26. Octavia
Rain pours from the grey Chicago sky as we descend the plane’s steps into the murky depths below.
I didn’t enjoy the flight. By the time the tense ride concluded and our van pulled up to the tarmac, all the men were in such pissy moods that they spilled out of the vehicle and stormed up the massive steps to the jet in silence.
Apparently, rich people don’t have to wander through airports during their travels…
or maybe the efficiency was won through my new family’s criminal reputation.
Either way, I did my best to pretend like I’ve flown dozens of times and was not at all close to soiling a barf-bag at the prospect of falling hundreds of feet through the air.
Vas held my cover well, allowing me to undoubtedly bruise his hand throughout takeoff and landing.
Beneath the dark strip of my umbrella, I can make out a series of black SUVs waiting on the tarmac, as well as a string of booted feet stationed in front of them.
In a prick of curiosity, I lift my umbrella.
The line of massive men appears almost militaristic.
Five of them even step forward, establishing some sort of rank between the dark-clothed group.
“Hope you had a good reason for missing poker night, Dad,” one calls out, a familiar wry grin on his face. The man looks only a bit older than me, but he’s easily double my size. His blondish-brown hair blows back in the wind, darkening as the rain picks up and soaks his form.
Where have I seen that grin before…?
“The best reason, son,” Alex says, laughing behind me. My mouth pops open as I step onto the pavement, allowing him to pass and greet the group.
Cousins.
The word is foreign. Terrifying and thrilling all at once.
I almost wish I were meeting them at some other time in my life—back when I was stronger and sturdier.
Back when I didn’t wear borrowed clothes that still reek of blood from the lives I helped end.
Back when I could introduce myself as a dancer and nothing more.
I would at least have a better shot at returning that wild grin lighting the boy’s face.
A hand brushes mine in silent support. I don’t need to look up to know who it belongs to.
“Boys, I’d like you to meet Octavia. Your cousin.” Uncle Alex’s voice cracks through the crowd like a lightning strike. Four heads snap my way. I wait for uncertainty, or disapproval, or—
They rush me, all four of them, all different hues of the same chestnut-brown hair. Suddenly, I’m crushed into the strangest hug of my entire life, all limbs and joy under the shroud of pouring rain.
“Welcome to the family, cuz,” someone says above me, at the same time as another mutters, “Fucking finally. He’s been looking long enough.”
“Mind her arm,” Vasiliy calls from outside the bizarre huddle.
“Who’s he?” one of my cousins asks, dispersing the hug so they can get a good look at the other newcomer. He’s one of the tallest in the group, and his soggy jacket shrugs back as he steps to Vasiliy, eyeing him up and down.
“Someone with access to one hundred and nine ways to kill you if you so much as split a hair on her head.” Vasiliy’s voice is black ice, clear and deadly. Nothing like the tone he uses with me.
A wall of men forms in front of me, backs unfurling.
Shit.
Between the gaps of massive limbs (seriously, what are they feeding this family?), I can see my dad’s pleased smirk at the situation. Of course, he’d encourage a fight.
“Seems like you picked up a tick on the way over, cousin.” I recognize the voice as the one who first welcomed me, but he doesn’t bother turning my way as he says the words. Instead, his entire focus is locked on Vas as he says, “No worries. We’d be more than happy to squash it for you.”
Back at the studio, when someone threatened you, all you had to worry about was losing your paycheck or crushed glass being slipped into your toe shoes.
Unfortunately, two weeks in this world is long enough to know that a threat from one of these syndicate members always precedes a disproportionate escalation of violence.
Like clockwork, two of my cousins reach back, thumbing guns tucked under their belts.
But I’m a quick study. I beat them all to the punch.
I’ve already dug out the gun Vasiliy tucked into my waistband at the beginning of the flight. The safety switches off in a careful motion I learned an hour earlier, the resulting click a siren’s song to every man on the tarmac.
The wall of bodies flips, opening me back up to the rest of the crowd. My cousins’ faces are frozen in different shades of surprise as their gazes ping-pong between my stern face and the loaded gun resting loose in my grip.
“If you touch him, you will die,” I say simply, allowing my thumb to scrape against the looped trigger. “Which would be a shame, because I’d really like to learn your names.”
“Jesus, Pa, where’d you pick her up from, the CIA?” one of my cousins barks with a sharp laugh, not at all taken aback by my hanging threat.
“It seems that my daughter has grown attached to a rather irritating stray,” Dad cuts in, still boasting that pleased smile.
“Russian?” Another asks with suspicion.
“Vasiliy Morozov. Pleased to meet you,” Vas says with a deadly smile that only escalates the situation, and a tone insinuating that he is very much not pleased to meet them. My eyes roll back. Unfortunately, it’s not his expression that seems to drive their aggression, but his name.
“Morozov,” one of my cousins mutters, folding his arms into his chest. “Oh, I’ve heard all about you.”
“All good things, I hope.”
“Not necessarily.” My cousin steps forward. “They call you the Beast of Moscow, which I suppose is saying something, given your fucked-up family.” He sniffs, lifting his chin. “I thought you’d be bigger.”
Vasiliy chuckles darkly. “Why don’t you come over here and find out?”
“Here I come, shitweasel. Better start smoke signaling your uncle to come save the day.”
The blur of movement goes by so fast, I don’t even manage to get a single word out before the impact.
Vasiliy tackles my cousin like a damn linebacker, both bodies dropping to the tarmac before my next breath.
I can’t tell who’s winning as they trade punches and struggle to stay on top.
He was just shot! If he gets hurt again…
I glance around for help, but everyone looks content to let the fight play out on the concrete below. Fuck this.
Bang.
My shot grazes the tarmac with a loud explosion. The sound sends every man here reaching for their guns.
“Vasiliy,” I growl, straining to reach him. “Come here.”
He moves immediately, but doesn’t take his eyes off my cousin as he pushes to his feet and returns to my side. I can sense everyone’s attention heating my neck. Somehow, I feel just as small as I did when all I had were their backs.
“Aw. Seems like our cousin’s got a nice leash on you, Morozov.”
“Correct,” he says simply. “It’s the only thing keeping you alive.”
“Stop.” I step toward my cousins, who are still hovering on the grey tarmac like they’re preparing to pounce.
The one with the lightest hair wears a feral grin that I can’t quite read.
“If Vasiliy goes, I go.” The ultimatum leaves my lips before I can even think it through. “We’ll leave if you’d like us to—”
“You’re not leaving, Octavia,” Dad interrupts with a finalizing tone.
I turn my back, addressing my cousins instead. “This is your family. You have every right to make us leave, but having me without him is not an option.”
I can feel all of their demeanors shift with the mandate. I don’t meet their gazes, determined to keep pumping icy resolve into my voice. I can barely stomach the thought of having all of these people ripped away from me before I can even process them as family.
I’d do it, though. I meant every word. That’s all that matters.
“No chance, cuz. You’re gonna have to try harder than that to get rid of us now,” the tallest man concedes. My throat slackens.
“If the mutt means that much to you—” Another starts.
“Kirill,” the first scolds, whacking his brother in the side of the head.
“Jeez, sorry. If the Morozov boy means that much to you, we’ll work harder on tolerating his presence. So long as he behaves himself around you, that is.”
“Really?” My mouth gapes. “Just like that?”
One of them flashes a crooked smile nearly identical to his father’s. “You’ll learn quickly enough that nothing comes between the members of this family. Not even falling for a Russian psychopath who’s infamous for blowing up random clubs for fun.”
I skip right over the whole “falling for him” implication—definitely not ready to deal with that loaded bomb yet—and right to the fiery accusation. Perhaps I’ve finally discovered what his fuck-up at work was all about.
Breathe, Octavia. How would a balanced person respond to something like that?
“Vasiliy.”
“Yeah?” He tilts his head down, as though we’re having a private conversation rather than broadcasting to the entire tarmac.
“Did you blow up a club?”
“Yeah.”
Jesus.
“Did they deserve it?” I ask, drawing a palm over my face in exhaustion.
“Kinda, yeah.”
I turn to the group, extending my arms. “There. Settled?”
I realize they’re all still staring at me with dopey, wide eyes. The one they called Kirill is the first to break the silence, letting out a manic laugh and smacking my dad’s arm.
“Seriously. Where the hell did you find her?”
Cool glass presses into my cheek.
Colors blur before my eyes. Monotonous greys and bushy greens.
Endless trees that wind around the twisting road.
Under the glistening rain and setting sun, the leaves brighten into a breathtaking color you’d never see in the city.
I’m sure tourists travel for days to take in such peaceful serenity. I hate it all the same.
“You’re quiet.”