Why was I focused on this particular guy? We saw him far too often. He usually had his head in a book and rarely glanced over at us, but I always had this feeling that he was listening and watching us. I couldn’t say how I knew he was spying on Ryan and me, but I just knew. It was the same way you could feel someone staring at you, even if you had your back to them.
Our stalker flipped the page to his book, and I watched him through narrowed eyes. Ryan and I stayed at school later and later each day, yet somehow this guy always managed to get in our car within a few minutes of us.
Coincidence? Maybe, but I didn’t buy it.
The stranger glanced up and met my eyes. I knew I should look away, but I couldn’t drag my eyes off him. If this guy was sent by the Bratva to spy on me, I didn’t want to clue him into the fact that I knew. That might make them act faster on whatever it was that they had planned for me. And yet, I couldn’t force myself to lower my eyes and be a polite little ballerina – I hated not knowing.
I gave the man a tight smile. “What are you reading?”
He cocked his head at me as if he was considering whether he should answer or just ignore me. Finally, he flashed me a smile.
“Tolstoy,” he answered. “Are you familiar with his work?”
I listened carefully for any hint of a Russian accent, but I couldn’t hear anything that would give me a clue as to his origin.
“I think I may have read something of his for class,” I lied. “Are you reading for fun or school?”
The man had his dark blond hair styled in a crew cut and was dressed casually in jeans, so he could have been a student. But he looked to be around twenty-five, so he would probably be a graduate student if he was.
Ryan elbowed me in the ribs without saying a word. We both knew better than to even make eye contact with strangers on the subway. Starting a conversation with one was just asking for trouble.
“I’ve recently become fascinated by the Russian aristocracy in that time period,” the stranger told me with an amused glint in his eye. “Tolstoy seems like one of the more interesting ones.”
My body stiffened. My babushka was born in 1963, long after the Bolshevik revolution and the upheaval that followed. But she was raised with anger and contempt towards the former aristocrats that had oppressed the Russian people for so long.
Americans might have a romantic view of royals from Disney movies, but the Russian people had never forgiven or forgotten all the injustices perpetrated against them over centuries of cruel oppression. Babulya’s attitude had made her relationship with my grandfather even more complicated than I could ever understand. He was a descendant of the very aristocrats she had so much hatred for, but she still loved him with all her heart. My babushka was quite a firecracker, so I imagine he had to work hard to get her to agree to their very first date.
I simply shrugged at the stranger, realizing that my ploy to drag information out of him was pointless. Just as quickly as it had come, the fire burning inside of me dissipated, and I slumped back down in my seat. The man went back to pretending to read his book, and I went back to pretending that I didn’t know he was watching me.
The man didn’t move from his spot a couple of stops later when Ryan and I stood. He didn’t even look up when we exited the car and made out way up the stairs to street level.
“What the fuck?” Ryan asked tiredly, no real anger in his voice. “That guy was good looking, but wayyyy too old for you.”
I rolled my eyes. “That was the guy, you idiot.”
Ryan just sighed. “Not this again. I know you’re having a rough time, but Katya, I can’t deal with your crazy shit right now.”
I fumed but didn’t say anything. Ryan thought I was ridiculous when I told him that my great-uncle was obviously in the Bratva, and I suspected he had someone watching me. Ryan had reasonable explanations for everything weird that I pointed out, and even suggested my hallucinations might be from me refusing to step back into reality after my babushka’s death. That hurt like a stab through the heart.
Ryan and I walked two blocks to his parent’s building, and I gave the new doorman a nod. The building never had a doorman before, but I was grateful for the recent addition. Ben always greeted us by name, and it made me feel a little bit better to know that there was at least one person in the world who would notice if we didn’t come home one day. I wasn’t naïve enough to think that a doorman was going to save me from the Bratva, but I still took comfort in his steady presence at our door.
Ryan and I took the elevator instead of the stairs since our legs were already sore and tired. Six flights on aching legs were a lot of stairs.
Ryan unlocked the door, and I flicked on the lights to the empty apartment. The Logans were rarely home except to sleep - they always worked late or had business dinners with clients. They also liked to spend weekends outside of the city, either traveling or staying with friends. Ryan and I essentially lived alone now, which was the exact opposite of what I was used to with Babulya. Ryan spent a lot of time with Babulya and me while growing up, but now it was
