Chapter 22
CHAPTER
TWENTY-TWO
ANDREI
I don’t see Georgia that night. As much as I want her in my bed—underneath me, on top of me, any which way I can have her—duty calls.
A shipment of cocaine went missing in transit and the Sicilians were the likely culprit.
Our retaliation is swift and brutal, delivered in one bloody night in the gritty streets of South Brooklyn.
I finally get home as the sun crests the horizon. I’m just out of the shower and ready to collapse into bed when Leo texts me. He found a source that has information about our mother. Information that I’ll want to hear directly.
Shit. We’ve spent the last six months digging for any information we could find that explains How my mother ended up pregnant by Oleg. It’s a mystery that eats at me day and night.
Leo’s text is vague, but I know with Leo there is always a reason. He wouldn’t summon Daniil and I in person unless it’s something we need to hear for ourselves.
Now I’m in the backseat of the Land Rover with Yulian driving, my stomach in knots about what I’m about to learn.
Memories flood my brain. I can still smell the metallic tang of blood as my father lay bleeding in my arms, revealing the twisted family secret that would come to consume my brothers and I.
After all those years, was it guilt that led him to admit on his death-bed that we have a half-sister? I suppose I’ll never know. He didn’t live long enough to tell me. The only information he shared was that our mother bore a daughter to Oleg, and Oleg raised her out of the country.
The months following Papa’s assassination were chaotic, with me figuring out how to step into the role of pakhan virtually overnight.
He hadn’t prepared me, and I hadn’t ever demanded he did.
My mistake. By the end of his reign, Papa was tired, having lived a thousand lives in one lifetime.
He had gotten sloppy, which is how Oleg moved into Brooklyn.
But Oleg made one tiny miscalculation in his plans when he killed our father. Me.
I strengthened and grew our organization beyond the reach of the Antonovs. I was brutal, merciless in my expansion and ambition. We’ve thrived. I’ve taken back most of Brooklyn, and before long, the Kozlovs will rule over all of it.
Understanding what happened to our mother and sister is the last piece of the puzzle before we castrate Oleg and feed him to the pigs. He deserves nothing less.
From the front seat, Yulian tells me we’ve arrived at our destination. I stare out at a rundown low-rise in a residential area. I expected to be taken to a warehouse or a strip club—where most of our business takes place—but this appears to be the furthest thing from it.
The sign out front reads Shore View Nursing and Rehabilitation.
I exchange a sharp look with Yulian as I step out of the vehicle. Why are we here?
Ignoring the dull pain in my shoulder, we enter the building. A scowling, older woman manning the front-desk greets us. Although perhaps greet is the wrong word.
“Yes?” She glares up at us through thick glasses, her lips puckering as if she just sucked on a lemon.
I can’t say we’re used to such an obvious dismissal, but maybe they don’t get many guests in dark suits and neck tats in this part of town.
Just as I am about to tell her to mind her own business, Daniil steps off the elevator and into the front lobby.
“There you are,” he booms, announcing his presence. He slaps Yulian and I on the back, and shoots sour-puss a flirty wink. Hearts explode in her eyes and it’s all I can do not to gag. “Don’t worry, Myrtle, they’re with us.”
Her expression immediately softens. “Visiting your long-lost aunt after all this time. Can’t begrudge you that.”
“We love to take care of the women in our life.” Daniil bats his whisky eyes at her while she blushes like a schoolgirl. Damn flirt.
Myrtle waves us through, and moments later we’re stuffed into a tight dank elevator on the way to the third-floor.
“Care to explain what the hell that was all about?”
“Soon.” Daniil’s demeanor is serious now.
No more Prince Charming. He leads us out of the elevator and stops in front of a nondescript closed door.
There’s not a soul wandering around the halls—neither nurse nor patient—and I wonder if that’s my brother’s doing or if this place is always so desolate.
Daniil nervously swipes a hand through his hair, furrowing his brow. “You’re about to meet Rosa Menendez. She was a nurse at the hospital Mama was at. She has details about Kira’s birth.”
A bittersweet ache expands in my chest as it does every time I think back to this time, some of the darkest days of my life.
When I was ten years old, our mother was committed to a mental health center for months.
We were told she was sick and needed time to rest and recuperate.
Mama was never the same when she came back home.
“Shit.” I adjust the lapel of my suit and let his words sink in. “I was not expecting you to say that.”
“I know,” Daniil says solemnly, “Leo’s guys tracked her down this morning, and we had to move fast. Rosa doesn’t have much longer. We waited for you.”
“Let’s go in.” I nod towards the door. Yulian puts his hand on my arm, telling me he’ll wait outside to give us space. Daniil and I step inside a small room that reeks of antiseptic and floor cleaner.
Leo is seated in an armchair beside a rickety hospital bed where a tiny old lady is propped up with several pillows, giggling at something Leo said. He’s not exactly a laugh-a-minute kind of guy, but he can be charming when he wants to be. Wants being the operative word.
Leo stands. “Rosa, I want to introduce you to my oldest brother. This is Andrei,” he says gesturing towards me. Rosa holds a veiny brown hand out to me in greeting. It seems to take all her strength to grasp my hand, but she does anyway, her watery eyes shining with warmth.
Too worked up to sit, I lean against the window frame beside the bed and wait for her to speak.
“Your mama talked about you often, Andrei,” she says, her voice straining with effort.
“She talked about all of you. She loved you boys greatly.” Weight settles heavily on my chest. Grief and anger churn together in a familiar dull ache.
“I’m glad that you found me. I thought about reaching out to you many times, but I never did.
I suppose you can imagine why.” Leo leans forward and squeezes her hand.
She was scared for her life. My father would not have been happy to hear from her—family business is to stay just that—in the family.
“It’s time you know the truth. Your mother would have wanted you to know.
” She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath.
“Your father sent her to the hospital in order to hide a pregnancy, a child conceived out of wedlock.” Even though we know this, the truth of it sends chills down my spine.
“See, I was the nurse assigned to your mother’s care.
Dahlia and I became friendly. From the start, it was clear to me she didn’t belong there.
She was sad and anxious, yes, but that had to do with the life she was living more than anything, but she was mentally sound. ”
Rosa pauses, coughs racking her body. Leo pours her a cup of water and offers it to her with a straw.
She is struggling, but I don’t suggest that she rest her voice.
I need to hear what she has to say. Our mother was gone for months with no explanation other than she was sick.
We did not know what that meant at the time.
We were just scared and confused kids trying to act tough, missing our mother with a father consumed by his own grief, and distracted by the empire he had to run.
“No one was supposed to know about your mother’s pregnancy, even other staff members.
Just me and a doctor were assigned to her, and we were paid very handsomely to tend to her needs and keep our mouths shut.
And we did. Your father would come to see her from time to time, but as her belly began to swell, he stopped.
Just sent money and nothing else.” Her eyes glaze over with memory. “That destroyed your mother.”
The silence in the room is nearly deafening. Pieces of a puzzle click into place. The empty spaces of our childhood that didn’t add up come into focus. I squeeze my eyes shut, leaning my head against the window, waiting for Rosa to continue.
“Dahlia confided in me. We spent months together, just me and her, walking the grounds of the hospital, sharing meals, learning about each other's life. Your mother was a gentle spirit, as you know. She loved your father once, but he hardened over the years. His work was all-consuming. It ate at his soul, the lives he had to take, the war he waged every day on the streets. But it ate at your mother’s soul as well. The violence was a stain on your family, not just blood on your father’s hands.
“That’s why she tried to remain innocent. She didn’t know your father’s rivals, and didn't want to know bratva business. She kept herself na?ve to protect her heart, but in the end, well, it might be what led to her death.”
A creeping cold licks down my spine. Even the air in the room seems to go still as we take in her words.
My father could be distant and calculating and only became more so as he fought to build his own empire on American soil.
My mother was different. She was soft and lovely and cared about the world.
She resented Papa after a time—but never resented us, her children, that tied her into this life.