Chapter 2
Two
LUKA
O rgan music. Fucking organ music filled the air, accompanied by the church choir in the loft behind our heads. I adjusted one cufflink and then the other. I wasn’t known to stall, but what kind of person was eager to give a eulogy? Especially when that man was the devil.
Uncle Ivan.
I cleared my throat. My aunt clutched my hand with an ice-like grip before I stood from the pew. There was something desperate and pleading in her eyes. I leaned down to peck her cheek, through the short black veil that covered her face, only because I knew everyone was watching.
“Don’t worry. I won’t destroy my own name,” I whispered.
With that, she seemed to relax into her seat, no longer needing the assurance of my father or sister, planted on either side of her. My mother had faked an illness in order not to attend the services today. Just as well.
With the notes tucked in my breast pocket, I took my position in the pulpit—a space I never wanted to command. The priest nodded at me from his seat on the dais. Death had tapped me for this moment. There was little I could do to say no. Not as Ivan’s only nephew. The man didn’t have children. There were no other heirs. I looked out at the congregation gathered to pay their social respects to this man. Their expressions vapid. Eyes tearless.
While I was supposed to represent the mourners, all I could do was wonder who in this church was responsible for my uncle’s murder. Which one of the families fanned out in front of me had planned his death. Who was next in my family?
I cleared my throat. “Thank you. My Uncle Ivan would have been warmed to see so many family and friends gathered here today to say goodbye.” My voice carried, assisted by the microphone. I scanned each pew, each bowed head, each set of hands fumbling with a set of orthodox prayer beads. They were all suspects.
All trained in deceit. I wouldn’t get any answers today. Not while I gave a eulogy.
The truth was, in this congregation, no one was truly ever innocent. If they ever confessed the sins on their tongues the deluge of truth would spill over the confessional and drain into the sewers and catacombs beneath the cathedral. There was enough darkness in this one building to drown the entire city of New Orleans.
By the time I finished the scripted speech, Father Philip was ready to usher me off his territory. I nodded and rejoined my family, stopping at the open coffin in the center of the aisle. It was more than ironic Ivan was in traditional white, laid out for everyone to see. The undertaker was able to conceal the five bullet holes in his chest.
“Beautiful,” my aunt whispered. She tapped my hand. “Just lovely. You made Ivan proud. Thank you, Luka.”
“You’re welcome, Aunt Duscha.”
I caught my grandmother’s glare a few seats down the pew with the rest of the Novikovs. Her gaze was cold. Unfeeling. For a woman who had lost a son, there was no trace of grief beneath her veil.
There were moments when I was reminded how deep our Russian roots ran. This was one of those inescapable snatches of time. My uncle’s dead body was sprinkled with holy water by the priest and the family was led toward the coffin where we circled one last time around my father’s little brother before exiting the church.
I heard my grandmother whisper as she leaned toward Ivan. “Proklyatyy,” she rasped. Damned. Cursed. She had no sorrow for the son she believed had brought misfortune on the Novikov name. She didn’t seem to care who knew it.
After the service, my father and I escorted Duscha to the front steps of the cathedral. She pressed one of Ivan’s handkerchiefs to her eyes as the casket passed in front of us. It was hard to distinguish theater from what was authentic anymore. After today, I would take control of all the messaging. Today, she got her tears.
My grandmother had already disappeared, carted off in a Town Car, out of sight from the other families.
I turned when someone tapped my shoulder. “Luka, there’s something you should see.” It was Maksim, a man who had worked for the family for at least a decade. My father considered him to be his newest Brigadier. That’s how loyal the men were who worked for us. Ten years for one of our brigadiers was the equivalent of a rookie on a police squadron. It took dedication, sacrifice, and proven blook on their hands to be seen as seasoned in my father’s eyes.
I gritted my teeth. “I’m in the receiving line for my uncle’s funeral. Show some respect.” This wasn’t the time for business.
My father had one ear in my direction. “Go,” he ordered sharply.
“Yes, sir.” There was no other option. His tone snapped me back to my reality. We weren’t a normal family.
I stepped out of the line and followed Maksim, slipping behind the church. “What is it?” My jaw clenched.
We rounded the corner into the parking lot. I spotted two of Maksim’s men from his Bratva, arms folded, standing at the back of an SUV with dark windows.
Maksim pointed and they popped the rear hatch. I stared inside. It reeked of urine and sweat. The man inside was bound, and his mouth gagged. He began to thrash when he saw me. His fear created its own stench.
“Who is this?” I asked.
“He has information,” Maksim explained. “They brought him to me, and I’ve brought him to you.”
The sun beat down on us. It was the beginning of summer, but New Orleans didn’t care. The heat was unrelenting.
“Then, I’d like to hear it. Let him talk.” I motioned toward the gag .
He wrestled against the men’s hands as he pulled the gag from between his teeth. “Water,” he pleaded. His voice was strained.
I nodded, allowing the request.
They dribbled water over his lips. “Now what’s the information?” I needed to return to the receiving line.
“He saw something.”
I reached inside my jacket and checked my phone as if this was mundane. Boring. I drew the sunglasses down my nose and tucked the phone back inside.
“What did you see?” I asked the prisoner.
“It doesn’t matter what I saw. They’ll kill me,” he pleaded. “If I say anything. I can’t, I can’t, I can’t…”
I huffed. I looked at Maksim. “I don’t have time for this shit. Not at my Uncle Ivan’s funeral. Get rid of him.”
I said it casually. With cruel intention. I knew things would be different once my father’s only brother had been killed. I didn’t expect it to change me overnight. Despite the heat, it was as if ice had coated my spinal cord. I hid the instinct to shiver from the other men.
I turned to walk away. Maksim’s hand reached for the top of the trunk. The man screamed.
“I’ll talk. I’ll talk,” the man pleaded.
I took a long pause before turning around. “What do you know?” I asked patiently. This was his last and only chance before I walked away for good.
“I saw who shot Ivan. I can tell you everything. All of it. Please! ”
I knew I wouldn’t return for the wake at Aunt Duscha’s. “Start talking,” I demanded.
“Only if you promise not to kill me.”
I had to give him credit for attempting to negotiate. He was surrounded by my father’s Bratva and yet he wanted mercy.
I snorted. “I don’t make promises to men I don’t trust.” I eyed him.
Maksim watched me. I knew he would sit down with my father later, after Ivan’s wake and give him this entire exchange in great, descriptive detail. My words mattered. My expressions. My attitude toward the snitch. All of it would combine as a grade my father handed down to me. Whether I checked the boxes he required to step in and take Ivan’s place.
No one bothered to ask if I wanted Ivan’s seat at the table. That was part of being a Novikov. I was expected to fill the role even if I didn’t want to slide into the open spot of a murdered man. Nothing sounded less appealing to me right now. There was a target on our family. Ivan had made enemies we hadn’t even unearthed yet. Throwing a spotlight on myself and sitting in his chair before his body was cold in the grave was one of the more fucked up plans, I’d had to stomach.
“But if I tell you and you kill me anyway…” he stuttered, spittle pooling at the corners of his chapped lips.
I shrugged. “What would you have me do?” I leaned toward him, trying not to breathe in the foul odor surrounding him. “Let you go?”
He nodded. “Please. I have information. Proof. I know the family. ”
He was convincing, although I didn’t trust a man begging for his life. I straightened my legs and looked over at Maksim.
“We can’t do this here. We’re at the back of the cathedral for fuck’s sake. Father Philip could see us. Take him to the warehouse. I’ll meet you there with your men. And mine,” I added.
The hatch to the trunk closed with a solid click.