Chapter 17 - Aleksei
My thoughts race throughout the night, meaning almost no shuteye —until I hear a soft rap on the door well into the night. Bianca comes in, and though it could’ve only been her, I’m still surprised that she came to me. She went straight to her room after our discussion, so I assumed she didn’t want to spend more time together despite the time we shared together in the safehouse.
Lorenzo. The name resides in my mind more than I’d like to admit. I feel proud of Bianca’s contribution to our previous conversation, her handle on the family business already evident despite her short stay with us. I know the path towards a truce will be long, and despite knowing it is the only sustainable option, I lust for the man’s blood. For his suffering.
It's the ever present need for his suffering that keeps me on the fence, undecided whether I should pursue a path of peace or one of revenge. Peace is a beautiful ideal, but in our world, it means very little, usually a route reserved for smaller clans that cannot afford to enter armed conflict head on. The only reason this nigh impossible ideal lingers in my mind is because of Bianca.
Marrying her was strategically smart, but her well-being and perspective need to be taken into account, too, making the decision process a hundred times more difficult than it would be otherwise. Then, there is the bloodbath, another possible option. It still feels better—more valid—to pursue. There’s ample evidence that the old Rossi and his allies were directly responsible for Anya’s death, and it’s a blood debt that is still yet to be paid.
“Decided?” Dmitri’s question echoes in my mind as we sit in the limousine, heading to yet another meeting scheduled for us this morning.
A truce is tricky. It’s not only about debts that have yet to be paid—ones that cannot be repaid through diplomatic means or hostages, but only through the pain and suffering of the perpetrators. I think back to Anya, knowing she wouldn’t have wanted any of this. She was a pure soul, one that should’ve stayed untouched, but the world is too cruel. She’s not here now to lament the bloodshed in her name, and a blood debt is still yet to be paid.
My brothers are elements of their own, and I know our decision for a truce will have to be unanimous if there is any merit to that strategy. Surprisingly, Dmitri is on board with the peace-seeking route, a fact I still haven’t quite grasped. He was always ferocious in his pursuit of revenge, much like I was, and I find myself wondering if the little bird that came into our ranks is responsible in part for his change of heart.
Then there is Grigor, his focused and untrusting gaze betraying the lingering contempt he holds for Bianca. I don’t hold it against him, seeing as it was my gamble in marrying her that escalated the mistrust he holds towards her. She is meant to be no more than a pawn, a fact I repeat to myself often, hoping it’ll keep the complex reality of what she is to me stashed in my subconscious longer. It's a lengthy complication to unpack—one which I learned I cannot allow myself to dissect. Not now, when we’re closer than ever to a resolution.
The smoke hangs heavy in the air, Vadim deep into his speech on the expenditure and the willingness of his men to fight for us if the Rossis were to strike. He’s an older man, now in his sixties, one who has been allied with our family long before I took the lead.
“So, in that case, you will have all my men at your disposal.”
His speech rouses grunts of approval and appreciation, some of which I would share in too, had I not found him to be supplying Lorenzo with information under the table. It was weeks before we took Bianca—a plan he had no foreknowledge of. Since then, it’s been somewhat advantageous to keep him around, strategically feeding him false information to confuse the Rossi bastard. In a few days, a coup will be staged, one we’ve been preparing for tirelessly, buying out Vadim’s men, both footmen and those of higher standing in his crime syndicate. Now all that remains is to stay patient, bearing his tireless groaning on loyalty, family bonds and business plans until I grow tired.
“Enough, Vadim, sit,” I command. The grey man does so with no hesitation. How boring they can be, moaning on about authority and respect but pissing themselves after one command. I think back to Bianca, appreciating her bold defiance and stubborn nature.
None of these men reach to her in any of the values they preach.
The meeting concludes in an uneventful manner, after which I speedily make my way to one of our clubs to discuss the morning meeting with my brothers. I’m still awaiting Maksim’s arrival, antsy knowing he’ll be in bad shape when he arrives. It happens whenever he’s gone for too long, taking weeks of recuperation to become functional again.
The club is filled with staff doing their daily clean-up before we open for the evening. A small room is the designated space we have for these meetings—ones we hold in here only when circumstances necessitate it. Today it’s because Grigor was busy handling the money in this branch, so I opted to come to him instead. Dmitri is set to arrive in a while, keeping busy all on his own with Bianca and the rest of his responsibilities.
When I shut the door behind me, Grigor is already leaning against the desk, nervously brushing through his hair with his fingers.
“You’re making a mistake, brother.” He states it like a fact, deadpan in his delivery. “You know I’m never one to doubt you, but do you really think this will solve anything? There’s years of bad blood between us—there’s no way the old man will just agree to a truce. It’s too late for that now. We’re literally holding his daughter captive.”
I respond with a sigh. The different outcomes are something I’ve mulled over for the past few weeks—since we’ve taken Bianca in, in fact. The possibility—or rather likeliness—of things going awry is not lost on me, but if there is a chance of a peaceful resolution, we need it now more than ever. Revenge can wait for now. I have a family to take care of.
The drive to the Rossi estate is swift, not giving me enough time to second guess my own decision to meet Lorenzo. It feels too easy—anticlimactic almost, and for a second, I feel something I haven’t since early childhood. I can’t pinpoint the sensation, settling somewhere between apprehension and fear.
The estate is sprawling but surprisingly modest; simple and inoffensive in its design. The inside is mostly beige and cream, interspersed with dark marble. The man himself is somewhat of a surprise, too, standing shorter in stature than I imagined him to be. He looks frail, though, with an unmistakable air of respect around him, no doubt cultivated and finetuned during his years spent in our line of work. His brow is creased with his years, though the glint in his eyes betrays his vitality. He reaches out his hand in expectation.
“So, we meet after all this time,” he begins. I place my hand in his, squeezing firmly as I nod. “Perhaps we should’ve done so sometime ago, would’ve saved both sides plenty of grief.”
I tense at his words, not entirely sure if he’s referencing Anya or just making a remark. I tread carefully, steadying myself with a breath before replying. If he’s trying to force a reaction out of me, he’d be sorely disappointed.
“Perhaps you’re right. Though now seeing that our families are tied together, it’s more than time to seek some solution.”
He nods, too, eyes glazed over as he’s deep in thought. “Please, come sit.” He says, motioning to the seats beside his. “I have many questions.”
“I’ll be honest with you, Aleksei.” He sighs. “I had half a mind to kill you the moments I found out you took Bianca. Maybe time will come for that, but you need to tell me first if anything I’ve heard of your marriage… her stay with you. If it’s—” he narrows his eyes, as if attempting to find the right words.
“Have you harmed her?” The question is stated more like a sentence, his brown pupils set on mine, suddenly all too cold in comparison to his previous countenance.
“No, Rossi .” I spit out, a surge of irritation welling up within me. Even the suggestion that I’d have done Bianca harm—taken her against her will—makes me swell with unbridled rage.
“ No, Lorenzo ,” I repeat, steadying myself. “We did take her to our estate against her will. I cannot fault you for seeking my life for that—I’d do the same for my children. But we, the Barkovs, are a family of honor. We treat her like one of us.”
Lorenzo lets out a deep sigh, no doubt of relief. His face loses its coolness, morphing into one of worry that I’ve only seen in parents who truly care for their children. It’s a dichotomy prompted by his reputation, the difference between the two sides refreshingly honest.