Page 4 of Nikolai Petrov

“I-I’m sorry. What did you say?” Did he ask me a question? I don’t remember.

Svetlana’s voice makes soothing sounds toward him before she slides away from the table.

I know I should care. I just don’t.

The peas form a smiley face now. If only each little green orb was one of those red pills. I’d dish them by the spoonful and wash them down with the red wine adorning my father’s glass.

A warm hand tightens around my wrist and wrenches my arm back until my elbow cries out.

“Natalia!” My father’s eyes are inches from mine. When did he move?

“You are twenty two years old! Stop playing with your food and leave this room. Nikolai will be here any—” His face freezes as a heavy knock echoes through the house.

Father releases my hand. “Don’t say a word,” he hisses before he disappears.

I don’t know if I could talk if I wanted to. Red lines garnish my arm where his fingers had gripped me. The edges soften into purple lines as fresh bruises form.

He hurt me.

Father has never done that before. Even as a child when I may have deserved a spanking, he wouldn’t raise his hand.

What is wrong with me?

Deep voices rock me like a skiff on a gentle wave. I hear my name again and I struggle against the foggy current to pay attention to his words.

“Do you remember my boss, Nikolai Petrov?” His voice is gentle. Maybe I just imagined his anger.

I need to really concentrate. This feels important.

The blurry outline of the strange man sitting across from me clears. He’s bigger than my father, but lean like him. A dark mustache over a graying beard gives him a sophisticated look.

It’s the pierce of his caramel eyes that goes through me. They don’t carry hatred for me, but soften as I meet them.

Too bad it’s likely pity.

“Very nice to meet you Mr. Petrov.” I surprise myself at the cohesion of my words.

“Natalia.” The syllables roll from his tongue like warm liquor, a stinging heat that bites me with the realization he’s the first person to see me outside of the household in months.

He turns back to my father while idly stroking his beard. The tattoos that peek from his crisp white cuffs seem to dance and intertwine beneath the large watch and heavy ring on his hand. His voice fades into a hypnotic croon as I watch his fingers work up and down through the short hairs on his jaw.

The tone he uses conveys an overwhelming sense of power and authority. He’s used to being obeyed. “Do not worry Ivanov. Just because that piece of shit rolled, it does not mean it will come back to you. Getting that larger contract you negotiated for next month is important. I will keep you safe.” His gaze shifts to me. I’m lost in the color of his eyes. Almost golden, like a lion’s. “I will keep all of you safe,” he says as he flattens his palms on the table to rise.

“Thank you, boss.” Father sounds almost humble.

Nikolia adjusts his dark suit jacket and I catch a glimpse of his snug dress shirt beneath it moving over his chest. Another array of tattoos disappear into the ‘v’ of his collar.

He looks like a man no one would mess with.

Maybe he really can protect us.

I’m having the same dream every night. Mr. Petrov stops Svetlana from giving me the pills and throws her out of the room.

“I will keep you safe.” His words echo over and over, even in my thickest haze.

But, she stands here as she always does. Fingers extending and brushing back a perfectly styled dark curl from her shoulder.

I don’t hesitate. Their familiar shape goes down easily.

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