32. Fyodor
CHAPTER 32
FYODOR
TWO HOURS LATER
Katya sits in my lap as I work at the desk in my office. Her soft hands run over my shoulders and play with my chest. She knows the one thing that defuses me when I am tense like this is her touch. I’m not a man of many words, and a lot of times, hearing them doesn’t help me either, but her small frame in my lap touching me works every time.
I’ve made a lot of calls, and I can’t expressly figure out what triggered my sons to act this way. Though every account of their recent behavior has been that they’re acting strangely erratic. They’re not doing well. I feel like a complete failure as a father for not forcing help on them in the last month since we fought in the office. I remind myself repeatedly that they’re adults, and my ability to force them into anything has long ended.
Just when I think I can’t get any angrier or more worried for these senseless fucking boys that should be men, I get a call from Nikolai Bouchard, Gianna’s husband and the very man I was hoping to avoid meeting with. I’m not afraid of a boy my son’s age, but I’m a realist, and numbers don’t lie. The Bouchards control this territory. They have the numbers, and if we want a piece of the pie, we need to play their game.
“Nikolai,” I greet in an amicable tone rather than demanding to know what the fuck he wants from me when I already have so many of my own issues.
“If you ever want to see your miserable fucking sons alive, you better get down here right now. I swear to God, Fyodor. I’m an inch from putting a bullet in each of them and calling it a fucking day.”
Rage and fear war for primary emotion.
“You will not touch my sons,” I say simply. He may have the power and hold the things I want, but that’s only if I have a life worth living. Without those boys, I am nothing.
“Your sons will be dead if you’re not here in three hours.”
Three hours? “Where is here?” I grit.
The line goes dead and a text immediately pops across my screen with an address.
“I need to get them,” I tell Katya, still seated on my lap.
Her harshly bent brow tells me she heard everything Nikolai said, so she understands the gravity of the situation, but I can’t leave her alone. I haven’t since she tried to kill herself, and while I think she’s happier now and she’s on a consistent dose of antidepressants, I’m not willing to risk that. I can’t bring her into an unsafe situation either, and I’m positively torn about what to do.
“I won’t hurt myself,” she promises. “Do what you have to do.”
But at the same time, I know the apartment is compromised, and I can’t trust her alone, either because my sons have clearly made moves against her and there may be more waiting.
“I know, Kotyonok, but with the boys breaking in, I can’t risk leaving you here alone.”
“Then what are we going to do?”
Myself, Katya, and Anatoly are enjoying one of the world’s most strained car rides as we drive to save my sons. I’m so angry with them I could spit, but I love them too damn much to see them die. I know they’ve gotten into a lot of trouble lately, and they’re clearly not in their right minds, but if Nikolai hurts them, he’ll be dead before he can regret his choices. I’ll scorch the fucking earth if I have to.
We follow the GPS as it brings us deeper and deeper into the mountains. I haven’t been this far east since I went to meet Gianna and found a smoldering pile instead of a house. The one other time I came this way was more south, when I met her at the monastery and we made the good deal my sons seem so determined to ruin.
I didn’t even realize the landscape spanned this far, that it continued to spiral up and up. It’s unbelievably beautiful, but I can’t enjoy it with the fear for my sons overwhelming everything else. The only thing giving me any pleasure is Katya’s wandering eyes as they stick to the rock faces.
I guess Niko isn’t the world’s biggest asshole, seeing as we arrive in two and a half hours. He gave me plenty of time as long as I didn’t dawdle. My knuckles whiten as I think of what I’ll do if he hasn’t honored that time limit.
We pull up a winding drive with a strange pinkish stone lining the way. It’s more than a mile long and steadily climbing up until we’re pitched on the very top of a mountain. At the peak sits an immense mansion shaped like a stone castle along with at least a dozen cars.
Standing in the middle of all of them, largely pregnant and wearing a killer red dress, is none other than Gianna, and she’s aiming a murderous look my way.
“Who is that?” Katya asks.
“Someone I’d like you to meet, provided her fucking husband hasn’t killed my sons.”
The car stops, and I push the door open, telling Anatoly to watch Katya and drive out of here with her if need be. The windows are tinted, so they’re not visible to any lookers, but Gianna sees Katya through the door before I close it.
“I told you we needed to avoid this, Fyodor,” she fumes as I get out of the car.
“Your husband threatened to kill my sons if I didn’t come. I think we’re past all that, Gianna.”
I would never hurt a pregnant woman, especially just for being a bigmouth, but part of me considers taking her hostage just to get my kids back.
“I can practically see what you’re thinking, Fyodor, but you just wait. You just wait and see what they did this time.”
She walks away, leaving her back open to me, which seems incredibly stupid, but a quick look around tells me there are so many guns trained on me she’s actually perfectly safe no matter what I planned.
She leads me first into a garage where there seems to be some kind of conflict resolution team with walkie-talkies set up at a table with coolers and snacks like they’ve all been here for days. We pause in front of what must be the control center.
“Tell them we’re coming up.”
“Who’s we?” a superior voice with a slight French accent asks from the other end.
“Gianna and Fyodor Domalachego,” the man answers him, seeming to resent his very existence for having to.
Gianna mouths a “thank you” at him, and she takes me back outside to lead me up the stairs and into the mansion. A long wooden foyer first opens into a grand vaulted sitting room. We don’t go far before I see my sons, both bound beneath an old painting of identical twin women dripping in jewels and old money. They’re a little creepy if I’m going to be totally honest.
They’re both seated, and despite being tied up, my sons seem generally fine. Irakily has one black eye, but I won’t be so angry about that, depending on what they did. A guard stands over top of them, and while Irakily gives him a murderous stare, Daniil seems to wish he was anywhere else in the world. His eyes widen with hope and dare I say love when he notices I’ve come in.
Nikolai stands by a roaring fire, arguing with a man sitting on top of a strangely shaped throne. A beautiful, dark-haired woman sits beside him, appearing to argue with him too. Nikolai leaves that conversation and crosses the room. I’m still not sure what the source of his murderous glare is, but I assume I’m about to find out.
“Do you know who that is?” he asks me, pointing at the man on the… nuke-shaped throne?
“I don’t,” I admit.
“That fucking maniac is my brother Pax. Ever heard of him?”
“I have.” And I’m not sure who hasn’t. He shot their father in the head last year and buried him in an open casket. That makes a loud statement in any world, but especially ours, where family is often the one line people won’t cross. That’s one of the kinder things he’s done. If the rumors are to be believed, the dark-haired beauty next to him used to be a nun before he got his hands on her.
“Have you heard that he’s actually fucking insane, like hears voices and shit?”
“I… did not know that. Can I ask what your insane brother has to do with my sons tied up on the fucking floor?” This isn’t going any of the ways I thought it might have, and my patience is wearing thin.
“Do you see what he’s sitting on?”
I don’t, so I take a couple of steps forward, and the sort of ambiguous shape becomes clear. He’s sitting on top of three small nuclear warheads, still safe inside their casings. There isn’t much of a risk of them accidentally going off, but I immediately understand how serious it is for a man who kills for fun to be in possession of them.
“Niko, why are you still bothering me?” asks the same voice that came through the walkie-talkies.
“Pax, get off the fucking nukes so I can get them the hell out of the house.” Niko’s face turns bright red as he speaks, and I almost pity him.
“My name is God King Pax, and I have no idea why you think I would do that.”
I look over at my sons, and I really do pity him. This is one fucked-up mess, and for what? Coke money?
“Don’t you really think it’s time you end this, Pax?” the pretty brunette asks him.
“Why would I end them constantly kissing my ass and giving me everything I want? That doesn’t even make sense.”
“Pax, please.” She sounds tired too, and dare I say bored, despite where she sits.
“Oh, come on, Snapdragon. It’s not like I’m going to kill them all because if I did, who would be left to kiss my ass? I just want them in constant fear of what I may do.” His hands fly up into the air in frustration, like his desires are the most reasonable thing he’s ever heard.
“That’s terrorism,” she tells him. “You’re a terrorist.”
He sighs for a long moment as he thinks, but there’s no sign in his expression he’s taking any of this even mildly serious.
“I guess that’s an upgrade from serial killer, right?” he concludes with a satisfied smile.
She huffs in irritation before turning to me.
“Are you responsible for these idiots who gave my husband nuclear arms?”
God, I wish I could say I wasn’t, but I am. They are the men they are, mostly, because I failed them one too many times as a father.
“I am.” She stares at me so sternly that for a moment, I truly see her as a nun, habit and all, and I’m sure that’s exactly where Pax stole her from. The schoolboy inside me begs me not to fuck with her.
“Please take them and tell me how one disarms a bomb.”
I nod at her, an apology poised on my tongue, but I hold it back to avoid weakening my position with my sons at risk.
“Magda, what the fuck? I wasn’t done!” the psycho beside her complains.
“Terrorist is not an upgrade from serial killer.”