35. Carmie
Chapter 35
Carmie
I shout as my saber slices through the air. I lunge aggressively, the tip of my weapon ripping toward my opponent. He grunts in surprise as I bypass his guard and land a hit on his shoulder a second before his strike slams into my arm.
“Point, Carmela,” Aline says.
I scream with victory as I go back to my position. Jacque seems annoyed as he resets too, bouncing on his toes.
The whole class is watching. Aline’s refereeing the bout, her sharp eyes keeping track of each touch. Over the last few days, I’ve been slowly fighting my way up the ranks until I’m finally fencing with the best saber specialist around.
Jacque’s older than me. He’s in his late twenties and fenced for the University of Pennsylvania for a couple of years before getting injured and quitting the sport. He’s been getting back into shape and rebuilding his old skills, just like me, except he’s got a lot more experience than I ever did.
And I’m beating him.
“Allez,” Aline says. “En garde.”
Jacque strikes. I knew he would. Saber’s all about reading your opponent, taking initiative, and hitting hard. But every once in a while, I hang back a step and let them come to me.
I parry his blade, turning it aside, and take a step in. Once I’ve retaken initiative, I’m able to score a quick touch on his side.
He seems surprised by the move as he tears off his mask and throws up his hands. “There’s no fucking way she parried that,” he says.
Aline’s only shaking her head. “Retake your position, fencer,” she says, tone sharper than our blades.
Jacque curses, shoves his mask back down, and rolls his shoulders.
He’s pissed. Which is good and bad. Now he’ll be reckless, but he also won’t hold back.
And honestly, he’s really good. Maybe better than I ever was. Except he’s older and his old injuries still bother him, which means I can match him for speed and hold on with my better endurance.
He scores a hit in our next two clashes. Class is nearly over and Aline says the next touch wins.
“Allez,” she says, “en garde,” and I charge.
But Jacque does too. We clash and each score touches at the exact same time. Because Aline couldn’t tell who had initiative, we have to play the touch over again.
And again. And again. I refuse to back down and Jacque does too. We’re both sweating and tired as we clash over and over, until finally, when I feel like my stamina’s about to give out, he hesitates.
I leap forward faster than he does. Maybe he’s trying my trick from earlier, or maybe he’s just tired, but either way he fucks up his parry and I score the winning touch right on his chest.
“Bout, Carmela,” Aline says.
I’m beaming as the class congratulates me. My throat’s sore from screaming with victory, and even though I can tell Jacque’s not happy about how that went, at least he shakes my hand and takes his loss with some poise. “Well fought,” he says.
Aline stands with me as I remove my protective gear while the rest of the class filters out. “When you first started, I assumed I was getting another beginner.” She’s staring at me with some serious intensity. “But then I looked you up.”
“You did?”
“Two state championships. I asked around and apparently there were coaches that felt like you had a shot at making an Olympic team.”
My mouth goes dry, hearing that. “I had no idea.”
“They never tell you when you’re that young. Who knows what that sort of thing might do to an inexperienced fencer? But I watched an old video of your senior-year victory, and you were good. Extremely good. Olympics were not that far out of the question.”
I stare down at my hands. The old calluses are coming back. I had no idea there was talk about me going that far, and it hurts, hearing it now. All that wasted potential, all because I listened to my father and did everything I could to please him.
“Those days are behind me now,” I say, trying to make myself sound bright, but utterly failing.
Aline doesn’t show any softness though. “You’re right. You’re much too rusty to reach that level. Not at your age.”
I grimace and nod slightly as I pack my things. “I never thought that was even a possibility.”
“But the Olympics isn’t the only worthwhile goal in the fencing world.” I look up sharply.
“What do you mean?”
“You still have potential, Carmela. If you train with me, maybe you won’t reach the Olympics, but we’ll see how far you can go.”
“I thought I was training with you.”
“Take it seriously. Practice at home. I’ll give you extra workouts to do between classes. We’ll train for a half hour after everyone else is finished, free of charge. Are you interested?”
“Yes,” I say, feeling suddenly breathless. Nobody’s taken an interest in me like this before, at least not since my high school coaches. I’ll be hugely pregnant soon and I won’t be realistically able to keep training through my third trimester, plus giving birth and all that—but I want this. Aline doesn’t have to go out of her way to give me extra practice, especially not for free. “But let me pay you. I mean, if you’re going to coach me?—”
She shakes her head. “Let’s take this one step at a time. If I can mold you into the fencer I know you can be, then we’ll discuss payment. For now, training starts tomorrow. Understand?”
“Thank you.” I breathe deep through my nose, trying not to get emotional, and doing a really bad job of it. “Thank you so much.”
Aline grunts her acknowledgment and strides away. There’s nothing sentimental about that woman.
But I’ve got tears in my eyes as I leave the gym for the day. I blink them away outside, and I’m grinning huge when Lev picks me up in his BMW.
“You okay?” he asks, sounding concerned. “Your eyes are watery.”
“Aline wants to train me. I mean, she wants to do extra training and workouts because she thinks I have potential. She wants to coach me for real, Lev. She thinks I can win tournaments.”
He stares at me in surprise. Then his smile brightens the car, and suddenly my tears turn to laughter. He hugs me tight and kisses me. “That’s incredible,” he says, pressing his forehead to mine. “Fuck, little fencer, I’m so proud of you. I knew you were special the moment I saw you stab a guy in the throat with your lipstick.”
“Honestly, that’s a low point for me.”
“Shouldn’t be. It was a beautiful thrust.” He kisses me softly. I stay like that, basking in him and floating with pride.
It’s not the biggest deal in the world. It’s not like I just won a gold medal or something. There won’t be a podium in my future, no national team honors, no dizzying heights of the sport.
But I’ll get good again. I’ll get sharp and I’ll compete, and I’ll do all that with a coach that believes in me and a husband that has my back.
Even though I know everything is bad for us right now, I can’t help but keep on grinning.
Right up until Lev pulls up outside of our house and a car’s already there waiting for us.
“Stay here,” Lev says, reaching for the glovebox. He flips it open and a gun tumbles out into his hand.
I stare at the weapon, pulse racing with fear. “What’s going on?”
But as Lev starts shoving the gun into his waistband, the door to the car opens and a single man steps out.
Valentin Zeitsev. Alone, unarmed, and looking annoyed. There are no guards, no soldiers, nothing threatening.
Only the most dangerous pakhan of the most powerful Bratva in the city.
“Stay here,” Lev says as he gets out of the car. He stands there, staring down Valentin.
I get out after him. Lev looks outraged and annoyed as I greet Valentin. “Thank you for visiting us,” I tell the pakhan , acting like this is nothing more than a normal social visit.
Even though I know about Lev and the silence order.
Valentin gives me an appraising look. His smile is tight and knowing. “Lev got lucky when he married you, didn’t he?”
“Lev is the most blessed man in the city, thanks to me. Would you like to come inside and have some tea?”
“Tea would be nice,” Valentin says and looks back at my husband. “Coming, Lev? We need to have a conversation.”
Lev hesitates. His jaw works. I can tell he doesn’t like this one bit, but there’s nothing else he can do. I nod at him and gesture with my head, and he finally grunts in reply.
“Let’s talk,” he says and heads into the house.