14. Vitaly
14
VITALY
I don’t see Mila for the rest of the afternoon.
I hardly see anyone . When I get back to the mansion, I change into shorts and head for the gym, not coming out until my muscles are exhausted and sweat soaks my hair. After a shower, I spend the rest of the afternoon in my old room, pacing, thinking, remembering .
I was so certain that coming back here was the right thing to do, and I still am, but being here is harder than I expected. Everywhere I look, there’s a memory. Everything I touch is a reminder of all that’s changed. Every set of eyes that linger on me do so in admonishment, and though I’ve laid in guilt every night for nine years, here I feel saturated by it. There’s no reprieve, no wise, old man to tame the demons inside of me.
Pulling my shirt off, I walk to the bathroom mirror and splay my palm over the tattoo I got days after leaving prison. It stretches across my chest, covering up the bit of skin I had that wasn’t scarred. It’s the only drop of ink I have that wasn’t meant to cover something up, to mask something.
Abram made me promise I wouldn’t forget him or the messages he tried so hard to instill in me. He was a devout Catholic who spent every drop of candle wax he got illuminating the worn bible he kept inside his pillowcase, and for some reason, when I showed up in his barrack as an eighteen-year-old kid, scared and broken, he took a liking to me. I think he saw me as a son, the way I came to know him as the fatherly figure I needed in that place. He saved me in more ways than one on more than one occasion.
So while most of what he said felt like nothing but stories, I tried to trust him the way I came to trust my father. And there was one story he repeated to me over and over again about an adulterous woman who was brought to Jesus to be stoned. Abram explained how Jesus had found her guilty, as she was, but that he chose to show mercy and understanding and to prove a point to her accusers who were unwilling to bring forth the adulterous man to be stoned as well.
As I listened to Abram read, and then explain, I nodded along, as if such a thing made sense. I knew what he wanted me to do, what he wanted me to use his words for. To forgive myself. He wanted the words to relieve me of the shame I carried into that prison and later of the shame that grew from my actions while I was there.
It never worked, of course. But still, I walked into a tattoo parlor two days after being set free with his words sketched onto a notepad. I knew even if I couldn’t believe them, I would need them, need him with me.
I run my hands over the words now, my eyelids drooping from a tiredness that runs all the way down to my bones.
Let he who is without sin cast the first stone.
A knock sounds on my bedroom door.
“Sorry to bother you, sir,” a woman says through the bedroom door, her voice drifting into the bathroom. “Mr. Petrov has requested you for dinner. The guests have arrived.”
My eyes close as I slowly inhale a breath. I forgot about the dinner with the other lieutenants.
After putting on a shirt and suit jacket, I make my way downstairs and into the dining hall, rolling my shoulders to loosen the tension. When I make out the table of guests, my steps falter a moment, seeing Olive for the second time today, now dressed in a black, long-sleeved dress with her eyes pointed at her plate. I quickly recover and lift my lips at Nikita and the seven lieutenants, three with women sitting next to them.
“Vitaly!” Nikita exclaims, spreading his arms as he stands. “Come, I saved you a seat.” He puts a hand on my back when I draw near and gestures to the chair beside him, putting Alik right across from me and Nikita at the head of the table.
“For those of you who haven’t met him, this is my dearest nephew, Vitaly. Some of you may have heard of his misfortune in Russia or his unfortunate past, but that only makes his reunion with us extra special.” He gives me a smile that I don’t return then motions to Alik.
“Vitaly, I’m sure you remember Alik.” He points at Roman next. “And I believe you and Roman have history?”
He pauses to stare, like he truly is asking the question. Like it’s a secret that I got Roman’s little brother killed. With Roman’s eyes pinned to me in a glare, I start to wonder if Nikita exclusively invited people who despise me.
Fyodor, Mila’s father, is here with her mother seated beside him. That’s three. Mikhail and I never got along—that’s four. There are two men I don’t recognize, but they don’t look friendly.
Then there’s Maksim Sokolov.
Him, I do remember, but he wasn’t a lieutenant back then. My father liked him and took him under his wing. I always thought he wished I was more like Maksim and that Maksim was the son my father never had. If I hadn’t gotten my father killed, Maksim could’ve gone far under his guidance.
Although it seems as if things have worked out for him anyway.
There’s a woman next to Maksim who I assume is his wife. She keeps her eyes fixated on her plate like Olive, but she doesn’t look scared. She looks angry.
Does she hate me too?
Does he? Staring at him now, I can’t tell. Nikita introduces me to each person, some unnecessarily, leaving Maksim until last. All he does is nod.
Finally, I’m able to sit, Nikita at my left, Mila’s mother at my right. I’m guessing that was intentional.
“Let’s eat,” Nikita cheerfully says, clapping his hands twice. Women immediately enter carrying plates and wine bottles, and the whole thing makes me feel like I’m in a temple or something, and Nikita is an emperor.
Mila is the one to fill my wine glass, and when I catch her bare breasts visible in the white mesh top, my lungs pause. Not out of lust but because her mother is right next to me. When my eyes scan the rest of Mila’s body, they widen. She’s in a white thong, practically naked, and when she pours her mother a glass of wine neither of them make eye contact or say a word.
I look around at the other women dressed the same, with expressionless faces, pouring wine into glasses or putting plates in front of people. But aside from the woman sitting beside me, no one seems to really notice them. Conversation resumes among the men while the women stare at their food and Mila’s mother takes in tiny, sharp breaths next to me. She’s the only one who seems to agree that this is wrong.
“I’m so happy you could join us this evening, Aly,” Nikita draws, leaning forward on the table while smiling at Mila’s mother. He must notice my confused expression because he explains. Actually, I think he’s more than happy to. I think he knows I’m bothered by this. “Aly and Fyodor don’t typically make it to our dinners. Only the top-ranking lieutenants attend, but I thought you would enjoy seeing them again.” He waves his hand between the pair.
“It’s an honor, Pakhan,” Fyodor gushes with what appears to be genuine enthusiasm. As if he truly wants to be here.
Aly clears her throat as she flinches, pulling my eyes to Fyodor’s hand on her thigh.
“Yes, Pakhan,” she says. “Thank you for the invitation.”
“My pleasure.” Nikita raises his glass, and the pair hurry to mimic him, making fools of themselves in the process. I watch the display with disgust-coated curiosity.
People are terrified of this man. No matter how badly I search my memories, I can’t recall him being terrifying or even especially cruel.
This is so strange.
Once the food and drinks have been served, all but two women, one of them Mila, exit the dining hall. The two women stand off to the side, ready to serve when called upon.
I can’t help but stare and wonder how Mila does it. How she can live like this. She’s a Pitbull being dressed up in frilly clothes and told to roll over for her master’s amusement.
I don’t understand her.
Why is she choosing this?
Why won’t she leave?
“Is something wrong with the food, Aly?” Nikita asks just to be unkind. Neither Nikita nor I have picked up our forks.
I look over at Aly to see her eyes glossed over like she’s gone somewhere else, but as her husband delivers another bite of pain, she winces and picks up her fork.
“No, Pakhan. My apologies.”
Nikita moves to pick up his as well, but thinks better of it and gazes over at Mila. When he crooks his finger at her, she walks over to us with her head high, like she’s compensating for the degrading attire.
“How’s my Киса?” he asks, running the back of his hand up and down her thigh.
“Fine, Pakhan.”
“Are you hungry?”
She hesitates to answer, her calm composure loosening as a silent plea enters her eyes. My brow furrows in confusion while I watch the exchange. For a solid few moments, I think he’s finally showing an ounce of humanity. That he’s inviting her to dinner. So her not jumping on the chance is odd.
Nikita’s brows raise, prompting Mila to answer, and finally, she nods.
“Yes, Pakhan.”
He smiles. “Good. Eat .”
I look around, seeing no empty chairs, but he isn’t offering her to pull up a chair. Mila kneels and crawls beneath the table.
I can’t help myself. I peek at her, a mere foot and a half away and see her undoing his belt.
Unbelievable.
“My whore told me you did well today,” Nikita says, relaxing into his chair and swirling the wine in his glass.
I slowly grip the edge of the table and look at the ceiling, ignoring the conversation around me, deep breaths coming in through my nostrils. Beside me, Aly eats tiny bites as slow as a person could.
My vein pulses in my forehead, and I barely hear Nikita.
“She also told me she upset you… I want to apologize for that. She’s my responsibility, and I thought I trained her better than that. But…” I see him shrug out of the corner of my eye.
“She did nothing wrong,” I say, not caring if I believe it or not.
My words boomerang back to me after hours of spitting them at her. I told her she was nothing, that her family was nothing. That I didn’t owe her for destroying her worth. That she’d had none to begin with. That she was a coward.
I felt justified at the time, but now...
“So what was prison like?” Olive asks me.
I look over at Olive with her elbow propped on the table, her wine glass in her hand, and can’t help but narrow my eyes in confusion at the sudden shift in her posture. She was scared a moment ago. Now she’s relaxed.
What was prison like?
“Don’t,” Alik growls, slowly turning his head toward his wife. “We talked about this.”
She smiles, and I swear to God, it reminds me of Nikita’s. Playfully evil.
“Was it as bad as they say? Did you ever spend time in solitary?”
I just blink at her.
Her voice sounds different. It’s a different pitch, a different… I don’t know.
How is this the same person I spoke to today?
When I glance at Nikita, he looks unsurprised but annoyed. Annoyed to have the attention taken off humiliating Mila.
He wants a reaction. He wants to get to me. And to her parents. And to everyone.
Olive’s words from earlier today stick in my mind.
He enjoys torturing people.
I clear my throat and pull my napkin onto my lap. “Everyone spends time in solitary at one point or another. My longest stretch was three months.”
“Oof.” She scrunches her nose. “What’d you do? Punch a guard? Bang the warden’s daughter?” She looks me up and down before giving me a wink.
“Please stop,” Alik mutters, his eyes closed.
My mouth opens, but nothing comes out. I’m too taken off guard.
Did she really just wink at me?
She leans toward me, forearms on the table with a mischievousness in her eyes that I can’t look away from. This woman… This woman is interesting .
“How did it feel, being with a woman for the first time after you got out? You must’ve fucked like an animal .”
“Okay.” Alik throws his napkin onto his plate and stands, holding out his hand for his wife. She doesn’t take it. Her eyes don’t move from me, and the interest flickering in them never dims. She doesn’t act like she notices that it’s time to leave.
“Thank you for dinner, Pakhan. I’m afraid Olive has had a little too much to drink.”
My eyes zero in on her full wine glass. It looks like she hasn’t touched it, and if I remember correctly, she told me she doesn’t drink.
He takes her arm, and I’m a little surprised when she lets him guide her from the chair.
“Pleasure meeting you, Vitaly,” she coos before yanking out of Alik’s hold to take long pulls of her wine, draining the glass before setting it back down.
I don’t respond, mainly because I don’t know how to. We met already… I think.
How am I questioning that?
It isn’t until they leave that I notice the room has gone silent.
“ Anyway… ” Nikita’s tone is saturated with annoyance. Not curiosity. Not shock . Annoyance. I look around at the others. Not a single person in this room looks like they think that was weird. “As I was saying, I’m impressed that you managed to get through all the pickups without any incident. Keep it up, and you’ll have more responsibility soon.”
“Great.”
“That’s what you want, isn’t it?” The mole above his lip shifts as he gives me a crooked grin.
I nod, trying not to think of Mila sucking his dick as we speak. “I just came home, Uncle. I don’t want anything but my freedom and a place in the Bratva.”
He hums, no smile this time. “Good. That’s good.”
He picks up his fork, still staring at me, but yet again doesn’t manage to do anything with it. He drops it, letting it rattle on his plate, then with the most unenthusiastic, unfeeling tone, he says, “Ouch.”
He pulls out his chair and launches Mila back with his foot, sending her head connecting with one of the legs of the table. My eyes bulge as I go to stand, but Aly’s hand on my leg stops me. She’s staring straight ahead, her lips in a thin line. She shakes her head, the movement almost imperceptive, as her fingers dig into my thigh in a message to remain seated.
“You nicked me with your teeth, you cunt ,” Nikita growls, putting himself away before removing his belt.
“I’m sorry, Pakhan,” Mila says, though everyone in this room, including Mila, knows that she didn’t nick him.
He takes her by her hair and drags her into view of the other guests, making a big display of it as he lifts the belt and brings it down hard on her exposed back.
My lungs stop altogether as I watch, my lips parted, my palms clammy.
I want to stop it.
I want so desperately to stop it, but I don’t. I feel as frozen now as I did as a child, seeing the bruises that sprouted on my mother’s body.
I said it was strange seeing people terrified of Nikita. That I couldn’t remember him being cruel, and I can’t. But right now, I recognize him. He never resembled my grandfather much, but I know those swings, that need for torment.
Staring at Nikita now, it’s like I’m seeing my grandfather again. Maybe even meaner. Deadlier.
To Mila.
Aly’s hand remains on my thigh as a constant reminder not to interfere, like she knows what will happen if I do. Maybe this is all a big test. Maybe this is how Nikita finds his reason to kill me, disobedience in front of his top lieutenants.
My being here isn’t even helping Mila, is it? It’s hurting her. He’s going to push her until I break.
Or until he thinks I don’t care.
On that thought, I look away. Nausea roils my stomach, but I pick up my fork anyway and spear a piece of duck.
Sitting up, I train my eyes on Maksim, the only person at the table I can consider talking to.
“So… What have I missed all these years?” I ask him with a chuckle, waving the duck filled fork at him. “You seem to have moved up in rank.”
I put the meat in my mouth and chew around the nausea, blocking out the sound of leather slicing flesh the best that I can.
Maksim just stares at me. The woman next to him narrows her eyes.
“Are you married?” I ask, gesturing to the woman.
He clears his throat, putting his hand on the woman’s back. “This is my wife, Elira.”
I smile at the dark-haired woman. “Pleasure.”
She says nothing in return, but her silence is followed by the ceasing of the belt. I don’t turn my head that way. Don’t dare risk starting it up again.
“Get the fuck out,” Nikita growls to Mila, and from the thump that sounds next, I’d say he kicked her.
Mila’s heavy breathing leaves with her, carrying only a fraction of the tension away. Finally, Aly’s hand leaves me, and awkward conversation resumes, seemingly forced for Nikita’s benefit.
I peer at Aly’s pained face and am flooded with pity that has my arm moving until it’s touching hers.
I don’t know why I feel possessed to do it or why I feel it would be comforting, but when her eyes dart to me, she searches my face for what I think is sincerity, and I don’t regret the gesture.
She mouths a word to me that I don’t catch, so I squint my eyes and wait for her to do it again.
Go .
Go after Mila.
It would look suspicious. It would give away the obvious, that I do in fact care for her. It probably isn’t a good idea.
But the pain on this woman’s face… Telling her no… That I can’t do.
I toss my napkin on the table and rise from my seat. “Excuse me.”
I don’t meet Nikita’s eyes or wait another moment before heading for the exit, running through in my mind where Mila may have gone. It’s a huge house. It could take a while to find her.
But it doesn’t.
I stride down the hall, and as soon as I turn the corner, I find her sitting against the wall. My momentum pushes me past her, but I stop and turn around.
Her eyes bug, obviously not expecting me.
I open my mouth but pause a couple of seconds while I search for words that don’t come. I settle on, “Hey…”
Her wide eyes narrow to slits as she stands, her face twitching with the pain she must feel but refuses to voice. When she storms away, I follow her.
“Are you okay?” I ask, taking her arm only for her to jerk from my grasp.
“Don’t fucking touch me,” she sneers, emotion drowning the empty threat as she whips toward me. “Leave me the hell alone.”
“Mila.” I grab the back of my neck, my heart speeding. “About what I said earlier… I’m sorry. I?—”
“Do you think I care about that right now ?” She laughs incredulously. “Do you honestly believe I care what you think at all? You are nothing to me, Vitaly. You’re nothing to anybody .” She runs her hand through her sweat-slicked hair before waving toward the dining room. “Don’t you get that that’s what Nikita was trying to show you back there? You think you have a right to me, but you don’t because you’re worthless . You have no power, no authority, no nothing. So please, do me a favor, and get the fuck out of my life .”
Her voice raises several octaves, and she shoves me with her last words.
“Then let me take you away from here.” I grab her arms when she goes to push me again. I back her up into the wall when she tries to fight and lower my face so it's close to hers, close enough we could kiss if her mouth wasn’t full of venom. “ Please , let’s just go. Now. We’ll get in a car and leave.”
She shakes her head, her eyes closing. “Stop.”
“ Why ? Why are you being so stubborn?”
I cup her face, my eyes dancing wildly over hers while I wait for her answer, and when she opens her eyes and sighs, I think I’ll finally hear the one I want.
“Okay.”
“Okay?” My brows shoot up.
She nods, her breath shaky as she sniffles. “But only on one condition.”
“Anything,” I deflate, relief overtaking me.
Her hand weaves around the back of my neck, and she lowers my head until I can’t help but notice her lips. They’re parted, the red she wears dull now. A strong urge washes over me to lean in to kiss them.
My eyelids droop as the hand on the back of my neck rubs, relaxing me into Mila. I close my eyes the rest of the way and go to kiss her, but her skull crashes with mine, radiating pain down across my eye and through my head.
I stumble backward, my hand going to my head, but Mila kicks my kneecap before I regain my bearings, and I fall to the tile.
She stands over me, looking so much stronger than she did a half hour ago. Her jaw is tense, her shoulders are squared, her lips are pursed.
“You’ll have to kill me first. The only way I’d go anywhere with you is in a body bag.”
When she storms away, I don’t follow. I just watch her go, my head throbbing from the hit.
I didn’t see that hit coming.
This morning, in the gym, she listened. She took my advice.
Maybe she isn’t so stubborn after all.
When footsteps sound down the hall, I sigh and stand, ready to meet Nikita as he turns the corner. But it isn’t Nikita.
It’s Maksim’s wife, Elira.
I raise a brow at her when she stops and stares at me.
“Well?” is all she asks.
I shuffle back a step and rub my forehead. Mila really got me. “Well what?”
“Are you taking Nikita down or not?”
More footsteps sound, but Elira doesn’t seem concerned by them. Her eyes don’t leave me.
“There are people who are taking huge risks for you, and all you’ve done so far is collect money like a bagman, so I need to know… Are you here to be Pakhan, or are you here to be Nikita’s bitch? Which one? Hurry, we don’t have much time.”
“ Elira ,” Maksim hisses as he comes around the corner. “Have you lost your fucking mind?”
“You said we need to know,” she argues without turning to him. “How are we ever going to know if no one asks him?”
Maksim looks down the hall as he nervously runs his hand through his short, blond hair. “Go, now ,” he growls at Elira.
She flicks a glare at him but then gives a tiny smile like she accomplished what she set out to. When it’s just Maksim and me, he looks down the hall again and sighs.
“She’s right,” he says, standing up straight. “I have plenty of people ready to back you, but we need to know you’re reliable enough to be worth it… What the hell is your plan?”
After tonight, I shouldn’t be surprised that not everyone is thrilled with Nikita’s leadership. He really is a psychopath.
But still, I couldn’t have predicted this.
They want me ? The kid who fucked everything up? They think I could do a better job?
Well, that’s just sad.
I shake my head. “I’m not here for leadership… I just came back home, that’s all. Whatever militia you have formed, break it up.”
“You’re not here for leadership,” Maksim parrots, sounding unconvinced. “You just came back home…” He gestures down the hall. “For this .”
I follow his hand and shift my weight.
Point taken.
“All right, look…” He shows his palms. “There’s a Catholic church on 71st with a park behind it. Meet me there by the bathrooms at one o’clock tonight.”
More footsteps. This time Nikita’s.
Maksim tucks his hands in his pockets as Nikita appears and nods a greeting that isn’t returned.
Nikita looks him up and down, his lip curling as he sneers. “Why am I not surprised?”
Maksim looks like he badly wants to roll his eyes, but instead, he starts to backstep. “Thank you for dinner, Pakhan.”
When he’s gone, Nikita puts a hand on my shoulder. “How is she? I wasn’t too hard on her, was I?”
There’s humor to his tone that makes my fists clench. So badly, I want to swing, stab, do all the things he’s waiting for me to do. I picture his face hitting tile, painting it with his blood.
And for the very first time, it occurs to me that I may have to kill my uncle. That I may want to.
What would my father think of that?
Instead of answering, I shrug his arm off and walk away, thinking of the meeting Maksim set. As soon as the words were out of his mouth, I wrote them off. If I ignore him, he’ll get the hint. I want nothing to do with their plans. I’m not interested in playing hero for the Bratva that was so quick to deem me a villain.
But it’s only a meeting. I’m only hearing what he has to say.
What’s the worst that could happen?