Chapter Three
Roman
The time it takes me to down this coffee, my brother Stepan wouldn’t shut his mouth. Like him and I could drop everything that has happened, and the years I spent away, was nothing of importance. All I can think about is her. I wanted nothing more than to be left in my thoughts. Not about how much he pays the police off.
Interjecting to steer his inessential fucking word vomit, “Thanks for the ride,” I look around the large interior of the SUV, “I will be here for a while, and thank you for letting me stay at the house.” It wasn’t his, it was the family’s house, but the way he rambles about how much he has changed the place, I wouldn’t expect anything less of him. He flaunts being the heir to our family's Bratva throne, and claims anything and everything he can get his hands on .
The blood is thick with him but I search to find a care. I know being third to rule this city has little thrill to me, but he is my brother. Fond memories of laughter, when we were kids, make my heart ache for those times that are now lost and forgotten. Now he has to wait for what is to come for him, just like how I waited for him to call me when I was being consumed by darkness at St. Kilsreny.
He doesn't have to wait too much longer though.
He claps his hands together, “Brother, you have been away for so long. How were the other cities? I mean, I know you are good at selling guns with how much money I see in the accounts,” he bounces his eyebrows up and down, “but how was the scene? This town bores the shit out of me. The same shit but you know what father does,” he points to his chest, “ I have to keep it in line.” Stepan sips his coffee with a condescending smirk that I wanted to wipe clean from his fucking mouth.
I laugh into a slanted grin, “You have always been a brown-nosed daddy's boy Stepan. You have a whole city to play in, don’t you see you live the dream?” Jokingly, I tug the line of boundary. He doesn’t run shit here and never has. It is just a rank he holds while I run the deals for the guns and ammo. Even if I have been living and traveling in cities for years, I don’t need the strokes and pets from Father to make me feel like I am special. Stepan is the favorite and always has been.
He fumbles with a wad of cash in his hand as we drive outside of the city, ignoring my comment. “Igor, stop by the cleaners, I need to pick up a present I have for my brother,” he says as he squeezes and rocks my shoulder back and forth. “You and I are going out tonight. It is about time we celebrate your return to Baltimore,” he says with his arms out and palms up, exposing his initiation tattoo on his left palm and the wad of blood money in the other. The black permanent eyes flash a memory of when I had mine tattooed.
You may be born into this family but that doesn’t mean you belong to the higher ranking class in the Bratva. The eyes tattooed on the inner palms signifies the fealty to the family. The left palm is a closed eye, expressing that the life before, means nothing to the life you serve. The right palm has an open eye, as the devotion to the Bratva. I peer to the inside of my palm and then to the backside of my hand. A tattoo with a cloud of smoke wrapping around the gas mask, an ode to put your mask on first before anyone else's. A fuck you I got after my initiation tattoos.
“I have a sui—”
“—I have to run and meet up with some others that are joining us but Igor can take you.” Stepan steps out of the SUV without waiting for a response.
Staring down at the empty cup in my hand, The Rabbit Cafe reads like pins and needles. My jaw clenched as I thought about Ava. Her name tag perched on top of her perky breasts and those dark green eyes, soft and heavy. The dip of her hips and the sweetness in her voice.
What is something so perfect, working for something so vile?
I adjust my hardening cock as I place the cup in the holder. Scratching at the lid, I try to keep my focus on what I need to do and who is next on the list to kill.
As we wait for my princess-of-a-brother to return, Igor looks at me through the rearview mirror when my phone vibrates a chime from my pocket. I unlock the screen and see a message from Nikolai.
Back in town I am guessing but let me know when the sky clears.
He is my right hand man along with Alexei, and Sergey. They are my real brothers. We were known for always having each other's backs and stuck together, even after school. Word got around to our separate families and they decided to make pacts as we made deals. We were our own unit in the Bratva and considered the deadliest, but we were just the lucky ones to come out alive.
The door swings open, as Stepan stands there with a shit-eating-grin, holding a garment bag. “If you don’t wear this I’ll take that as a fuck you and I’ll beat your ass,” he chuckles, sliding into the back seat with wide eyes.
My instinct was to kill him right here and right now. He was always the bigger brother type, trying to keep me under his wing when we were younger. But we are not those first generation Americans anymore. Our father would build us up with empty promises and manipulation, filling our eyes with stars of hope. In the end it was just a bunch of bullshit.
I cock an eyebrow, “If I remember correctly you cried, tapping out when we were kids.” I grab the garment bag from him, laying it over my lap. My eyes twitch with the bittersweet memory.
Stepan adjusts himself on the bench seat, flapping his jacket closed, “Before you got shipped off, I didn’t get to tell you how much I would miss you brother.” If this dude doesn’t stop grabbing my shoulder and shaking it, I am going to end him right now. He knew the reason I was sent off, and he could care less. There was no call from him or visit. Not even a letter.
“Time flies by when you are having fun though. I know that,” I say, taking another jab at him, pushing him, knowing he is notorious for flying off the handle too quickly.
He is silent, searching for a response. His knuckles turn white, inhaling the tension. He wouldn't dare try anything with me though. Even though he was full of himself, he’s was scared to look like a fool.
The familiar lush green bushes line the iron entrance gates to the drive, scaling up the spiked rods. I grit my teeth at haunting memories of my childhood in this place.
He takes a half empty bottle of dark liquor from under his seat, downing a good chug as he stares at me. “To brotherhood.” He hands me the glass bottle, cooling my hot hand.
I force a smile, “To brotherhood.”
I park on Ava’s street corner, underneath a dim streetlamp, and take my phone out to respond to Nikolai. I adjust my suit and shirt collar as I text him back. Nikolai decided to stay close to me when I came back to Baltimore, but the others were waiting for the right time to join us.
Nikolai is a traveling man by nature, like all of us have been, but he's always in the shadows with me. He is not only my right hand man, but is also the tech genius and the force behind logistics for funneling money. Most of his work is tracking shipments, people, the feds, and if I need to find something, he can, and will. He is good at asking the important questions. We call him the inquisitor to have a laugh once in a while, but when we do it usually ends with him doing something embarrassing, like hacking systems, ordering us hundreds of little bags of tiny dicks to be delivered to our current locations. Jokes on him though, because we have always shared warehouse flats.
Who is Ava? She works at the rabbit cafe
I watch the screen, waiting for it to say read before I set my phone down.
I dart my eyes up at her apartment, situating above The Rabbit Cafe, when a light turns on. Ava's curvy silhouette bounces across the room as I watch her, it's hard not to with the way she moves. My hand settles on the top of the leather steering wheel as I twist my skull ring on my middle finger.
My cock twitches, intoxicated by her closeness. The soft pink, glowing light behind the sheer white curtains, envelopes her curvy shape, squeezing in at her perfect waist and thick thighs. I need to know more about her as my obsession grows every time she passes by the window. I adjust the rock-hard bulge in my pants.
My focus on women has never been a serious one. It has always been occupied with my purpose and taking down the Bratva, but her innocence mesmerizes me. Women like her are not made for men like me, but I can’t shake her mystery. I want her long auburn hair wrapping around my wrist, to see if her soft voice is just as soft and sweet when she moans my name, and to see if her innocence breaks in my hands.
But for now, back to taking care of business.
The car hums as I turn the ignition. I pull the chain from my pocket and stare at the watch hooked to the end of it. Setting it on my lap, I take one last look at the peach glow and adjust my cock, pressing against the zipper of my pants.
I will have her. She is mine.
I pull into the back of the club’s parking-lot as Nikolai’s name flashes across my phone.
Daughter of Tivcova’s who were extinguished. Class: Working Unit Volokhov Bratva
Why the fuck is she working for my Father then?
My fingers skipped over the keyboard, furious to think she was tricked by him or by this life people think is glamorous. I thought she was just a regular employee at the Cafe.
But why would such a perfect angel stick around and was it because she was a part of the family front?
I follow Stepan and his men past the huddles of dancing to a narrow staircase. The metal pings from the weight of us stepping off as we slip behind the heavy VIP curtains.
Stepan pivots toward me, “My brother,” he announces, initiating everyone else to do the same. “You are lucky because this is my first time being here, and I thought what a better night than tonight,” his voice rises, “celebrating your fucking return, providing a buffett for you.” Stepan takes a glass of vodka from the waitress, elevating it in my direction with a tilt. His smug, clean-shaven face licks his gaze to the flocking women around him and his men.
I grab a cigarette from my pack and light it as I take a glass of Bourbon from a serving tray the waitress is holding. She is pouting her lips, wearing only a pink bra and underwear, flowing her hand down her torso. Not worrying about her, and truly not wanting to be here at all, I walk past her and Stepan. He didn’t wait a moment before sitting his ass down on the black couch like it was his throne.
I lift my glass with my back turned, “To the next King.” A nod of fluff to his ego, but fuck, did it make my darkness stir knowing every empire must fall.
The weave of hate wraps around my eyes as I open the VIP curtains separating us from the first floor. Club lights flash purple into the VIP, exposing the black painted walls and its glossy finish.
The pulse from the music made my mind blank. I take a drag of my cigarette as I watch over puddles of people like a stone gargoyle. The waterfall of auburn hair and her tender smile couldn’t be missed.
Ava you make it so easy for me to watch you with those glorious hips.
The dress she is wearing tightly hugs at all the appetizing areas as her nipples prominently stick out underneath the thin material. Her eyes catch mine and quickly looks away, folding her bright red lips together. My presence seems to irritate her as she shoves off into a corner with her friend, and I can't help but grin at her frustration.
That’s it beautiful, be irritated by me.
Stepan yells, “Ey! Roman, come over here!” He snorts a line of cocaine through a hundred-dollar-bill and motions his hand to me, “Come have some.”
He pushes the silver plate toward me as I put-out my cigarette in the ashtray next to the couch. “Look’s tasty, but I’m good right now,” I say, taking a seat next to him.
He scoffs, waving his hand at me as he turns toward a girl. I watch him and his men grope the women as they play on their tailored suits and fucking stupidity. Good for them.
I look down on the inside of my glass, taking a sip, as a hand slides over the front of my chest. I gently pick her wrist off me and look up to tell her to fuck off until I see what I needed to know. The purple and red lights spotlight the bruise encasing her right eye. Her dead eyes flinch at me as she lowers her head into her skeleton chest, like she hadn’t had a meal in weeks. The infliction of rage brews to my trigger finger.
Stepan leans to me, shouting over the music, “This is Paris. Compliments of the Italian Mob.” He licks his lips at her as she scurries to the corner. I watch his eyes dart to the booths at the lower part of the club. “Actually, these are the guys that have made it possible for my club to have such a selection.”
My family was the first in this city. The empire that reigns and though we ran the lower east, the Italians ran the upper west. We are the gun and ammunition supplier for the Italian mob and the interconnected mafias across the United States. My father made a pact with the Italians when he came to America in the nineties with my family. He cut all imports of weapons from the Italians and took to the throne as the importer and supplier. Ever since then, it has become known that we were the head of the beast. The Volokhov Bratva supplies at a price to the mobs and they distribute as they see fit. It seems as though the Italians have been trafficking women as well though and my brother was wanting a cut.
“About a year ago, when your sales started to go down for recurring customers,” he laughs, punching my shoulder playfully, “I decided to invest a bit with them. I don’t have to touch the operations, but so far those two have been picking the cream of the crop. That’s Leo,” he motions his hand to the one hovering over Ava, “and that’s his cousin Renato,” he says as he points his index finger toward the dance floor, flashing the family ring in my eyes. The bones and chains wrap around his finger, a gift and a symbol of ruling the Bratva. I line my eyes with the target, he so graciously points out to me, through the thin metal railing.
I wanted to jump from my seat when I saw the fucker touch Ava. They think humans can be bought and sold, and now they are inching too close to what is mine. I will fucking kill them.
My jaw clenches, “So father knows about this deal with the Italians? We have always supplied the weapons to the Italians, and yeah keep our noses out of their business, but I didn’t think we were into this kind of shit.” I keep my eyes on Ava.
“Yeah, he is the one who suggested it. I mean, I of course made the final deal happen, but you know,” he sips through his cocktail straw. “Plus why the hell do you care? It keeps you here with me while I take over, and you will get a cut, don’t fret,” he says in a nonchalant arrogant tone, bobbing his head.
My knuckles turn white as they grip the top of the crystal glass. I keep my eyes on Ava, “And what is up with the girl with the red dress? She is with them?”
“Oh fuck no. Her fucking parents tried to marry her off so many fucking times to our cousins, but the bitch is a fucking prude. She has always fucked up anyway she could to not be involved,” he cackles, “A fucking weirdo goody-two-shoes hiding in the corner. Her family stole money from us and father found out. He told me to fucking take care of it. Well, I didn’t want to kill the bitch as much as her fucking whining made me want to smother her face, so I beat the shit out of her instead. I decided to get some free labor by setting her up in that shit-hole Cafe and jank apartment.” He didn’t have the guts to kill her.
I keep my focus on her shyness, “Oh, so she signed a contract?”
“Fuck no, I wasn’t going to have a papertrail. I told her death,” he slices his fingers across his throat, “or pay it off. She decided to stick around, for now, and father wasn’t too happy with me. He actually called me a little bitch for showing mercy on her, and that it will bite me in the ass and the family's ass one day.”
“But she knows it was you? So she saw your face, and now she is under our contract and that’s it? She doesn’t try to get out of it?” The word “ our” hung in my mouth and clung to my inner cheeks, wishing I could spit out the foulness in his face. Nothing was ours and never would be.
“I am not that stupid, brother. Pavel and I wore masks,” he waves over a girl to grab him another drink, “Don’t be such a downer! Bitch can do what she wants, I guess. But if she tells anyone what she knows, we will fucking slit that pretty neck of hers.”
“Right.” Is all that escapes my mouth as I stand, placing my drink on a small table. I walk to the railing and scan the crowd for her.
That fucker better keep his fucking distance from her.
Ava swayed on the dance floor, bouncing her ass to the beat as I watched her most of the night. My brother and his men were too busy snorting coke, drinking and dancing with the girls, but Ava was a gentle sight to see in the maddening static.
She starts to sloppily sway, struggling to keep her balance. I have counted her drinks and she has only had two. She stumbles away from Leo, who was trying so hard to make her like him. I watch as she trips off of the dance floor, shuffling into the hallway and into the bathroom. My instincts know better when someone is in danger, especially when that fucker is standing there with a smile, watching her as she hangs on for dear life to stay on her feet.
I lit a cigarette, taking one long drag off of it. The smoke barrels around me with an exhale as I slam it down into the ashtray, breaking it into its embers. I walk to the stairs, ignoring my brother as he calls for me. The muffle of my name fades into the music as I make it to the dance floor.
My mind is blank, other than to see if she was ok.
I kick the bathroom’s handle, splintering the door open. Ava is limp and her hair slightly sways over her face as he props her on the bathroom counter.
Leo faces me, holding her by the shoulders, “What the fuck man. You can't just—” His tone quickly changes from anger, busting into a sigh of relief. “Oh, you are the brother! I saw you up there with Stepan. So, tell me. What did you think about the ladies?” His eyebrows raise suggestively. The only thing I want to bust is his head wide open for laying his human dealing finger on what is mine. He waits, searching for me to happily reply to his crimes as he spreads her legs, “Want to get in on her after I am done? I mean look at this fucking pretty face.” He scrunches his hand on the top of her head, tugging her hair and exposing her unconscious face.
Nikolai would say before I go in for a kill, I was like smoke. Steady and calculated to choke the life from you.
I walk to him, “Ah, she sure is pretty,” my voice rumbles, making sure to not break eye contact with him. I reach for Ava, cradling her off the counter. She is like a ragdoll as I set her between the mirror and the corner of the wall, positioning her head lightly.
Sweat is pouring through his shirt and his hands squirmed in his pockets. “You…you can have her man. I–I won’t even put a price on this one. It’s on-the- house… like a token,” he stutters as I slant a grin at him.
I grasp his slick neck, slamming his face into the granite counter, dragging it back up again. His yelling was of no concern of mine with the music smothering it. I hiss in his bloody face, “I would think you would know not to fucking touch what is the Bratvas.” He tries to blink through his blood, spilling from his forehead into his eyes. “To dabble in the sale of humans is a quick way to have you moved up on my list,” I say casually, slamming his face and pulling it back up, “and especially if you touch what is mine.”
He struggles to speak as he starts to reach for his gun in his holster, “You will die—”
—I slam his head again, cracking it further open. His blood splatters across Ava’s black Mary-Jane high heels and up the mirror. I take my knife from my pocket with a flick. Digging the blade into his jugular, I slice it in as far as it can go as it squashes into a lovely sound across his throat, to make sure the fucker is dead. Though, that third blow to the granite was enough with his brains exposed from his skull.
He falls face down as I take a handkerchief from my coat pocket. I wipe the blade, watching Ava’s luminance of peace tug at my heart. Her fading lipstick smears slightly on the right side of her cheek and her hands settle in her lap. My eyes trace her neck and down her curves that fill her dress. Her slumber was something out of a seventeen hundreds painting. Innocent and sweet.
My Little Rabbit.
I stare at my blade, letting the snakes slither through my soul as I straddle my feet on either side of him. “Leo Stravani,” I tsk , shaking my head slowly, “So you drugged, was going to rape and apparently tried to toss My Sweet Rabbit away like she was worn fucking gum,” I say, scowling. I lift his shirt up exposing his upper back as bright blood pools around him.
I sear the blade into his flesh on his upper back, carving a rabbit head into his shoulder blade. She is what the world needs. To soften their presence and souls, instead of becoming hard shells of ruthlessness.
She is my muse.
I lower the crimson soaked shirt over my work of art. A warning to all in the twisted darkness of my world. I'm coming for them.
She was the complete opposite of me.