Chapter Thirteen
Ava
Roman parks the car in the side garage, lining with matching SUVs just like his. He slips out of the driver's side with his jacket folded over his arm as I reach the handle. I sigh in frustration when he slams his door locking me in again.
These games are starting to irritate me.
He opens my door and I exit, shutting it behind me. A soft blush spreads across my cheeks. I drop my head in a sad attempt to cover my face with my hair, but the red in my auburn intensifies the pink heat on my face. I’m nervous about being here again, and with him this time. I hide my hands in my sweater pulling myself inward as I wait to follow Roman. He grabs my bag from the back and walks in front of me, leading the way. The tiny pink flowers match the faded pink speckles of blood on his body, trailing down his neck and clothes.
He opens the door connecting to the garage and I enter as he follows behind, shutting the door. I trail his steps to the back of the house, meeting a small spiral staircase. I made a mental note of the back of the mansion but unsure if these stairs lead to the same level as the stairs in the foyer. The exposed brick and staircase clashes from the stark white and black entrance from yesterday.
The heaviness in my soul is pulling me to run out the door and try to escape. I should have taken this strength I have now and left months ago. I could have changed my hair or head to the border to try and slip away into thin air. I could have become someone completely new.
I watch the muscles tense on Roman’s back as he leads me down a dim hallway. The thick smell of dried blood, musk and tobacco were bewitching me into a lull. The hood of my eyes are heavy from the rollercoaster from the past couple of days. All I want now is some sleep but work has to be done.
With Roman there was an invisible wall of sensual conundrum, and I don’t know how to cross it. I know part of it is fear, and for years I have shoved this feeling down, disassociating from it, doing what I had to do and surviving with what little I had left.
Roman stops at a white door and turns to me, “You will stay here and only here.” He opens it as he studies my face. Palming my duffle bag, he lifts his hand out and I take it from him, slinging it over my shoulder.
I scrunch myself down to squeeze past, “Thanks,” I say without looking at him and shut the door.
I toss the heavy duffle bag to the side and creep toward the center of the room. The bed was like a cloud with a mounting white comforter and the walls bare. It was a skeleton of a room with no furniture except a single standing lamp and simple bed. No bed frame, no dresser, nothing.
I look out the window and a thick forest is past the property line but nothing beyond that. I try to remember which roads we took to reach Stepan’s house and the only thing that comes to mind is how we reached a bloodbath earlier. I shiver as I lean in tugging my elbows together. I feel like I am losing the game and the games have just begun.
The stars peek through the dark clouds as they slowly flow across the sky. The stench of blood lingers in my nose but a shower will have to wait. The clock is ticking, and I am ready to get out from under my parent’s debt and the Volokhov.
I walk to the connecting bathroom to at least wash my face, and maybe salvage some of my dignity for the way Roman made me feel. The bathroom is just as plain as the room with a single sink.
The water drips down my elbows as I try to map the mansion in my head. I grab a white towel, wiping the water from my neck and lower it as I look at myself in the mirror. The eerie shape of my eyes make me uneasy, like I didn’t know who I was anymore. Everything was moving so fast, instead of the slow life I have gnawed at my skin and bone into creating. There was something magical about being in this world again though. Not just some pawn anymore, but truly immersed in it, sinking my teeth in so I can tear out a chunk of them.
There was a white clock reflecting in the mirror,
11:43 p.m.
I rub the dryness from my eyes as I yawn. The fluff of pillows and blankets were calling my name and a small nap won't hurt. Plus, I need to be sure everyone is sound asleep. The last thing I need is a bullet in my head. I change into a large black shirt and strip my leggings off to where I am just wearing my maroon thong and fall backward into the cloud.
Roman
Standing outside, the chill in the air makes the hair on my arms stand up. I curse at the wind for not sweeping away this filth of a family as I stare at its confines and overgrown rose garden. The glow of Ava's window frames her face when she leans in, resting herself on the windowsill. The cold dissipates as my body warms and I watch her squeeze her full tits, creasing her sweater down the middle. I want to bend her over that windowsill so she can admire the stars and moon, screaming for daylight as I come in her.
I don't know how to get through to her and shove her awake. I always push people away, but never have I been one to be so infatuated, especially with a fragile little cottontail. I crave every essence of her. I want to intertwine in her thorns, but I have always snapped fallen limbs with my cold and dark footsteps, chasing anything away.
But I can't keep away. I won’t.
I twirl one of the rabbit cards between my fingers.
She either understands she is playing with smoke and mirrors, or she will wind up dead. I know she is not dumb about what the game entails, but she’s a distraction nonetheless, and I hate how she may end up with everyone’s fate who is in the Bratva. She is so fragile and needs protection, and no one is allowed to touch what is mine, but now she is a target to the others.
She didn't retreat from my grasp around her neck but it was like she took joy in the darker parts of her, rising to the surface, her thorns poking through her wispy soul as I cut her life-force off. She leans back into the room and a buzz goes off in my pocket.
Out front. Your brother is out here.
Read from Nikolai
What does he want now?
The money. Sergey grabbed it and is heading over with some of the goods.
You know what to do.
I want to fucking put him out of his misery if not mine for his yapping about stupid shit.
I chuckle from Nikolai’s disrelish for Stepan. He may hate him more than I do at this point. Nikolai has been digging and following Stepan's transactions since we arrived in town, to gather what we could. He sent me a text earlier about how the shit-bag only buys liquor, cars, and jewelry with electronic transactions. The irony of how much blood is on cash versus the gluttony of electronic transactions, reaffirms the need to strangle the silence. My own family, and those who are like them.
They believe they are original for taking from the people, forcing them to watch their lives crumble, while they are safe in their mansions with the stench of their gold jewelry and hush money, littering at their feet. A real leader doesn't build off of people's backs. They protect the people. It isn't the people that are the problem, it's the system it was built on. But they chose not to change it. If anything, all the mafias are contributing to the machine. I will give it back to the people little by little, and slowly create organized chaos the way it needs to be. My way.
Rounding the side of the mansion I follow the dimly lit stepping stones, and toss my shirt to the back side of the bushes to hide the blood stains. Stepan, Nikolai and I are standing in the drive as Sergey and Alexei pull up in a box truck. He hops from the cab, and swiftly walks toward Stepan with a bag in hand.
Stepan swivels to me, "Look who decided to show up! You did it you fucker, the wedding is on, and I got a call that we are in the clear," he says excitedly with a shit eating grin on his face.
I stand between Stepan and Nikolai, "I couldn't have done it without these two."
Stepan yanks the bags from Sergey's hands and spreads a smile across his face, "Thanks… you know what? Your hands are incredibly small compared to your head,” He laughs.
I step between them with my hand out to help him back down, "Sergey, now is not the time for jokes."
"Right. Well, you fuckers can celebrate." Stepan zips open a bag, gathering two stacks of cash and breaks the paper-band, “I hope they enjoyed our extra gift. I just wished I could have before, but maybe the bitch will open her wide-fucking-mouth for someone this time,” He tosses them in the air and money flutters around us as he roars with laughter. "Oopsie,” he gestures his hands questionably, “Well, you boys have fun. I am going out." His nonchalant tone made me want to yank his ears and make him pick up the money with his fucking teeth. My blood is boiling talking about my Cottontail like that.
I vent a smile at Stepan as I shake his shoulder. My face goes straight as I wrap my arm around his neck into a headlock. I pull him to my abdomen, ready to choke the life from him.
He squirms as he grabs his my arm, trying to pull it away, “Get the fuck—”
I knee him in the stomach, "Oopsie," I mutter in his face.
"What the fuck Roman!" Stepan, pushing against my arms with his hands.
"Just like old times, right brother?" I strain to keep him stable from his thrashing.
"Get off of me." He wrenches under the pressure of my forearm. I let go with a shove. He falls to the ground on his hands and knees, yelling, "What the fuck is your problem! I gave you all the money for the job. You can pick it up. It is chump change."
You will fucking pay for talking about her like that.
He stood brushing the invisible dirt off the front of his suit, like someone who would never dare get their hands dirty. He stares at us for a moment, shocked and storms off.
"It was all in good fun," I sarcastically poke under my breath, arms wide. I wish he would try to start something with me, but I know he won't. Fucker is afraid of his own shadow.
Sergey opens the truck's door, hoping in the driver’s side. "I am going to pull it to the side garage. He isn't very smart if he thought the call from me pretending I was the Italian mafia's Don was actually him. He bought it though,” Sergey snickers.
Alexei chimes a laugh from the passenger seat, “I was going to run him over. But I'm working on my anger— Too bad the night doesn’t allow it— Oh look, a hat!” He says as he lifts a baseball cap from the dash. I shake my head at his quick speech and movements.
I can see with the plan unfolding in our favor. One body at a time.