(IVANNA)
The estate looks nothing like I had imagined.
Karlen is charming and funny as he escorts me around the property and introduces me to the workers. I get to see the famous black pigs that are rare and expensive back at my home. There are cows, sheep and goats who were milked to make cheese. The hillside is dotted by lemon, chestnut and fig trees. However, the olive trees are the dominant ones here.
When Karlen lets me taste some of the Sakharov olive oil, the numbers of the olive trees suddenly make sense. The oil is better than the one back in Krasnoyarsk. Even the kind that my father imported from outside.
I have already asked the employees a lot of questions and I'm still going on. The workers seem proud of their connections to the Sakharov family, most of them continuing in the footsteps of their fathers who worked here. Part of me is dying to ask them whether they know that their employer is a kidnapper who spies on women and drugs them, but I suspect that Karlen won't translate that for me.
Our last stop is the vineyard, where vines stretch as far as the eye can see. The estate grows several types which they blend to make wine. They also make a special kind of wine called grappa that is flavored with licorice. I soon discover that it is my favorite thing on earth.
"Easy there, miss." The vintner warns me as I take another swallow. The Sakharov grappa is to be sipped.
"The Krasnoyarsks are quickly becoming like the Americans." Karlen teases as he mimics somebody gulping down a drink. "More, more."
"Don't drag us." I shove his shoulder. "We are nicer than you people."
The vintner laughs and shakes his head. "You won't like how it tastes when it comes back up, Miss."
I wave the comment away. "I never throw up after I drink. We Sidorovas are just built differently."
They exchange knowing glances, somewhat amused looks. "No doubt." Karlen holds up the bottle. "Would you like another?"
"Please." I say dramatically, what earns me a laugh from Karlen.
"You need to learn more Russian."
"I know." I say. "Will you teach me?"
"Sure. We have time."
Of course there is time, but I can't say much for myself. Karlen has already resigned to the idea of us getting married. Who knows what he might do if I breached that I have plans to escape? He is becoming a friend, more like an ally. But I need to be careful, or else I might forget that he is a Sakharov.
The vintner leaves us, and I decide that I might as well learn about this man who seems to fear his father but saved me from his wickedness nonetheless. "So, what is it you do in the Dvina Vory?"
Karlen chokes on his grappa and coughs loudly. "You're always this forward?"
"I'm sorry. It's just that I couldn't help but notice that you are different from your father. I'm just having a hard time seeing you as a mobster."
He sucks in his lip then studies the glass he is holding in his hand. "It is all that I've ever known. I was very young when my mother died. Since then, it's just been Lucia and Papa, and Dvina Vory. I was fourteen when I was introduced. I don't think that there is any other life for me."
"Sorry. That sounds kind of sad."
The edge of his mouth hitches, making him look like the younger version of Sergio. "It's only someone from the outside who would see it as such. Being the Sakharov heir is a great privilege."
"Of course, but only if you want it. If you want to tread the same path as your father."
"It's the only choice. Besides, it isn't a bad thing. I like the fact that people fear and respect us. My father's reputation speaks for itself."
"I can't imagine what it must be like for a boy in this world. Our father sheltered me and my sisters from that business."
"That's how it should be." He says. "What we do is men's business. Even though there are many women involved these days."
"There are?"
"Yes. In fact, I thought that my father would arrange for me to marry the daughter of Sean Murphy. Head of another mafia family, but then you came along."
Ireland. Wow. "And did you want to marry this woman?"
"No. It doesn't matter anyway. My duty is to marry and have more Sakharov heirs to carry on with the tradition."
"Not necessarily. I mean… your father could remarry."
The look on Karlen's face suggests that we should abort this topic. "He refused. I think he carries a lot of guilt about my mom's death."
Sergio Sakharov? Guilty? I don't see how both fit in the same sentence. It's just unbelievable. "Was she sick?"
"No, she was murdered."
I gasp and grab the edge of the wooden table, swaying from surprise and too much wine. "That's awful, Karlen. I'm so sorry."
"Thanks. I can barely remember her. But I have good memories."
"How did it happen?"
"She was running down the beach when a rival gang killed her and her guards. It had something to do with a deal that my father made with them."
"No wonder he feels guilty."
"Unfortunately, these murders are all too common in our world." Karlen sighs heavily. "The only way out of this mafia violence is death. You and I both know that."
I finish my grappa in one gulp as I digest the news. "Shouldn't you be convincing me to marry into your family though?"
He lowers his voice. "I told you earlier, Ivie. This is happening, whether we like it or not."
"I mean, I know my reasons for not wanting to marry you. But why don't you want to get married?"
"Does it matter? I don't think we should discuss that here."
I glance around, just to make sure that nobody is around. "There's nothing, except for the wine barrels. Unless they can overhear us."
"No we aren't. There is no privacy here or anywhere in the estate. You need to remember that at all times, Ivie."
"But I don't see any cameras." The cameras back at my home estate are the old school kind, the ones that whir as they move.
"They are complicated. You will never notice any cameras or listening devices unless my father wants you to."
My heart sinks when I remember that I was considering escaping. Makes me wonder if there is surveillance equipment in my bedroom. "At least you have the freedom to leave the estate."
"I wouldn't exactly call it freedom, but yes. I can leave the estate." He pours us more grappa. "I'll take you wherever it is that you wish to visit in Tyva, yes?"
"Sure. How about the airport?"
He chuckles wryly then toasts to me with his glass. "You do have a sense of humor, Ivie. I didn't expect that. But it also didn't escape me that you have spunk. I cannot decide whether that is a good or a bad thing."
"I'm hoping it is a good thing because I don't know how to react any differently."
"I think that's the reason my father reacts to you so strongly."
"Your father hates me."
"No, he doesn't. It's just that you made him angry. Angrier than I've seen him in a long time. He was so worked up."
"That must be my special charm at work."
"It is weird. My father is usually very polite with women."
"And you expect me to believe that?"
"It's true. I mean, he puts them at ease and charms them. Women love him."
I had my suspicions. Of course, they love him. He is a handsome and powerful Russian man, and no doubt a beast in the bedroom. I remember Marlene and her model like perfection despite being in her late twenties or early thirties. I wonder if all his women are that beautiful.
"What's that strange expression on your face?" Karlen asks, eyes trailing all over my face. "What are you thinking about?"
Yes, I am tipsy, but not drunk enough to confess that I'm actually thinking of his father. I go with a partial truth though. "You know, I've been thinking of escaping."
"That is great, we will make a Calabrian out of you yet."
They wouldn't. They dragged me here and are keeping me against my will. What I know is that I'd rather die than be a mafia wife. "I like you, Karlen." I shake my head with disappointment. "I really like you, though I don't want to."
"It'll be easier with time, Ivie. I'll try to be a good husband to you. Then one day, all of this will be ours."
"No offense, but I honestly hope that you are wrong about that." I finish my grappa and sway on one foot. "Whoa."
Karlen grins. "I think that it's time to go back."
"Now? Do we have to? I hate to be cooped up inside. It was so nice to spend time outside today."
"I'm sorry, it's almost dinner time. I'm sure father will be expecting us."
"Your father," I grunt a dismissive sound. "He already locked me in a basement cell. I wonder what he will do next if he disapproves. Will he string me up on the rack? Or will he tie me to a dunking bench?"
Karlen doesn't look amused even a little. His lips are pursed and he looks serious. "You don't want to ever find out. Come on, let's go. You need food to soak up all that grappa."
He takes my arm and begins to walk me out of the tasting room. We say goodbye to Vincent, the vintner then stroll along the dirt path back to the castle. "I have decided that I love grappa." I cling on Karlen's arm. "And the estate isn't so bad after all."
"I'm so happy to hear that." He humors me.
"But I will miss it when I go back to Krasnoyarsk."
"You have to stop with those thoughts, Ivie. Unfortunately for us both, you are here to stay."
My stomach turns over and I hurry behind some big tree and throw up.