5. Sofia
SOFIA
If there is anything good about being the target of Bratva instead of the Feds, it’s probably the fact that our funds haven’t been frozen.
Both Adam and I have had trust funds since we were kids, and while that’s more than enough to sustain us, I can’t wait until all this is over so we can hatch a plan to access Father’s accounts and get to starting our lives again.
I’ve been trying not to think too hard about that. I need to focus on what’s right in front of me. And at this very moment, it’s the collection of guns on my bed.
Adam’s standing at the edge of the bed, looking at our haul with his hands on his hips. He was silent the whole way back here and even as we brought all these guns into the hotel room. Now he just stands and stares, slowly shaking his head.
“I hope you have a plan,” he says.
“I do. I’m coming up with one,” I tell him. “First, we need to find out some more about our target.” I’m sitting cross-legged on the bed, my phone in my hand. “So, I’m going to do some research on the Arkhangelskaya’s Pakhan. The way Stasio was talking about them—”
“He seemed pretty sure that the last thing we should do is try to attack them ourselves.” He sighs and crosses his arms. “I don’t know, Sof. Maybe he’s right. We should get some outside help.”
“I’m open to suggestions.” He stammers for a second but comes up empty. “Come on, Adam. You were in Papa’s inner circle. Who’s an ally to the Penzas?”
“It… it doesn’t really work like that, Sof. Bratva don’t really trust anybody. The people we reach out to could sell us out.”
“I know that. It doesn’t mean there’s nobody who doesn’t at least owe something to the Penzas or to our father.
Think. There must be someone who can offer us aid.
” I look down at my phone and open the browser.
Stasio doesn’t know where home base is for the Archangels, but he does know the Pakhan’s name—Titus Malkin, which even for one of us is a hell of a name.
It almost sounds like it should have an echo to it.
Adam throws up his hands, then pulls his phone out of his pocket and sits on the couch. “I think I might know the daughter of one of our allies. I think.”
“Any help we get is welcome.” I’m waiting for the page to load after I’ve typed in his name. I don’t know what to expect. I mean, most members of the criminal underground don’t just come up when you type in their names… unless they’ve been in some big trial that landed them in prison.
But I figure I’d be a fool if I didn’t at least try to look him up.
Another second goes by and the results load. The first article is dated close to fifteen years ago.
Criminal Kingpin Titus Malkin Indicted on Racketeering, Drug Charges
The photo underneath shows him sitting in court, and I have to bite my lip to restrain the gasp that almost escapes.
It’s him. The man who was flirting with me at the bar.
The man who, seconds later, put a round of bullets into my father.
He looks younger here. His hair isn’t silver.
It’s shiny black and slicked back into a ponytail.
Fifteen years younger, the youthfulness shows in the smooth line of his clean-shaven jawline and around smiling eyes.
He looks like he’s enjoying a conversation with his lawyers, not getting ready to be sent to jail for who knows how long.
He looked good then, and the man I met last night was just a fine wine version of him. Mature, sure of himself, and damned sexy.
I scroll down the page, reading article after article about his trial and then conviction.
For all those charges, he only ended up doing about five years.
The coverage of his release has a breathtaking photo of him.
His hair is short, but it’s started to gray.
Silver streaks in a buzz cut, stubble on his jaw, looking into the camera as he walks away from the jail, a knowing smirk on his face that says You ain’t seen nothing yet.
If he weren’t responsible for turning my world on its head… If he weren’t my target…
I switch over to the image search. There are dozens of photos of him on the internet, all from different stages of his life and career.
The youngest photo of him looks like he’s barely out of high school.
He’s thinner and his head is shaved completely.
The self-assured gangster isn’t present yet here.
He’s walking next to an older, heavyset man with stark blue eyes and white hair—the last Pakhan, I suppose.
Titus has a hand at his waist, buttoning his jacket as he looks sternly over his boss’s shoulder for threats.
I’d say he’s older than me by about twenty years. The young man in this photo can’t be older than nineteen.
And if he’s that young, what is he doing by the side of a Pakhan?
What was his rank? I’ve known young Bratva, of course, but no one as young as him…
unless he’s a legacy like Adam. The bottom of the photo lists the name of the Pakhan as Mikhail Berezkin.
Different last name. Probably not his father.
And yet, there he is at his side. Wonder what the story is behind that?
I’m distracted by Adam tossing his phone on the nightstand. “We’re screwed, Sof.”
“Giving up already?”
“Who do I call?” he says, his voice on the verge of panic. “Who can we trust? I never got close enough to any of Papa’s allies to ask them for help. What if they sell us out to the Archangels? Can we really take that risk?”
He starts to pace, the panic clearly settling in.
“I don’t even know how to shoot. How many times did Papa tell me to make some time to go out to the range and learn how to handle a gun?
How many times did he send me with you to Stasio to learn and…
” He stopped talking and pacing, his eyes filling up with tears.
“We’re doomed, Sof. There’s no way the two of us can take on an entire Bratva.”
I set my phone down and walk over to him, taking him by the shoulders. “Calm down, okay? This isn’t the time to panic.”
“I would grossly disagree with that statement,” he says with a bitter laugh. “This is the perfect time to panic.”
I sigh and glance back at the guns. I hate to admit it, but whatever plan I can hatch is going to require that he pick up one of those guns. Maybe if he got a little more comfortable with them…
“Listen,” I tell him, “we can try to run if you want, okay? But if we do that, you have got to understand that there’s no safe place we can go.
Bratva gangs are a worldwide organization and the Archangels are large enough to have connections everywhere.
They are going to catch up with us eventually. ”
“I know that.” He says it flatly, a single tear rolling down his cheek. “I know we can’t run. I just don’t know how we’re going to fight.”
“We just need to be strategic, that’s all. We’re not going to roll up on Titus Malkin’s house, guns blazing. Doing this ourselves means that we need to move quickly and quietly. Really, this isn’t a hundred-to-two battle. It’s two on one. He’s our only target.”
He sniffles. “I guess you’ve got a point there.”
“Of course, I do,” I say. “So, that said, first things first. We’re going to get you acquainted with these guns.”
He frowns a little and asks, “What do you mean by ‘acquainted’?”
“I mean, you’re going to learn how to use them and I’m going to teach you. There are woods all around this area. Early tomorrow morning, we’re going to set out, pick a spot, and shoot some of these guns off.”
He’s looking at the guns as if they’re cocked and pointed right at his head. “Are–Are you sure we should do that? I mean, it’ll make a lot of noise.”
“We’ll have to chance it. I think we can do this, Adam. The only thing I’m positive of is that I can’t do it alone. I’ll need you to have my back.”
He stands up a little straighter and says, “All right. First thing in the morning, you’ll teach me to shoot.”
I didn’t get to sleep until a few hours before dawn and I’m feeling it a little now.
Last night, after some top-notch cyber sleuthing, I found Titus Malkin’s address.
He lives in this massive eight-bedroom mansion on the hillside on the eastern border of the city.
The photos of it make it look like this enormous castle overlooking the city lights.
I spent most of the night trying to get views of it from every angle possible.
It’s completely gated off with a single road that winds up the hill.
We could easily be spotted on the way up if anyone were looking for us.
Which I expect someone probably is. Getting there in the first place is going to be half the battle. The other half might entail finding a quick way out before his people know what hit him.
The other issue is the fact that I don’t know anything about how many people are there. I imagine he can’t possibly be living alone. He probably has a wife and a bunch of kids with that many rooms. Probably has a full staff to do the cooking and cleaning, too.
I didn’t come up with a good plan last night, but I’ve got some ideas and at least a little time as we make our way into the woods this morning to practice.
We should have asked Stasio to try these guns out in the range at his shop.
I didn’t feel right about being there any longer than I had to, though.
Maybe it’s this whole being on the run thing, but I’ve been wary about standing in one place for very long.
“After this,” Adam says, breaking the silence in the car, “we should check out. Find another motel. Just in case they’re looking for us out this way.”
“You’re reading my mind,” I say. I look over at him and he’s nodding, his pallid complexion getting even more sickly.
I hate that this is where we are. Adam… he’s not cut out for this.
I don’t think he ever has been. It makes me wonder what his plan was going to be if Papa had openly named him as his successor.
Would he have tried to run, then? Would he have tried to step up to the duty?
Whichever choice he made, I don’t know that he would stand much of a chance without protection.
He’s only got me now. So, whatever happens, I’ve got to make sure he’s safe first.
We follow the road until we reach a stretch that’s nothing but trees on either side of us and in either direction. “Pull over here.” I nod toward the shoulder.
He pulls over and turns the car off. “You know, this morning I thought of another option.”
“You did?”
He nods. “We could go to the Feds ourselves. Turn states evidence and have them put us in Witness Pro—”
“No.”
He gives me a side glance, then swallows hard. “I know the rules, Sof. I know it’s a cardinal sin to rat, but we’re out on a limb. We can’t sustain this.”
“What makes you think that being in Witness Protection would be any different from running? The Feds can’t protect us any better than we could ourselves.
The only difference is that we’ll be known as snitches.
Every Bratva in the city will want our heads.
And that would be a worse situation, don’t you think? ”
He doesn’t say anything at first. Then, very softly, he responds. “It was just a suggestion. I guess… I guess I’m a little desperate, you know? I don’t want to die.”
“We’re not going to die. We’re smart. And we’ve got the advantage. The last thing Titus Malkin is going to be expecting is for us to take a shot at him.”
“You really sound like you’ve got this all together. What if we fail?”
“We won’t,” I say. “We can’t. Can you just trust me?”
He looks at me for a long time, then sighs. “Okay. Let’s find someplace to shoot these guns.”
As we get out of the car and unload the guns from the truck, I get a tightness in my stomach. I’ve got to get his confidence up today. I don’t want to think about what happens if he can’t lock in and focus on our mission.
We find a trail fairly quickly and end up in a small clearing with a large tree stump near the center. We set down the guns and I go walking around the trees, looking for things to shoot. Acorns, large rocks, anything.
Adam stands by and watches me for a few seconds before joining me on my search. We manage to find a good number of them before long. We dump them near the guns.
“We’re gonna start easy,” I tell him as I grab the largest rocks and start placing them on the stump. “These are going to be your first targets. If you do what I say, like I say, you shouldn’t have any problem hitting them.”
“Rocks,” he says. “Right. You know, rocks aren’t people.”
“You have to start somewhere, Adam,” I say as I place the last rock. I stand up straight and motion to the handgun shoved in his belt. “Step one. Take the gun out of your pants. Be careful not to touch the trigger.”
He scoffs. “Give me a break, Sof. I know that much.”
“Well, excuse me, Mr. ‘I don’t know how to shoot.’”
“Sorry,” he says, then pulls the gun out.
I pull out my gun and walk over to him. “When aiming, you want to look down the line of the barrel, like this.” I bring my gun up and show him. “Put your weight on your back leg and cradle the handle like this, with your non-dominant hand keeping the gun steady.”
He watches me, then brings his gun up to aim it the same way I am.
“You can close one eye as you’re looking down your sight,” I tell him. “It’ll help you focus.” I aim for the rock on the farthest end of the stump. “See that little dot on the end of your barrel?”
“Yeah.”
“Line that up with your target. And when you’re ready, squeeze—don’t pull—the trigger. Like this.”
I brush my finger against the trigger, then squeeze it. The gun jerks and pops and the air fills with the smell of gunpowder. The rock on the end goes flying.
“See,” I say. “Easy as pie.”
He blows out a breath, then squeezes the trigger.
His gun jerks and the pop echoes through the trees. None of the rocks move.
“Shit,” he says.
“That’s all right. We’ll try again.”
We do. I manage to shoot more than half the rocks that I placed and Adam only hits two of them. I suppose that’s better than I’d gotten when I first picked up a gun. I’m sure he will get more as we practice.
I hope he will.
I think when we get to Titus’s house, he’ll have to be my lookout.