Day fourteen…

Anastasia and I are in the living room, eating a late afternoon snack of crackers, caviar and brie, and sipping red wine from glasses with delicate stems. The children are in Yuri’s lab, building model planes. Light pours through the enormous floor-to-ceiling windows and splashes across the tile floor in white rectangles.

I’m reclining on the overstuffed sofa and wearing a cotton cardigan to hide my fading bruises.

My injuries have mostly healed – the outer ones. Inside, I ache more every day. Sergei is making a full-time career of avoiding me, and that hurts worse than any punishment yet, even the bullwhip that cut my flesh open.

It shouldn’t have surprised me. If I were smart, I’d just give up hope of finding a cure for the strange sickness that is our relationship. I’ve tried. I just can’t banish him from my heart. And I can’t figure out how to hammer through that thick armor of his. What haven’t I done to get him to love me? I’m out of ideas, and out of hope that it will ever change.

So I’m stuck, waiting at his whim as the days tick off on the calendar, and I hate it.

Slavik is sitting stiffly on a chair, watching us and not saying a word. That man never relaxes. I imagine him sleeping with his eyes open, rigid with rage.

Jasha’s across the room, pacing, talking into his earpiece radio. That’s not unusual, but something isn’t right. His body language gives it away. He’s tense and angry, raising his voice now. Slavik gets up and hurries over to him, and listens in.

All of a sudden, Jasha glances our way with a scowl and at the same time I see several security guards running down the hallway towards the front of the house. I set down my wine glass and sit up straight.

Anastasia swigs the rest of her wine before she sets her own glass down.

Then I hear a phone ringing from right next to me - and Anastasia pulls a tiny silver phone out of her pants pocket.

But Sergei confiscated our phones when we got here. And I’ve never seen that phone before. Where the hell did she get it?

Alarm stabs through me. It won’t be long before they notice Anastasia’s phone and she suffers whatever consequences Sergei decides.

For the moment Jasha’s distracted, shouting into his radio now, in Russian. “Tell the reporters to get the fuck off our property or we’ll call the police.”

My wine and cheese curdles in my belly and almost comes back up. Reporters are here? That almost certainly means Vilyat is here. That’s his thing these days.

Anastasia is serenely calm, smiling. There’s an inner glow to her.

I stare at her. “You’ve got something up your sleeve.” Hope blossoms. “Please tell me it’s something good.”

Her pink lips curl up in a small, secret smile. “It’s very good. It’s the answer to all our prayers. I have freed us all.” There’s a note of quiet pride in her voice.

I look at her askance. Does she know what she’s doing? What does freedom mean for us, these days? We need Sergei’s protection. Yes, he’s holding us prisoner, but he is most definitely the lesser of two evils. Just getting out the door alive isn’t our goal. We’d run right into Vilyat’s arms.

Sergei storms into the room, barreling towards us with murder in his eyes, and I flinch, but then I brace myself. He’s hurt me before. Whatever he does to me, I can survive.

And I’m mad as hell that he’s been avoiding me.

“Nice to see you again,” I snap.

He flicks me a quick, chilling glance. “Now is not the fucking time, Willow.”

Anastasia ignores us, lips pressed against the phone, speaking in low, urgent tones. “Yes, I’m ready,” she says.

She looks up at Sergei, the phone hovering inches from her mouth. “My lawyers are outside. Open the front gate and let them in. And the reporters. And my piece of shit husband.”

Sergei makes to grab for the phone, but she rears back. “I’m still on the phone. My lawyers are listening. Touch me, and I’ll scream for the police.”

He freezes in place, and I swear I feel the temperature around us drop by a couple of degrees. The hair stands up on my arms, and goose pimples ripple over my skin. Has Sergei just sucked the heat from the air, or am I simply that terrified?

“You really don’t want to pull this right now, Anastasia,” he says, in a low, furious voice. “Your husband is out front, telling the news cameras that he’s here to file for custody of his kids and saying that they’re being held prisoner.”

Anastasia arches her delicate golden brows. “Well, he’s not lying.”

I can feel the rage rippling off Sergei’s skin. It makes the air hot and prickly and painful. “Have you thought about what would happen if you leave here with your kids? If you no longer have my protection?”

“I have.”

Sergei holds out his hand for the phone. “Last chance.”

Anastasia leaps to her feet, taking several steps back. “Let them in.”

Sergei growls in rage. Then he snaps at Slavik. “Give the order. Let them in.”

“But… All right.” Slavik pulls a radio from his pocket and barks into it in Russian, and the look that he’s giving Anastasia is so sharp I’m surprised she’s not bleeding.

Anastasia hurries towards the foyer, with a furious Jasha trailing at her heels. I see Helenka in the doorway of the living room, waving at me frantically, so I go to her. Slavik heads towards us, hovering like an avenging angel.

“What the hell is going on?” Helenka demands, her face pinched with that look of sullen defiance she wears so often these days. I don’t even bother to chide her for her language.

“Damned if I know. There’s a bunch of reporters outside, and your father is out front saying he’s filing for custody, and your mother somehow smuggled in a phone and called lawyers, who she’s about to meet with right now.”

Slavik is mumbling curses under his breath.

“Well, that’s more than my mother told me! She won’t tell me anything,” she says furiously. “I’m not a damn child. I have a right to know if my sperm donor’s trying to kidnap us.” Then oddly, unexpectedly, she throws her arms around me and hugs me. She’s never been much of a hugger. I try not to wince openly; my back is still sore.

I hug her back, awkwardly. She stands on her tiptoes and whispers into my ear “My mother’s password is Z7352KP.” She repeats it, in a whispery sing-song. “Z7352KP, Z7352KP.” Slavik is trying to listen to something on his radio, but he looks up and glares as Helenka is embracing me.

“Oh, excuse me, you have a problem with this?” I snap, going on the offensive. “This is called hugging. It’s what humans do.”

“You know what else humans do? They bleed when they’re shot,” Slavik growls.

“Blow it out your ass.” I can’t believe Helenka’s delicate little mouth just spewed those words.

That’s it. “Language!” I say indignantly.

“English is my preference.” She smiles, a glint of the old mischief in her eyes, and releases me.

I casually slide my hand into my pockets. She’s slipped an envelope into the left one. Clever girl.

“Your father’s coming into the house. Go find Yuri and stay with him,” I tell her. “I think he’s in the robot room. We won’t let your father take you. If it comes to that, I’ll stab him and do the prison time before I let that happen. I’m not kidding.”

“No, no,” Helenka protests. “I’ll stab him. They’d just send me to juvie and I’d be out in no time.” She hurries off to find her brother. I groan and palm my face. The fact that she’s actually thought this through is really messed up.

I swallow hard and stalk off towards the foyer. Slavik and Sergei are there, and they both move to block me. Sergei’s face is flushed with fury, and maybe I’ll be scared later, but right now I’m so stunned that I’m floating in a helium balloon, above it all.

“Move, or I’ll scream my lungs out,” I say. I can hear voices in the foyer, so I know that the lawyers are there, and they’ll hear me if I scream.

Good Sergei is gone. His eyes have turned that terrifying color of hard steel that promises to slice flesh from bone, and his soft, sensual lips have thinned to a hard line. He doesn’t say a word to me. He doesn’t have to.

“I am going to fuck you up for this,” Slavik snarls at me, stepping out of my way. Sergei doesn’t move.

“It’s a date, then,” I say to Slavik with sweet sarcasm, and I dodge around Sergei and hurry to the foyer. Slavik and Sergei are right on my heels.

In the foyer, Anastasia is huddled with four men in suits. How did she get hold of them in the first place? How could she pay them?

Jasha is hovering next to them, a look of helpless rage on his face. The front door is open, and outside on the front steps, I can see the news cameras and the clustered horde of reporters.

I pray that Anastasia’s plan involves more than lawyers. Lawyers won’t be enough to keep her kids safe from their father.

I turn on Sergei. “This is your fault,” I say, in a low, angry voice. “You dragged this out way too long. You should have taken care of Vilyat months ago, and now there’s a real chance he’s going to be able to take the kids and flee the country.”

“Like I give a fuck what happens to them,” he spits at me.

That shouldn’t hurt me, but it does. I can’t let Sergei be pure evil. My heart won’t accept that. “You do. I know you do.” I’m pleading with him now, my earlier defiance leaking away. “You said it yourself. You don’t hurt children. You’re telling me it’s okay if someone else does?”

Before he can spit out some answer that will stab me to the core, Vilyat pushes his way forward through the crowd with two big, bulky bodyguards. “Let me see my children!” he shouts at the top of his lungs, playing up to the news cameras. “I am their father! You can’t keep them from me!”

One of Anastasia’s lawyers steps forward and holds up a computer tablet. He thrusts it at Vilyat’s face, and the result is astounding. Vilyat’s face flames red, and he staggers back a step. Anastasia doesn’t look the least bit afraid. How can she not be afraid? I want to pee my pants.

Suddenly, Vilyat goes insane with rage. He punches the lawyer in the nose, sending him staggering, and blood sprays everywhere – right there in front of the news cameras. The lawyer cries out, clutching his face.

Vilyat lunges for Anastasia, and his hands close on her throat. “Bitch! Cunt! I’ll kill you, I’ll fucking kill you!” he shrieks.

Live on camera.

Jasha rushes forward and punches Vilyat so hard that Vilyat goes flying backwards into the arms of his bodyguards. Anastasia drops to her knees, clutching her throat, gasping and wheezing. I can tell that she’s putting on a performance, but it’s an excellent one. The cameras are eating it up.

Jasha goes to help her stand up, and she tries, but falls to her knees again.

Damn, she’s a good actress.

He’s kneeling next to her, patting her back.

There must be twenty news cameras on Vilyat as his men hold him back.

Anastasia staggers to her feet, clutching Jasha for support, and turns to face the camera. “That’s what I’ve lived with for the last fourteen years!” she cries out. “This man, he pretends to be a philanthropist, but it’s all lies. He just showed you his true face! He beats me and he beats my children. He has broken my bones. He has left scars on me that will never fade. That is why I am filing for divorce today.”

Flashbulbs pop, reporters shout questions and jostle for position, eager to get the best shot or video clip of the wonderful story spooling out in front of them.

Vilyat’s fighting with his bodyguards, kicking and screaming, swearing in Russian and English. One of the lawyers slaps a piece of paper against his chest. “You’ve been served,” he says, loudly and dramatically, playing to the cameras. The paper falls to the ground, but it doesn’t matter. Legally, he’s been served.

And my heart sinks. This is her grand plan?

“Oh, no,” I whisper to Sergei. “It’s not enough.” He can bury her under a mountain of lawyers, he can bring up her abuse of prescription drugs… If Vilyat goes to court for a custody battle, he may very well win. Or he’ll be forced to take some bullshit “anger management” course and then he’ll be given unsupervised visitation with the kids, and they’ll all disappear.

And if Vilyat is careful enough, he may even be able to avoid Sergei’s hit men while he’s doing it. It will be much harder for Sergei to take him out with all this publicity.

“Yes,” Sergei says nastily. “I could have told you that. This will never work. She’s screwed herself up the ass without lube.”

Anastasia looks at Vilyat, who’s panting for breath now, eyes wild, hair disheveled.

“You will apologize,” she says loudly. “Not just for now, but for abusing me and my children over the years.”

One of the lawyers is holding the tablet up to his chest, and he taps it significantly.

Vilyat sucks in a deep, shuddering breath, and he looks like a giant, evil baby who’s been disciplined and wants to tantrum but doesn’t want to be spanked.

There is something on that tablet. Something good. Or rather, something terrible – something that Anastasia is counting on to protect her from Vilyat. Now I’m starting to feel hopeful again. Maybe Anastasia really can pull this off.

Vilyat looks at the cameras. The reporters are rapt, enthralled.

“I am sorry for anything I may have done to upset my wife, who I love very much,” he grits out. “Of course, I am under an enormous amount of strain today, having just buried my dear brother.” Fucking little weasel, trying to lie and diminish what he’s done to her.

She’s not having any of it.

“What upset me was you kicking me in the ribs and breaking my bones!” she yells at him. “Do you remember doing that?”

Vilyat looks as if he’s about to have a stroke. “Yes. I remember.”

“Do you admit to abusing me and your children? Hitting us with your fists? Kicking us? Threatening us?”

The lawyer taps the tablet again.

Sweat pours down Vilyat’s face. He shuts his eyes, shaking, his fists clenched. It’s remarkable. It’s wonderful. We’re watching the devil tear himself apart inside. “Yes. I admit it. I am sorry that I lost my temper.”

The reporters are shouting at him. “Vilyat, why did you beat your wife and kids?”

“Vilyat, did you really hurt your children?”

He’s shaking, struggling to control himself.

Anastasia’s eyes glow with a crazy, malicious light. “I believe that what you want to say is that you are sorry you have been abusing me and the children all these years.”

He grimaces as if he’s just swallowed poison. He sucks in a breath. “Yes. I am sorry about that.” His dark eyes glitter with hate as he bites out the foul-tasting words. “Of course, I will strive to do better, and I will do anything to make my family whole again.”

Anastasia looks at the cameras. “That will not happen. This man broke my bones and slapped my son so hard he ruptured his eardrum.” Ugh. I never knew that. “I am filing for full custody of the children, and I expect to terminate his parental rights.”

The reporters push forward, and they’re shouting questions at her, but Jasha helps her stumble back inside the house, with her lawyers crowding around her. The door slams shut, so they follow Vilyat instead. I peer out through a window and see them surrounding him, and he’s furiously shoving at them and throwing punches.