Chapter 19 Julian
NINETEEN
JULIAN
PRESENT DAY
The phone on the other end of the line disconnects abruptly. If pain wasn’t my constant, I’d almost sob.
He didn’t say a single word. Yet for the first time, I could hear him. His choppy breath, the weight of years between us. It was there in the silence.
“Try again,” Lana says, just as eager as I am.
Both of her hands are pressed on the mahogany wood of her desk as she leans over it like she could see Igor through the phone.
“No. If the phone rings and someone else is there with him, we could lose it all,” my brother says.
He’s more level-headed than Lana and I, especially when it comes to Igor. I want to argue. My rational brain agrees with him, though.
Igor hung up too fast to be alone in whatever this place is. It’s still crazy that he called us. Called me. And crazier still that Misha Petrov isn’t aware of this old landline on his own territory.
“I found out when the house was purchased,” Lisandru continues as though Lana and I are not watching each other, sizing the other up.
I might have made a step to repair the massive hole in our friendship, but it won’t happen in a day. Some of the habits I picked up in three years of resentment are hard to curb.
She looks at me like she wants comfort. I still look at her like I want to create maximum damage with blame and harsh words. They’re on the tip of my tongue, burning it. I look down at my knees and pull the roots of my hair, fighting the urge.
We have made progress. I can’t fight with the woman who made it possible. The woman who never abandoned Igor despite what I believed.
It’s a clusterfuck in my head.
I stand and get to the alcohol cart, dropping two fingers of whisky in a crystal glass and downing it in one go. Then another.
“It’s early, even for you,” Lisandru says, but I ignore him as I down the third one and finish the decanter while I’m at it.
My brother clicks his tongue. “Do you really want to save Igor or is drinking yourself into your death your solution for every fucking problem you have?”
“What did you just say to me?”
“He’s got a point,” Lana chimes in, expression thunderous.
“Excuse me for dealing with my husband’s disappearance in a way that contradicts your soft disposition.”
Lisandru’s about to defend Lana when she raises a hand. “Leave us, amore.”
He does without a word, forever her obedient dog, and I’m left in a face to face with my best-friend-turned-enemy-but-it’s-only-one-sided-and-I’m-unsure-what-the-fuck-is-happening-in-my-brain-anymore.
After three years of witnessing Lana cater to my mercurial moods, the shift in her demeanour is an ice cold shower. Seems like she’s had enough. Isn’t it what I wanted all along? A good scolding. To be put back in my place? Only Igor knew how to do that.
Alcohol floats in my mind and warms my body, but instead of making me bold, tiredness settles all the way into my bones.
“That’s enough, Jules.”
I scoff. “I’m only getting started.”
I turn back to the alcohol cart but Lana’s there in three steps and sends all the bottles waltzing across the room. They shatter on the wood panels on the walls and the corners of the bookshelves, shards of glass dropping all around us.
“I’ve had enough,” she seethes. “After seeing Jesse, I thought… You’re not the only one who lost Igor.”
“I’m the only one who lost a husband.”
“But you’re not the only one in pain! You’re not the only one who lost someone they loved!
Or do you forget I had to bury my own sister?
Do you forget Mammona’s been in the hospital twice in three months?
Did you not see me move heaven and earth to find Igor?
He’s my friend, goddammit. Meanwhile I’m in therapy for PTSD, keeping our enemies at bay, organising our armies and alliances.
And all I get is your venom. I’m done. I’m done. ”
She breathes hard, fists clenched at her sides.
Her tirade leaves me speechless. My whole body grows hot with shame.
I avert my gaze and look out to the Moretti Gardens, covered in a thin layer of white frost.
That’s how I’ve been feeling.
“I wanted him to choose me,” I whisper. If I don’t look at her, maybe she’ll forgive me for being such a wretched person. I’m not sure I deserve the redemption. “I didn’t want you to die or not be rescued. But I wanted him to come back to me. And he chose you.”
“Julian.”
I hear her step around her desk. “Don’t,” I ask.
I wrap myself with my arms, rubbing my hands on my biceps, swallowing around glass.
“Jules… I’m sorry. Igor made an impossible choice. I took him from you once. I never intended to do it again. I know you think it’s my fault, and I don’t know what else to do to show you how sorry I am.”
Are these the words I wanted to hear all along?
I want to accept her apology. She didn’t decide to be taken by Misha Petrov’s men as a ploy to get Igor to exchange his life for hers.
She never wanted any of this. But I thought she didn’t do shit to get him back for years.
And now she’s proving me wrong. And I don’t know what to do with the resentment that has become the constant in my life.
I’ve grown so accustomed to bitterness I don’t know how to taste something sweet like her determination anymore.
“I’m sorry, Jules. For being a part of what you lost. But I can’t let you self-destruct and take everyone down with you.”
“I’m sorry about Lisa.”
The words sound hollow. I was there when we buried Lana’s sister.
I cried for Marie’s twin like every member of the Moretti and Bartoli households.
I watched how it devastated Lana to see Marie battle alcoholism and decide to relocate to the UK where she fell in love with Nico Capaldi.
And I did nothing. I offered a cold embrace and refused to listen.
I guess I got what I wanted. I pushed everyone away. And it worked.
“I think you need help, Jules.”
I sigh. “Not this again.”
“Please, listen to me for a second.” I turn to face her.
She drops onto the chesterfield sofa, elbows on her knees and raking her finger over her long dark hair.
“When I started working with victims of trafficking, I refused to believe I was anything like them. I had just been kidnapped. Nothing was done to me. But—”.
She swallows, and a whisper of dread spreads over my skin.
I sit in front of her, attentive for once.
This feels monumental. I don’t know if it’s because I can almost see the threads between what she is saying and what is happening to Igor, but I’m holding my breath.
She toys with her nail polish, chipping it as she speaks.
“When I didn’t comply with their demands, they hurt the other girls who were with me.
” Her tone is even, like she’s dissociating.
The visceral reaction in my own body is in total contrast with hers.
“I know how Misha operates, Jules. We’ve just rescued a whole boat full of people.
People he was going to sell. They make them comply by threatening the others.
Many of them are just children, Jules. Do you know what that means? ”
My nose tingles and I sniff. “He’s making Igor do unspeakable things.”
“Yes. So abominable we can’t even imagine them in our nightmares. When we get him out, he’s not going to be the man we know. And you’ll have to be stronger than you are right now if you ever want him to recover. I was there for three days, Jules. Three days and I’m still in therapy.”
“Yeah, but you work with survivors. That’s also impacting you. And you kill people for a living.”
“I’ve killed so many people, Jules. It never stained my soul. It’s helping the living who don’t know how anymore that’s taking a toll. And when we get Igor back, he’ll need all the help he can get. And love won’t be enough.”
The knee-jerk reaction is to tell her that my love would be enough, but I know that’s not true. It would be childish to believe so.
I’ve worked a few times at the health centre to help victims of trafficking find a new home and heal. I know it takes more than a prayer and a kiss.
“What do you need from me?” I ask.
It’s easier than fighting for the first time in a long time.
Her jaw shifts slightly as she straightens up again, and shakes herself from whatever memories have just plagued her.
“I need you to go to the centre and help me with some of the younger people we rescued. You have a… brighter disposition than I do. Or than Lisandru’s.”
“That’s one way of calling my brother a moody asshole.”
My little joke is an olive branch and she takes it. Her lips quirk to the side.
“What else?”
“Therapy.”
I groan as I lean back into the comfortable leather chair.
It’s not that I don’t think therapy is a great tool, or that it doesn’t help and wouldn’t be of value. It’s the perspective of facing my decisions and myself that has me—extremely—reluctant. It takes a whole fucking ton of courage to meet yourself head on, talk to your demons and vanquish them.
But for him? For him, I’d do anything. I’d look at my wretched self in the mirror every day and face the carnage I’ve left in the aftermath of my grief. For him, I’ll be brave.
I look at my friend again. Her face is almost expectant. “What do you need from me?” she asks.
“I don’t know. You can start by telling me why you’ve waited three years to tell me you were still looking for Igor and organising an army to get him back?”
She stands, all elegance and long limbs. Yet, there is a wariness to her movements and a light grey shadow under her complexion.
“Come, babe. We need Mammona’s limoncello for that conversation.”
We walk side by side towards the kitchen at the back of the mansion. It’s companionable, though not as comfortable as it used to be. But we’ll need more than a half hour to repair the damage I’ve done to our relationship.
She goes to the freezer and gets the bottle of yellow alcohol, not caring that I’m already intoxicated. Then, she brews some coffee and pours a shot of the lemony liquid into it. I smile despite myself.
“Mammona’s night cap.”
“Mammona’s night cap,” she confirms as she clinks her cup to mine. “Did Igor ever learn that a night cap is not specifically coffee and limoncello?”
“No,” I chuckle. “I’m sure he still thinks it’s that combination and that combination only.” Sadness and the joy at the reminder of this little quirk about him threatens to bring me to my knees so I refocus the conversation. “So. An army?”
“Yeah,” she drags out the word. “My engagement to your brother and then our wedding was a good opportunity to bring in all the different families of the European underground and build stronger alliances. The Venturas and the Dobrevs in London are wholly on our side, as you know, and we just gained a new ally in Croatia. Obviously, the Cosa Nostra, via Dante Ventura’s connection, will also give us men when we take down Petrov. ”
She continues to list all the families and key cities we’ve gained to our side.
“Petrov is not only a sex trafficker and a child molester, Jules. That’s why I want to take him down and many agree with me, but some don’t care about that, so I’ve pleaded our case in all the ways I could.
He’s dangerous to the point where business is becoming more difficult.
He fancies himself king of the fucking world, and that doesn’t sit well with most families.
They’re losing money. On this side and the other side of the ocean. ”
I let her declaration and lesson in mafia politics settle.
“And you never told me, because?”
“Because you were grieving. And after Amsterdam, I thought it was best not to share my findings in case it didn’t lead to anything. I… You killed one of ours, Jules. I had to come to terms with the depths you’d go to, just to save him.”
“You didn’t trust me.”
It’s not a question. I avert my gaze not to see her reproach. I thought I was immune to shame by now, but this whole conversation has me breaking in hives. Is this what it will be when I go to therapy and seek forgiveness?
“I’m sorry,” she whispers.
“Don’t be. I wouldn’t have trusted me, either.”
I finish my drink, head starting to really swim with the alcohol. And when it hits my system, I only have two moods. Euphoric or melancholic as fuck.
“I need to sleep this off, Lana.”
“I know. I’ll drive you. We have our briefing planned in two days for the rescue. I need your entire focus for it. I will trust you this time. We’re not going home without him.”