25. Vanya
25
VANYA
T he flight back to St. Petersburg feels like an eternity.
All of the adrenaline of the chase is long gone. The reality of our folly in going to Morocco eating at me every step of the way. The reality that my lover’s brother killed mine.
I am a dog with her tail between her legs.
My soul shattered in pieces.
Going home to a city I left in shambles. Occupied by an enemy force. I failed my people.
And I am so angry. At Pyotr, at Adil Abas, at Ero Diamante. At Matvey.
Most of all, myself.
The boat dropped us at a random port in Spain where we purchased passage through Europe by train, bus. Any way we could to avoid being traced by Fiero.
I know Ciro feels the same as I do.
But he keeps it hidden behind jokes, smiles. He is strong for me. He knows the demons I battle with and that there is no way to help. Not anytime soon.
Defeat grows inside me. I must not let it poison me, because we have work to do when we get home.
Yet I feel so hopeless.
We have not had contact since we left. And we dare not risk it until we know the situation back home. Which makes my fears and anxieties worse.
What will we find in St. Petersburg?
Where did Pyotr go?
But the closer we get to home, the more determined I become.
We must rebuild. We must find the survivors. We must figure out how to drive the Mocro out.
Most of all, we must find my uncle. I pray he will know what must be done.
Yet I cannot fathom how he did not prepare for or prevent the attack.
“Van. Look.” Ciro shakes me gently.
We are still driving, and I recognize the streets of my home as he crosses over the Western High-Speed Diameter. The bridge provides an impressive view of the entire city.
My city.
I recognize the shift immediately as he exits the highway several minutes later. They are gone. The Mocro have pulled out.
I know it in my bones even before I see a discrete patrol of Volk walking down a nearby street.
When we reach our neighborhood, my heart thunders, hope rising.
The compound is bustling.
Guards at the gate wave us through, men I know saluting me with surprised expressions. A runner takes off up the hill ahead of us.
By the time we reach the house, already under repair, Pyotr is standing on the drive, his shoulders bobbing up and down with deep breaths. It is the closest I have ever seen him to crying.
“ Doch !” he shouts as I rush from the car, throwing myself into his embrace.
“Papa!” All of my anger, my shame, evaporates. At least for now, relief envelopes me like the embrace of this colossal man.
“Where have you been?!”
“I was about to ask you the same, Pakhan . You vanished.” I can’t keep the bitterness from my voice.
“Not of my own free will.”
“What do you mean?”
“Come. I will explain. You look tired. Hungry. Is that?—”
“Shakal,” I finish, waving my companion over.
Ciro salutes, barely able to hide his smile. Or his apprehension.
“ Pakhan .”
“You kept her safe. Alive. Spasibo , Shakal. Brat .” Brother. Nothing in this world makes me happier than to hear him accept Ciro.
I cannot hide my smile as Pyotr grabs the nervous oaf into a tight hug, clapping him on the back. A small grunt of either surprise or an inability to breathe chuffs out of Ciro’s stunned, open mouth.
“She kept me alive just as often.”
“I have no doubt. Come. We must catch up quickly. There is much to be done.”
He leads toward another building, the offices that received the least amount of damage in the attack. Inside, staff members are hustling about, on the phone, cleaning.
In the conference room, Pyotr waves everyone else out, closing the door.
“I did not recognize half of the men outside, are they from other provinces?” I ask immediately, not waiting for him to settle. All the while, analyzing the notes on the walls, the maps, troop movements. They are planning something huge.
“ Da . Even more from other clans.”
I spin, nailing him with a concerned glare. “What? But the other clans, their leaders?—”
“We know. The attack took us off guard, the council was planning our strategy in the event that the Mocro attacked us. At the time, we still did not know precisely who we were dealing with. Other leaders were in talks with a foreign power. I warned them not to hold court with an unknown entity.”
“We…met that unknown entity. His name is Adil Abas.”
Pyotr chokes on his drink. “What?!”
“He told us what has happened. What he did. And why.”
Pyotr rubs his face, his eyes never leaving my face. “I need to hear this tale.”
“We will tell it. But first, I must know where you were.” There is a wedge between us, and he sees it. He sees my uncertainty. “Where were you? We traveled halfway around the world, thinking they took you. And you were where? In hiding? Where were you when they killed my brother?”
Pyotr’s face crumples, his head hanging. In shame, grief.
“I should have been here. I would have been. Fyodor reached us with the news. He is still recovering from his injuries. I sent a driver for him earlier.”
“He said someone took you.”
“Someone did. I was returning from a meeting with the head of the port authority, discussing the strange activity, how we might increase security. I was at the back gate. Matvey was standing at the back door on the hill, shouting for me to run. I did not see the men rushing me. They overpowered me.”
“Who?”
“A contingent sent by the other five houses. All kapitans .”
“Bratva?”
“ Da .”
“And the rest of the council?” Ciro interjects before I can ask the million questions on my mind.
“Most of the council were away when they hit the compound. At home. Only Boris was here. He did not survive.”
“I hope he gave them hell,” I mutter. I never got along with the old man. No one did. But he was one of us.
“Who do you think blew up the main hall? They stormed it to ransack our intelligence, our cash on-site. Fifty Mocro he took with him, the old bastard.”
“ Vashe zdorov’ye ,” Ciro barks, nodding, raising his glass. Where did he get…?
Never mind. At least he is starting to like vodka.
“ Da ,” I agree.
“I am so sorry, my Vanya. They will pay for what they did.”
“That is the other reason we went to Morocco, Papa. But there is so much more…”
“We must be quick. The council of the other clans will arrive shortly.”
Feeling rushed and a bit out of sorts, I fumble for words. What could be more important than hearing out his daughter?
“The short version is that Abas retaliated, killed the other leaders. He let us live to come tell you that he is keeping their territory as long as you stay in yours.”
“Ha!” Pyotr bellows, slapping his palms on the table. “Let him try.”
Shaking my head, I implore my uncle, the man who is like my father, to listen to reason. Quickly I fill him in on an abbreviated version of our journey, our brush with death. Worry and anger flash in my papa’s eyes throughout, not to mention shock and more than a little awe. And a bit of pride.
Ciro fills in details where he can, leaving out the meeting with his brother. That is a discussion for another time.
“He has an army , Papa. And assassins who eliminated every Bratva pakhan !”
“But not me. I refused to meet with him. I warned the others. Now, all the Bratva across the country want to join. As one. Behind me. So we have an army as well.”
The breath is knocked from my chest.
There has never been such a union. Under one leader. With that many men, organized…we might just stand a chance. But I know Abas will not give up so easily.
“This will start a war, Pyotr,” Ciro leans over the table, matching my uncle’s stance. “A war on your soil.”
“ Net . It is already a war. So I will stop it.”
“How?”
“With a show of unity and strength. Your arrival could not be better timed. I assume you have a means of contacting this Adil Abas?”
“ Da ,” I answer hesitantly, hoping he will negotiate with the man.
“Then I shall invite him to the event .”
“What event?” Ciro asks.
“A gala, celebrating our success, our future. Thrown in my honor, and the honor of the fallen. For Matvey. And to crown me as the head of the clans.”
My mind reels at the news, the audacious statement.
“Abas will never stand for this. And we will suffer the consequences.”
“Watch your tone, daughter. I know the consequences better than anyone. And I have the best strategists in the brotherhood designing security for the event, and our force placement moving forward. Remember your place.”
“Yes, Papa.”
“As for Abas…he will beg to negotiate with us once he sees our power. He will beg for forgiveness that we do not wipe him from the face of the Earth. He will see reason when he sees the unified opposition he faces, and he will suffer the consequences if he does not.”
“What’s to say he even comes?” Ciro scoffs, crossing his arms.
I agree, though I know better than to mouth off to Pyotr again. This whole situation is out of control over-the-top.
“Because we captured one of his sons .”