Kotik

The first time I met Vitali Konstantinov, he broke a man's hand for groping me on the bus.

That should have been my warning.

My name is Katya Petrova. Once, I was a girl who imagined a better future while living in 1990s post-Soviet Russia ruled by political corruption and organized crime.

Then I met Vitali.

He brought the roses, the gifts, and the expensive dinners in a world where those things didn’t exist. He was the perfect gentleman. I could not have guessed what awaited me.

Once you know why no one tells Vitali Konstantinov 'no,' you understand that there was never a choice at all. Not for me. Not for my family.

I went from an office desk to my fingers wrapped around a Makarov pressed against a man’s throat. From cabbage pirogi to caviar and fur coats.

To wearing his collar made of pure gold.

My name is Katya Petrova.

Vitali was my decision. My best decision. My last decision.