Maryruth and Igor spent the afternoon walking hand-in-hand through Central Park. If it weren’t for Olaf’s looming birthday party that evening, Igor would’ve been reveling in the normal moment. He would’ve enjoyed sharing her vanilla bean ice-cream cone. Unfortunately, the idea of introducing Maryruth to his father cast the pleasant afternoon in shadow.
“It’s one night,” she said. “We can get through it, don’t you think?”
“I’m trying to prepare you—my father doesn’t do anything half measure. I’m not even sure what’s in store.”
“He’s having his birthday party in Atlantic City. I’m guessing gambling?”
Among other things, he didn’t say. It was a black-tie event, mandatory, but that didn’t mean things weren’t going to get crazy later on. Olaf would expect him to participate. He had no intention of being unfaithful to Maryruth, nor did he enjoy that type of entertainment anymore.
“Hey,” she said, tugging on his hand to get him to stop walking.
“Hmm?”
“Look at me. It’s going to be okay.”
He smiled, took her cone with his free hand, and licked. “I’m supposed to be telling you that.”
“So why aren’t you?”
“I don’t trust my father.”
“I know.”
“I wish…”
“What?”
“I wish that I didn’t have to get you involved in this part of my life.”
“You’d prefer to have secrets from one another?”
“No. I don’t know.” He handed her back the ice cream and then started walking again. They rounded a curve, the green of Sheep Meadow coming into view. The park was busy today. It seemed like everyone in the city was out and about, enjoying the beautiful weather.
“I can handle your father,” she said. “I got him a really nice birthday gift.”
“You got him a birthday gift? You didn’t have to do that.”
“Let me explain to you how birthdays work.”
He laughed. “What did you get him?”
“Cuff links and a bottle of vodka—a high-end bottle of vodka.”
“He’ll love that. Now can we stop talking about my father?”
“You brought it up,” she reminded him, bringing their connected hands to her lips.
He rolled his eyes. “How’s the sketch coming?”
“Good-ish. I’m not completely happy with it yet.”
“Patience. You’ll get there.” They continued walking, dodging strollers and joggers. A bicyclist yelled he was on their right—Maryruth lunged into Igor’s side in hopes of not being run over, and in the process ruined his shirt with the remainder of her ice-cream cone.
“If you didn’t like my shirt, all you had to do was say something,” he teased.
She laughed. “I’m sorry. And I do like your shirt.”
While they were in the middle of attempting to clean up Igor’s blue button down, laughing and kissing, Igor saw an animal off his leash shoot toward them, its teeth bared in an angry growl. Igor’s vision narrowed as adrenaline pumped through his veins.
He yelled at Maryruth, first in Russian and then in English. He adjusted his stance, ready for the charging dog. But at the last second, the animal turned and lunged for Maryruth.
Her terrified scream rang in his ears.
Igor dove in front of Maryruth, taking the impact of the sixty-pound dog. His healing ribs ached in protest.
Man and beast fell to the ground with Igor underneath. The dog snapped its teeth at Igor’s face and in self-defense, Igor shoved his forearm into the snarling jaw. He bellowed in pain. The dog growled around Igor’s arm and tried to shake it like a rag doll.
His nostrils filled with the scent of blood and feral dog sweat.
Locking his legs around the animal’s body, he managed to roll them both over, so that Igor pinned the dog beneath him. The beast squirmed and struggled, but even through the lancing pain, Igor shoved his arm farther into the dog’s mouth. He reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a ballpoint pen he carried on him at all times.
He looked into the animal’s eyes and felt no remorse as he stabbed the pen in its throat. The creature let out a pitiful whine as it choked to death on its own blood. Igor extracted his bloody arm from the dog’s gaping jaws and stumbled to his feet.
Looking around, his gaze didn’t settle on any of the people that gaped in silence. He only cared about one person. She stood off to the side, her face pale, her hand to her mouth. They staggered toward each other, and she threw herself into his side, not caring that he was covered in blood.
“What did you do?” a man screamed.
Igor turned, with his good arm around Maryruth, to watch the owner of the dog fall on his dead pet. He was vaguely aware of the sound of camera phones snapping pictures—no doubt someone had been recording the event.
“Your dog was about to attack my girlfriend,” Igor replied, his voice cold. “He was off his leash, running through the park, and would’ve hurt her. Look.” He held up his injured arm—he really needed to get to a hospital.
“Look what your animal did.”
The man’s eyes widened with shock and fear.
“I’ll have your name and contact information. Now,” Igor growled.
The man glanced at his fallen pet, the out-of-control beast that no one but Igor had had the balls to put down. Igor had no patience for the man’s quivering lip, for the grief he was feeling at the loss of his beloved animal—an animal that he’d been unable to control.
“Fall apart later,” Igor snapped. “For now, own up to your mistake. The animal should’ve been put down a long time ago. And you know it.”
After Igor got the information he needed, he let Maryruth lead him to the street where they caught a cab bound for Lennox Hill.
“I’ll be okay, pchelka.”
“You didn’t even hesitate—you just jumped in front of me. You protected me,” she whispered.
He felt her tremble in his arms and brushed his lips against her hair. “I’ll always protect you.”