JUST DESSERTS

A Russian woman on the run. A Ukrainian salon worker. And a slice of poisoned cheesecake. This is the wildest true crime tale you'll read all year.

- BY SARAH TRELEAVEN

WHEN A STARRY-EYED OLGA TSVYK immigrated to the United States from Ukraine in January 2014, she was 33 years old and ready for something different. She had a university degree, a job in Kyiv at a travel agency, and a tight-knit family she was reluctant to leave behind, but she wanted to try living in America. However, the reality of Tsvyk’s life in the U.S. didn’t exactly live up to her fantasy. She got a job as a babysitter in a bland town in upstate New York. The exurban milieu left her wanting, and she hated the cold, despite (or perhaps because of) growing up in Ukraine. Soon, a Russian-speaking friend she met on Facebook named Marina encouraged her to move to New York City. There was a lot more action, she said, a touch of glamour, and also a large community of Russian speakers, which was appealing to Tsvyk, who was struggling to master English.

Before long, Tsvyk had rented a room in Marina’s uncle’s house in Forest Hills, Queens. She got a job doing eyelash extensions, a skill she had picked up back home. According to prosecutors, in March 2016, a 40-something recent Russian immigrant named Viktoria Nasyrova walked into her salon. Nasyrova told Tsvyk that she was a masseuse and that she lived with her boyfriend in Brooklyn. She was open and friendly, and they talked easily and amiably when she came in for appointments every few weeks. They shared cultural references, enjoyed tastes of home, like beef rib dumplings and sour cherry jam, and had both endured the same journey to the U.S.—wrestling with legal issues and piles of paperwork. They also looked remarkably like each other: Both women had long brown hair, full lips, manicured eyebrows, and a polished appearance, like an Instagram filter come to life.

Nasyrova was curious about Tsvyk’s immigration status, telling her that her own green card would be arriving any day.