Chapter Eighteen #2
You'd think this would upset Lucya, being that her son was the subject of Mariya's homicidal musings, instead, she laughs heartily. "I remember the time Dean Christie called us from the Ares Academy and said you'd accidentally stabbed Kon."
Mariya desperately attempts to maintain composure. "Oh, it wasn't accidental."
My experience with other crime families was limited. Maybe the whole stabby thing is regular cocktail party chatter.
"I see the Turgenev contingent has arrived," Alexsey joins us, giving Mariya a kiss on the cheek. "Hello, Auntie."
"Hello, malen'kaya prokaznitsa," she says, giving him a fond smile.
"Little…" I'm trying to recall my secretive Duolingo lessons in Russian. "Little monster?"
Alexsey might not be amused, but the women are.
They burst into laughter again. "Little menace, actually," Mariya says.
"Though monster could also be used here.
Alexsey was the child who was always first to find any situation where death was almost guaranteed and would, of course, plunge in headfirst. This would then require adult intervention to get out of it. "
It's nice to see my husband put on the spot for once. Let him squirm.
"It warms my heart to know that I can count on my own blood relatives to have my back and make me look good," he says.
"Oh, always dear," Lucya smiles fondly.
Alexsey's arm slides around my waist and I force myself to stay relaxed.
This is the closest he's gotten to me since our "wedding" day.
It's his right arm. I'd watched surreptitiously, wondering how he'd handle his prosthetic tonight.
He is wearing one, covered by the black leather glove.
In small, graceful ways, he keeps his left hand out of sight; in his pocket, or by his side.
"If you'll excuse us, I need to take Liria on another round of glad-handing and insincere smiles," he says.
"Of course," Lucya gives me a sincere smile. "Don't forget my offer, dear."
"What offer?" Alexsey says sharply as we walk away, like he's uncomfortable with me making connections with his family.
"She has two legendary grand pianos," I say, trying to keep the longing from my tone. "She invited me to come and practice on them."
He has a thoughtful frown. "Where is your piano, wasn't it-" His polite mask slides over his face again. "Ah, Marc. How are you? I didn't know you were in town." I turn to see a dark-haired man behind us, eyes wide with surprise.
"It was a last-minute trip, I thought I'd stop by. Wait, Liria Johnson?" He shakes my hand, giving me a quizzical smile. "My mother was just talking about you the other day. You performed at the Boston Museum fundraiser, didn't you?"
I know Marc Canton well enough to wave if we pass each other on the street. His mother is on the board of the Boston Art Museum. "Hey, good to see you, Marc! Please tell her hello for me, would you? I always loved her fundraising ideas, they were so creative."
Marc's smile is fading as he looks between me and Alexsey. "You married Alexsey? I thought there was an agreement that he was marrying Krasniqi's daughter."
"Liria is his daughter," Alexsey says. "She had very little interaction with the Albanian side of her family. She's lived in Boston for most of her life and used her mother's maiden name."
The temperature has dropped fifty degrees. At least, it feels like it. Goosebumps rise on my arms as Marc looks at me again. His warm brown eyes turn into something bitter, like old coffee and cigarettes. "A Krasniqi," he says flatly, "living among us in Boston all these years."
"The only connection Liria has is by blood," Alexsey says. There's a warning in his tone. "The reparations offered will never be enough. But amends are being made, Marc."
He ignores Alexsey, something I've never seen before, staring at me like a rat he's found in a dumpster.
"I see." His tone is blank. "Well, congratulations.
" There's an ugly twist to his mouth, but he smooths it out quickly into a smile.
"Alexsey, we're meeting next week to go over the shipments, correct? "
"Thursday," Alexsey says, slapping him on the shoulder in a 'We're all just buddies here,' kind of way.
"See you then," Marc says before disappearing back into the crowd.
"What just happened?" I whisper, finishing my champagne in two big swallows.
"It's nothing," Alexsey says. "No one likes your father. You'll get used to it."
Well, isn't that a punch right to the chest. "Great," I say. "I love that for me."
Making my way through three more glasses of champagne and - because Ella insisted I try them - a little plate of pickled vegetables and smoked fish, I continue to nod and smile, trying to memorize as many names as possible.
Nikandr. Cousin. The new Sovietnik. He's not sold on me.
Yuri. Suave, blond and Maksim's brother. Mentions that people joke about Alexsey being his son since my husband is the only blond kid in a family of dark-haired giants. But no one uses that joke, he says, when Maksim is in the room. I like Yuri, he's kind.
Carla. Natasha. Cara. All the girls with names that end with A. Perfectly groomed and who, based on their expressions and too-tight handshakes, all dated Alexsey.
Mayor Cavenaugh. Of New York City. The mayor of New York City came to a Bratva gathering.
"My assistant said you were a lovely bride," he says, holding my hand just a touch too long. "Are you settling in?"
"Very well, Mayor." I nod and smile, though it's getting a little tattered around the edges.
Slipping away, I hurry down the hall, finding a slightly open door.
It’s an empty reception room, quiet and dark.
Bracing my hands on the mahogany wood table I focus, it's cool under my hands.
"Breathe. One. Exhale. Two. Breathe…" I learned how to control my breathing when I came back from Albania and the panic attacks threatened to drown me.
The knowledge that everyone at the party is aware that Dritan Krasniqi is my father changes the entire night.
I don't know what I thought, but I didn't expect it to be public knowledge.
Every aspect of the night seems different now.
People's expressions aren't what I thought they were.
Comments that I thought were pleasant take on a different tone.
I flew under the radar here in the US. I was a normal human being.
Now, I'm just the spawn of a grotesquely evil man.
Someone so vile that even in the crime world, his name is uttered like a curse.
"You sow."
I look up, shocked. Marc Canton is leaning against the door to the hallway. He reaches up, twisting the lock with a click.
"M- Marc, I don't-"
"Your fucking brother, your piece of shit brother killed my father," he says. Each word spits out like a bullet. "Did you know that? Every Morozov there that night survived, but your brother blew a hole through my father's head. In front of my mother."
My lungs are frozen in my chest. "I didn't- I'm so sorry. I didn't know." I remember his dad. Gray hair, a bit of a paunch but a nice smile. "I didn't know that."
"I'm going to end you." He takes three furious steps across the room, inches from me as his face turns red.
"Your rat fuck of a father might be getting away with murder because he's disintegrating in a hospital bed.
But…" He reaches out, taking a lock of my hair and examining it.
"You, though, are here." Yanking my hair, he hauls me closer. "So I'm going to make you pay for it."
"Let go of my hair." My voice is cold but inside I'm screaming. He's still staring at me. "I mean it, Marc. Take your fucking hand off me. Alexsey will throw you off the top of this building."
With a contemptuous toss, he drops the lock of my hair and steps back. "Don't be so sure of that."
"He-"
"The Morozovs took everything the Krasniqi Fare had, and they're going to dismantle it all, piece by piece.
" His laugh is low and ugly. "If it comes down to you or me, are you sure Alexsey would pick a Krasniqi-" he spits the word like someone shit in his mouth, "or one of his Bratva's top business partners? "
"You should go." I can't blink. I can't breathe. "You should leave."
"Albanian trash." He turns, unlocking the door, yanking it open so hard that it bounces off the wall.
My knees are water and I slide down the wall, hitting the muted gray industrial carpet hard. My chest hurts and I heave in a huge gulp of air, tears spilling down my cheeks.
The truth is, I have no idea who Alexsey would pick.