Before they locked her in her room again, Vanna heard on the radio that the body of a young blond pregnant girl had been found on Route 173. She’d been stabbed multiple times. Vanna’s stomach pitched, and she ran to the bathroom to vomit. When she returned, the announcer reported that police were still investigating another murder a few days earlier in Evanston. That time it was an Eastern European man, gunned down from an SUV in a drive-by. One look at the new guard, defiant yet proud, was all it took. Sergei was dead.
No one cared whether she lived or died. Not Vlad. Not Zoya. Not her mother. Not the half sister she didn’t know but hoped would somehow rescue her. All she had was the memory of a loving father, and he was dead. She was alone. Nobody’s child. Her life wasn’t worth a sheet of used toilet paper. The first time she’d heard the expression, she thought it was just the cynicism of an acne-scarred kid she went to high school with. She knew better now.