhilarating. I’m close to my last year of law school, and I’ve managed to build a life for myself. I even get out to clubs on occasion, and I’ve never had to worry for my safety. I’ve built a normal life outside of my true identity.

The neighborhood is different after the news hit mainstream media outlets. Neighbors walk into their houses and ignore me as I pass them to go to the local grocery store. No words of condolences, no ‘hellos’ are exchanged. It’s as if I’m tainted. I’m sure they’re afraid to say anything for fear of repercussions. What is there to say? I don’t know when, or if, I’ll ever be able to enjoy being obscure.

It's not the first time something like this has hit our community. Last week a family was murdered in Spain, and the explanation didn’t fit the crime scene. A father would save his wife and unborn child, not kill them by strangulation before killing himself. They were on holiday for the summer. It doesn’t paint the picture of someone orchestrating a murder. Strange how they were billionaires connected to big corporations in Russia as well. Is it a coincidence? Or is there a pattern? And if there is a pattern, what will happen to us? Will faceless assassins go down the line? Entire families have already been murdered.

I can’t suppress a chill running up my spine and settling in my bones at the thought of how brutal these recent murders were, it’s as if they are personal in some way, and it makes me especially thankful I’ve chosen a life outside of the dark one in which I was born.

I make tea and find Mum is sitting in the blue and white living room. She dries her eyes. Konstantin arrives. Mum talks more than she listens, which is a shocker. She’s not one to give her two pence on anything. Papa has her trained to be subservient. This is unusual.

I swear I’ll ever be like her, quiet, taking orders without questions, it’s the old way. I’m of a new generation and demand equality.

I’m sure the two-bedroom, two bath flat Papa bought for me in the vicinity was purchased as an investment. Conveniently, it made room for my sister, Katerynia, who at the ripe age of twenty, is spoiled so much she has two rooms for herself. Papa has been working so much he continued to buy her what she wanted and now she’s a handful. She has no idea what she wants to do with her life, and she has been in her room since Papa’s death.

Mum rattles off in Russian before hanging up the phone.

“Anya, it appears we have help from back home. Nikolay, the son of your father’s best friend, is arriving today. He’s going to be your husband.” She folds her aging hands in her lap, folding and refolding her handkerchief.

“What? I’ve never heard of this before. Why now?” Suddenly, my father’s death takes a backseat to my future goals. “I’m in school. I’m not moving to Russia, I’m in England. I’m coming up on my last year at the university and we don’t needhelp,” I spit the last word towards her in defiance.

“Anya, it was always to be this way. We just didn’t have the heart to tell you until the time came. And it’s taken a long time to come about. However, the day has arrived. Why else do you think your father bargained with you and gave you what you wanted? You must be nice to Nikolay.” Her grayish blue eyes warn me as she looks down her nose and over her black-rimmed glasses. “I am in a precarious position. I have to wait for the estate to be settled, and Nikolay can make our lives easier until our money is cleared, and we’ll be safe with him protecting us. We need him to run the Bratva, the two families together are stronger, it will prevent a takeover and scrutiny of the government which could land us back in Russia.”

“This is ridiculous!” I stomp off. Now, I have something else to mourn, the loss of my freedom, and apparently, my status as a single woman.

Sergei appears, he must have been eavesdropping, but he’s our protector, and member of the Petrov Bratva, and as such, he is sworn to keep us safe, but I have my doubts if he were to be put to the task.

“Are you okay, Anya?” he inquires.

I glare at him, he doesn’t deserve it, but he needs to be a guard, he’s not a part of the family. If he did his job better, Papa might still be here. Granted he was not his personal bodyguard, but he is ours. I scan his face for signs of sadness and immediately I’m sorry I snapped at him. He has a way of calming me when he knows I’m unhappy.

Normally, I’d trade pleasantries with him, but I can’t today.

“Just fine,” I reply gruffly as I grab my winter coat and purse to leave for the comfort of my own home. I can’t be around Mum like this and as much as I love my sister, she’ll come around when she’s ready.

I tug my coat on. I’m useless here. I’d rather be alone in my twisted grief. I loved Papa and hated him. The fact I have to marry a Russian turns my stomach. However, I know this is for the survival of the family, and we need protection. Right now, my will to live outweighs my will to choose whom I will marry.

I strike out on foot; the sky is dark. I wouldn’t be surprised if it rained. I walk faster and look over my shoulder repeatedly to make sure I’m not followed. I assume someone who can kill my father in a secure building would be able to outsmart me if they wished me dead. It’s only now I wish I had a guard as an added layer of protection. I arrive home before the skies open; it will be a cold rain, and I have no desire to get sick.

Sure, Papa was distant, working on bigger deals until he was appointed CEO of a Russian oil company. I never knew why he was so driven when we have more than enough money and luxuries. Our home might be considered modest, but Papa is worth billions judging from his holdings in corporations, and stocks investments, and that’s not including what he makes off the books. It never occurred to me why we didn’t live in a house in a more upscale neighborhood until now. I assumed father didn’t want to leave the neighborhood he had grown to love and where he was surrounded by others, all who conversed with him in Russian. I assumed it reminded him of his youth.

* * *

I unlockmy door with a key code and enter my flat, making sure to lock the deadbolt behind me as an added measure. My father’s sudden death is making me paranoid.

I glance around my home to make sure it’s empty before I relax. The first floor has an open ceiling, as it was recently remodeled. A beam in the ceiling is the only separation between the living room and the kitchen. To my left is a loft on the second floor with a white wood railing overlooking the downstairs area. The floors are of oak, and cherry wood has been wrapped around what would have been corners in the narrow flat giving it an updated look.

I have a gardening shed in my narrow backyard. My Volkswagen Jetta is parked in front of my two-story flat with each unit connected. Where I live, there is row after row of them. Unless one has a house in the family for many years, or makes a plethora of money, it’s almost impossible for a single woman to own her own house.

I hang my winter coat on the wall hook and take off my ankle boots. I prefer to walk around without getting the polished floors dirty. I hate cleaning. Papa indulged me with their cleaning lady, and it does afford me more time to study. My computer is in the loft, so I head up the narrow steps, reminding myself I can’t fall behind this semester. There is no way I’m going to push off my graduation date next year.

No sooner do I get upstairs, the doorbell rings. I’m not expecting anyone, and I was set on letting it ring but they won’t stop.Ding, ding. I carefully make my way to the front windows and cameras with large flashes snap in my face.

I quickly dive out of sight and reach into my coat, where I pull my cell phone out. I call Mum.

“The reporters are here as well, dear. Stay inside. Sergei is here, but you don’t have anyone there to protect you,” she laments.

“I’ll play music to block them out,” I say and ring off. I assume they will go away eventually. I sneak a look out the windows and the media has taken cover in their vans and those who are standing shield themselves under umbrellas as the rain pelts the rooftops.

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