Alina

 

The "yes" escapes my lips, and when it does, it feels like it's coming from a voice other than my own. I feel completely defeated at this point, the last hour of trying to put on a brave face having sapped every last bit of strength from me.

 

"What …" I ask, "would happen if I didn't agree?"

 

Iwan's face turns grave. "Well, thankfully, that is a scenario that Michal and I have never had to see play out. If we ever have to bring on a young girl like yourself to help with the …back end work, they invariably make the right decision."

 

Though Iwan is being as cordial as he can be in a situation like this, I feel nothing but menace from him. He seems to me like a wolf that's forcing himself to be just civilized enough to convince a lamb to come over to his house for dinner. But what else can I say?

 

"I'm glad—very glad—to see that you're making the right decision," says Iwan. "Michal, please make young Alina a little something to drink."

 

"No, no," I say, the thought of alcohol making my stomach turn. "I don't need anything."

 

"I insist," says Iwan. "A little vodka will settle your stomach. You've had a rough evening."

 

I see Iwan nod to Michal, and I realize that I'm not getting out of this drink. A moment passes and soon there's a cool glass of vodka, tonic water, and ice in my hands, a perfectly-sliced wedge of lime floating amidst the bubbles.

 

"Prost," says Iwan, raising his glass.

 

"Prost," I reply.

 

In spite of myself, I take a long, slow sip from my drink. Sure enough, the bubbles from the tonic settle my stomach and the vodka works its relaxing magic on my body. I begin to feel a little less tense and worried about my situation.

 

"There is another part of our little deal," says Iwan. "You're going to be moving out of that drab little apartment of yours and staying with Michal."

 

"Why?" I ask, feeling emboldened by the alcohol.

 

"To keep an eye on you, of course," says Iwan. "You won't be under twenty-four-hour surveillance, of course, but keeping you close by will help to ensure that you're fulfilling your end of the bargain."

 

I grow tense at this idea; being watched over doesn't sound particularly pleasant.

 

"It's a very big house," says Michal, speaking up for the first time in a long while. "You'll have your own room, but it'll be more like your own wing."

 

"Yes, Michal has a lovely home," says Iwan. "You'll need to check in when you come and go, but other than that, you'll be free to do whatever you like. Within reason, of course."

 

"Think about it," Michal says, turning his body in his seat and looking at me with his grass-green eyes. "Six months from now, you'll have tens of thousands of dollars saved up, a sponsored visa, and a reference from my father and I that will get you a foot in the door at just about any company you'd like in this city, or even New York. And if you want to go to school, we have plenty of strings we can pull to get you into any college in the state."

 

"If you look at this from a certain angle," says Iwan. “Sumbling into our little meeting could be the best mistake you've ever made in your life."

 

"The American dream you've always wanted, and all you have to do is take a little road trip to the city once a week," says Michal.

 

I look down at my glass and see that it's mostly empty, the lime wedge leaning against one of the partially-melted ice cubes. I'm not sure if it's the booze doing its work, or if they're actually making a good case, but I feel much more amenable to the arrangement that I had been when Iwan started outlining it.

 

But fear creeps into my stomach at the idea of being forced to perform illegal activities. If I were to get caught doing any of this, I'd be deported back to Poland without a zloty to my name. And that's if I weren't simply locked up here. I'd heard enough stories about American prisons to know that they're about as close to hell as you can get in the civilized world.

 

"Okay," I say, accepting my situation, giving in, and letting the circumstances take me over. "I'm ready."

 

"Good," says Iwan, his voice a low, basso purr, a smile forming on his lips and the wrinkles of his face crinkling on his cheeks. "Then there's no reason to waste any time."