Chapter Thirty-One
In which life is like a zebra.
The next day…
Nikandr…
If I had to describe my life right now, it would have been best explained by my grandmother Morozova, who would dourly pronounce: Zhizn' pokhozha na zebru: za beloy polosoy vsegda sleduyet chernaya.
"Life is like a zebra," she would lecture us. "If there is a white stripe, it is always followed by a black one." Meaning, the white stripe of good fortune will be muted by the black stripe of deep misfortune. The better things are going, the worse my bad luck will be.
***
My white stripe of good fortune is Caroline.
No matter how dire the challenges are that the Bratva is facing, my moments with her are disconcertingly pleasing.
We usually arrived home late, around the same time because her work ethic was just like mine.
We changed out of our work clothes. Traditionally, I wouldn't bother, but the look in her eyes the first time I sauntered out wearing only a pair of sweatpants was something I wanted to see every night.
We would make dinner or argue over what dish the chef prepared.
There was one night a week ago where neither of us was willing to compromise and we ended up with a table covered in five different dishes.
"There's only one thing to do," she'd said, hands on hips and surveying the groaning dining table. "We call Alexsey and Liria."
At the mention of food that they didn't have to cook themselves, they were at our front door, each holding a twin, within fifteen minutes.
It was a good night.
I wasn't used to "couples" moments. I dated when it was convenient and when it wasn't, I'd hit Roman's sex club.
Here, though, as a married man and sitting next to my wife, watching her face light up as she and Liria shared some reprehensible adventure from their teen years was satisfying.
Deeply satisfying. It was something so simple, but it gave me enormous pleasure to hear my wife laugh.
"Come on," Alexsey chuckled, "that was really fucking funny, Nik. And all we get is your chilly smile?"
"Oh, Nikandr does not laugh," Caroline said, side-eyeing me.
"He has the polite social chuckle he reserves for associates who think they're funny.
If Yuri or Tania say something hilarious - which is all the time - he busts out the half laugh.
Just…" She demonstrated a painful, abortive laugh, "'Ha… heh.' That's it."
"That's ridiculous," I said. "I am capable of laughing when something is very funny."
"Hmmm…" Alexsey rested his chin on his hand. "Come to think of it, I don't think Nik has laughed since the seventh grade, when our calculus teacher farted as he sat down. It was like an explosive whoopie cushion. Have you laughed since then, cousin?"
"Numerous times," I snapped, "usually when you do something profoundly stupid."
"Do you mean inside?" Caroline asked with wide-eyed innocence. "Where it really counts?"
"You're treading on thin ice, wife," I murmured to her. As close as we were, I could enjoy the flush that rose on her cheeks, her indrawn breath. "I'm happy to tie you down and find all the ticklish places on you. And I'll have no mercy."
Liria and Alexsey watched this little moment, wearing matching smug grins. "Well, will you look at that," she yawned elaborately. "Time to get the twins home. I need to feed them before they go back to sleep because my breasts are ready to explode."
"Dorogoy, sweetheart." Alexsey said, "Please never talk about your breasts in front of any of my relatives again, because I will then be forced to kill them."
"It's just a word!" Liria protested. "I use my breasts to nourish our babies, it's a whole different thing."
"Bozhe moy," I groaned. "Both of you, please stop talking!" Caroline covered her mouth, her shoulders shaking with silent laughter.
We walked them to the elevator and when it closed, I ran my hands through my hair. "Why did your cousin continue to talk about breasts? Does she want Alexsey to shoot me?"
Caroline was unsympathetic. "What is it with men?" she asked, laughing. "They're just breasts, and when you're nursing, it's a whole different deal. They're much more utilitarian."
She leaned against the elevator, looking up at me and laughing, and I stepped closer, blocking her there, my hands on either side of her face. "For the record, I have never once looked at your spectacular breasts and found them utilitarian." The atmosphere around us thickened, it felt darker.
When I heard that little inhale between her lush, parted lips, my hand slid down to cup and squeeze her breast, dipping inside the V-neck of her sweater to tug on a nipple through the lace of her bra.
I ran my other hand around the back of her neck and pulled her in for a kiss.
Her mouth opened with a sigh, and she slid her hand into my hair like she'd been waiting for this.
So, with Caroline, things were good. Disconcertingly good, and I found myself leaving work earlier to come home to be with her.
***
But again, as my grandmother Morozova insisted, along with the newfound pleasure of discovering my wife comes an increasing shitstorm raining down on our Bratva.
Novikov's marauders were becoming increasingly arrogant.
Our captains were alert, though, so when the next shipment that came into Moscow with high-grade pharmaceuticals was attacked by pirates, they're shot to pieces, every one of them left floating in the Volga River.
The crew managed to retrieve one corpse.
He had a Novikov Bratva tattoo on his chest.
Ironically, Dariy Agapov had turned into a good resource - since we sent him an enormous shipment of sniper rifles and explosive ammunition. A few days after our impromptu dinner party with Alexsey and Liria, he came to New York and asked to meet me at my office.
"The Six Families," he said, "are getting restless. This new fool, this Novikov, is offering ridiculously low prices that cannot be sustained. I couldn't run in enough volume to accommodate them, and I fear they may turn against you."
My teeth clenched hard enough to shatter a molar. "I thank you, Dariy Agapov. Which family do you think is most likely to believe these outrageous claims?"
He pondered for a moment. "The two that seem to be wavering are the Kuznetsov Bratva and Balabonov. Just so you know."
"I appreciate the information, my friend," I nodded politely.
"Of course," he said. His florid face brightened. "We must have dinner. Will your beautiful wife be joining us?" The look of hope in his eyes would be humorous aside from the fact that I'm irritated as fuck that Agapov ever looked at Caroline and thought he could have her.
"I'll check with her."
In the end, it was Caroline who insisted that I bring him to the Lyric and she hosted a dinner for him at the hotel's restaurant, The Melody.
He beamed at the sight of her and attempted to go in for the Russian three cheek kiss, until he caught a glimpse of my expression.
The rest of the night ran smoothly. Caroline was always good about drawing people out, listening to their stories and I knew she was genuinely interested in who they are and what they do.
After an assortment of Dot Cakes and eau-de-vie brandy, I rose, bringing the evening to an end. I wanted to take my wife home and fuck her. I'd been shifting in my seat with an erection for the last two hours.
"Well, I am sorry I will never have a chance to know you better, Caroline Morozova," Agapov's face was gloomy. He saved his life by adding, "Fortunately, you have picked a fine husband. Nikandr will always protect you."
"I appreciate that," she nodded graciously. "That was my main concern when I married him." She smiled at me tauntingly. "That Nikandr could protect me properly."
I narrowed my eyes slightly over the rim of my glass as I took a sip of vodka. "You're going to regret that," I mouthed at her and she fluttered her eyelashes back.
***
This morning, the shit storm that is the Novikov menace turns into a full category-five hurricane.
Juan Castillo, our source for jewels and counterfeit cash, is dead, and the expected shipment has disappeared. Dmitri flies down to Florida and calls me from the wreckage of the plant out near the Everglades.
"The report is correct," he says grimly, flipping the camera so I can see what's left of the plant. Chunks of the wall have been blown through, and the inside is scorched to ash and concrete rubble. Every bit of stock is gone from the shelves.
I count at least fifteen bodies before I groan. "Pakhan, I would suggest you get out of there immediately. This can't be kept a secret from the police for much longer. It seems an inadvisable place for you to be."
"Agreed," he says. He puts his hand on his hip, looking at the wreckage again.
"A strike of this lethality only comes from extremely accurate intel and a very well-trained strike force.
An army couldn't storm this place to take the cash and jewels.
For that, Juan would've been prepared, it had to be a small unit. "
"He is the last one I would expect to be caught by surprise," I agree. I wearily rub the back of my neck. "I'm going to contact Balabanov immediately to let him know his upcoming shipment will be delayed."
Dmitri frowns, walking back to his car as his guard holds the door. "Didn't you say they were one of the families Agapov was concerned about falling first?"
"Precisely," I say. "Which is why this hit is especially concerning. This Novikov fuck knows what we're supplying and who we're supplying to. He's got our schedules; someone's feeding him information in the same way he was able to tip off the ATF about the warehouses."
"Put Roman in charge of searching for the source of the leaks," Dmitri says. "The advantage we have now is that two separate branches have been compromised. That makes the pool of people who would know about both much smaller."
"Let's speak when you get back, Pakhan."