16. Nicu
16
NICU
T he air hung thick, pressing against every surface. The strength of her fear pierced the sanctity of my domicile. Tainted the air with her presence, her state of being. Instinctually, I run my hand over every surface, smoothing down the sheets, trying to replace the vibrant emotions she left behind. The place I had crafted perfectly, which made me feel at ease, was ruined. Why did I let her off so easily?
That question haunted me all night. I wasn’t the type to let even a sliver of disrespect slide.
In our world, the second you let someone do that to you, it is a sign of weakness, and weakness is not to be tolerated, especially in our household. It was to be torn out, stomped on, shredded before your eyes. At that point, you are given a choice: be made anew or exterminated and thrown away like trash. Men, women, children—we were all the same in my father’s eyes. Just tools to be sharpened or discarded. If those tools were not sharp and useful, they were meaningless, worse than death. You were left alive for his amusement… until they were broken.
I closed my eyes, exhaled sharply, and reached for my phone. Morning already. Running my hands over my face, I swallowed down my groan of exhaustion. Another weakness was that I didn't need to see the light of day. Her face, pinched and snarled like an animal, flashed in my head.
Glancing at the spot underneath my desk, I thought about that woman crouched under the table. It wasn't the danger or a deranged woman that called me to act, to step in, no. It was those eyes filled with terror, acceptance, and desperation. Eyes that pulled me back to the past, reminding me of those same eyes staring back at me before I crushed those paltry expectations they held onto. It was the only thing to survive.
Survive . That was what I saw in her hunched-over form, gripping down my pen like it was a knife, her only way to defend herself. While fear and terror were overwhelmingly present, I caught onto a subtle yet fierce will to survive. The fight in her surprised me, calling me to her like a moth to a flame.
Before I knew what was happening, I told my brother to leave and slowly approached her. Bending down at the knees, I watched her body shake, her wild waves covering most of her face, but those golden brown eyes shined with strength. While her body curled away to hide, to be invisible, those eyes held onto a sliver of hope that someone might help her, save her.
Staring at her transported me back to when I hid under my bed, desperate to get away from him, to escape the beatings I knew he was planning to give me. The same trembling body, the same sliver of hope, ran through me as my mother stood up to him in my bedroom, telling him I wasn't there.
Closing my eyes, I can still smell her rose perfume as she runs to lock the door. The pounding of his fists on the door before it cracked open. The sound of them yelling at each other even though my hands clasped over my ears, squeezing my eyes tight until I felt a thud.
My father was straddling my mother, ruby red liquid already running down her face as she looked at me under the bed, mouthing my name. My fingers curled into the carpet so hard I thought it would rip underneath my hands. Her eyes watered, boring into mine, telling me a thousand words in seconds. Stay safe. I’m sorry. Be strong. I’m sorry. I love you.
I started to crawl towards her, but she shook her head, looking at me as she yelled to stop, blood dripping out the side, and I paused. His laugh, low and cruel, echoed in the room before his fists crashed into her face—a whirlwind of violence. Twitching at each crack of bones, bile rising at each splatter of her blood on the floor. He wasn't done until her body stopped twitching, the front of him looking like he bathed in blood.
He paused, looked down at her, and sighed heavily, mumbling, “I told you, never defy me.” The heaviness of his steps walking away bounced around in my skull as my soul cracked in two. Time went by; two of my father's men came by and took away my mother's body, and maids came and cleaned the room of all the blood, all while silent tears fell from my cheeks as I cowered underneath the bed.
It wasn't until a set of light steps entered the room that I realized I hadn't left the underbelly of the bed in a while, and no one had come to look for me either. Their hushed tones talked about how their mothers told them not to come to this side of the house; it wasn't safe.
I wanted to tell them they were right, to leave and not get caught by him , but my throat was so raspy that no noise came out. I watched their steps going around the room, talking about how they were told they had an older brother and thought they could finally meet him. This had to be Ion and Cezar, the two boys I had only seen once when they were born. Father liked to keep us in separate wings, so we didn't see much of each other except in passing.
Unlike the adults, who only did their jobs and left, these boys had got on their knees, the first to look under the bed. “There you are,” Ion said, “Come on.” Both boys outstretched their hands toward me, grunting to reach me with their small hands.
Initially, I was hesitant, but I grabbed their hands, and they helped me out. Cezar smiled brightly at me, digging in his pocket before offering me a piece of candy. “You look hungry. Eat this first, and we can sneak into the kitchen next.”
From then on, we would sneak into each other's wings, play, and laugh. Father never bothered to visit us, and we kept out of his way… that was until my ninth birthday. That day, he told us we would start training for the family business. From that day forward, a sea of horrors and trials made us stronger and vanquished our weaknesses. To see if we could survive.
I shook off the past and climbed out of bed. No wrinkles. I smoothed the sheets, plumped the pillows, and centered them to the fold of the blanket. Perfect.
Checking my phone for any communication from my father, my hand clenched around the device when I found nothing. No call, text, email, or even a word from any of his subordinates. His message was clear: focus on what you are doing, not on anything else.
Prickles formed in the back of my head, the urge to chuck the phone at the wall riding me so hard my arm shook, but I took a breath and forced myself to calm down. He knew I could call my connections here in the States to get us a private jet back home without him, but he knew that I also knew the consequences of moving without his permission.
Once we got home, we would be carted to the house like criminals, all of us facing a punishment ten times worse than the crime, and it wouldn’t be just me suffering. He would make sure I had to watch Ion’s and Cezar’s punishment. He would call it dissension in the ranks and make a public show of punishing his children to remind his men to stay in line. If he could do this to his children, he would do worse for them.
No, I had to play this like he wanted.
Putting the phone down, I turned on the shower, and that gnawing itch crawled up my spine. Something was off. I scanned my pristine bathroom. What could possibly … I saw it. Moving my phone to perfectly vertical, the scratchy feeling disappeared, and I stepped into the shower.
Turning up the heat to scolding, I sighed as the wet, fiery trails went down my back. My body soaked up the piping hot rhythmic pounding, forcing me to focus on those hot trails instead of the problems that tried to plague me. The water helped me reset to clear my mind of the mission, my father, and the past. Letting it all go and fall down the drain.
Something caught on my foot, and I saw a long, wild, dark strand of hair trying to follow the water down the drain. Bending over, I picked that hair up with two fingers. The reminder was that she was in my space just the day before showering, needing the same reset I did.
Visions of water rolling down her soft, sun-kissed skin filled my head. Her hair is dark, and her wavy tresses fall down the curve of her back. She looked over her shoulder at me with those seductive honey-brown eyes, calling me to touch and taste.
My cock rose to the attention, wanting that vision that assaulted my mind without consent. There was nothing special about the woman. Yes, she was attractive, but so were a million other women, yet something about her called to my blood. Pulsing through my veins with the same word over and over again. Mine.
Gripping my dick with the hand that held the strand of her hair, my eyes rolled at myself in disgust as I pumped my hand up and down. I hadn't done something like this in a long time, but the visions of her in this shower wouldn't stop.
I saw her in the corner bent over, her peachy plump ass on display for me, so tempting I wanted to take a bite. Then she was in the middle, slowly rubbing her hands all over her body with suds, smelling like my soap as she washed herself for my amusement. Then she was against the glass, her arms up by an invisible thread, every inch of her curves on display as she begged me to fuck her, fill her, make her mine.
It was embarrassing how quickly I came, just thinking of her. I needed to learn if this woman had any information or not, as quickly as possible. She was starting to affect me, and I couldn't allow this to go on any further.
And once you're done? The question hung over my head like a ticking time bomb.
I wasn't averse to killing someone, especially if I thought it would be the better outcome for them, but for some reason, the thought of killing her now felt… wrong. A waste.
Then also having to deal with Cezar and the shit storm he would bring if it came down to killing her… it just felt like a lot of hassle, but what was the alternative? Sneak her onto the plane, then off to some remote location only the three of us knew? How long would that stay hidden? How long would she be safe?
The options seemed impractical, but something would need to be figured out soon because our father would call for us soon. Before that, I needed to know what she knew.
My phone dinged, and my head twisted to see it light up from the sink. Hastening my last once over with the soap, I stepped out, wrapped a towel around my waist, and picked up my phone.
A slow smile crept along my face as I clicked on the email I had been waiting for. Scanning the contents, I knew I needed to call some people to verify the information, but this came right in time. This would help me find out if what this woman, Kazia Lee, was telling me was a truth or a lie.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Ion narrowed his eyes at me as he looked over my shoulder at the spread of food on the table.
“I’m setting the tone for the evening.” I decided to go with a family-style setting, trying to put our prisoner at ease so she felt comfortable. It would keep Cezar at bay and hopefully get the answers I sought.
“This isn’t your normal setting for a… interrogation.” Ion crossed his arms, scanning the table again like he was trying to find something wrong.
“I decided to change it up. I need to take a more delicate approach since Cezar is here.” Setting the last wine glass on the table, I looked over the perfectly dressed table. Various family-style Italian dishes were in the center: lasagna, stuffed shells, ravioli, a big bowl of salad, and plenty of bread. Popping the red wine, I began to fill the glasses to the appropriate line. I didn't want anyone to get inebriated, so I kept it to one bottle. Eyeing Ion, he gulped, looking at the wine like he might get sick.
“What happens-,”
“I think I just want water. I’ve had a killer headache since the morning, and red wine will just make it worse.”
This time, it was my turn to raise my brow at him. I don't think I’ve ever witnessed him not take a drink when it’s offered to him. What made him change his tune now? “If that's what you want.” I wouldn't argue with him since I knew he was having difficulty since I made him go cold turkey.
He lifted one of the glasses and the bottle, pouring the wine back like an expert. “So, what is the game plan? How is this going to go?”
Accepting his subject change, I answered, “I told Cezar to bring her here at five-thirty. We will be having dinner, and I will ask her questions.” Sitting in my chair at the head of the table, I lifted the glass of wine and took a sip. Swirling it around in my mouth, I enjoyed the fruit, my clean front end, smooth going down the throat with the dry aftertaste. Turning the bottle around to see the label again, I wanted to remember this one.
“That's it?!” Ion’s exasperated question was to be expected.
I nodded, giving him a little more information. “I got some information already; I just need to confirm some things and see if she can fill in some blanks.” Ion’s shoulders tensed, his lips pressed together in a hard line as he stared at me in disbelief.
Something scratched at the back of my head, like a cat with a post, and I turned around to look at the table. Zeroing in on the fork two table places away that was off center. Marching over to the offensive scene, I moved the fork back into place, and that scratching feeling decreased.
Turning it back on him, I stood up with my glass in hand, circling him. “What are you so worried about, huh? I thought you wanted to get rid of her?” His back went straight, facing me with a fierce look, and for the first time in a long time, I wanted to poke at my little brother like I used to. “What changed, brother? Did she get under your skin?”
Flames worked up behind his eyes, and he opened his mouth when Cezar’s voice rang out beside us, “Oh, look, my wild Roma, my brothers are fighting over you. Isn't it cute?” We both turned our heads to see Cezar standing there with Kazia’s arm looping through his. Something about that intimate gesture tore through my chest, an ugly emotion I’d never felt before bursting forward. Ion’s eyes locked onto their arms, his hands curling into fists. Well, this was interesting.
Not bothered by either of us, Cezar glided Kazia around us, whispering in her ear, “Remember, first husband privileges.” Her eyes went wide, pining between us and Cezar, whereas he gave us a jackal of a smile, taunting us. What the fuck did he mean, first-husband privilege? And why did I want to fight him on that?
Needing to regain control of the situation, I gave her my softest smile. Noticing that she was wearing a flowy black dress that outlined her curves nicely. It must be from some clothes Cezar picked up at her house. “Welcome. I wanted a family dinner, and since we had a guest, I thought of inviting you. Also, as an apology for Ion frightening you.”
She rolled her lips into her mouth, looked down at her plate, and nodded. Cezar folded his hands on the table, his chin on top, and his whole attention was on Ion. On the other hand, Ion was very interested in his glass of water. What the hell is this about?
The silence in the room was so loud you would think none of us knew how to talk. “You want to ask me questions, right?” Both my brothers tensed up at her words, but I was intrigued by them, even if my hand clenched at my side at her being so bold. “Why don’t you just ask them? Then you can figure out if you are going to kill me or not.”
“Roma, I told you-”
Lifting my hand, cutting Cezar off through clenched teeth. “If that's what you wish.” Trying to relax my face, I leaned back in my chair and admired her lifted chin and fierce gaze. It said she knew she was in a dangerous place, but she wanted to, at worst, go out with her head held high. It was admirable. “Do you know why your mother left Armenia?”
She shook her head, eyes focused on me as she answered. “No. All I know is she was desperate to leave. I don't know anything about any family there, and I don't know anything about my father, but I do know that she met him and got pregnant with me there.”
“So you have no idea why she left?” This came from Ion, and my eyes slid over to him. He knew this was my show.
“No. I wish I did, but she always kept that from me, telling me the past was the past and our ancestors were leading us to survival.” Survival. There was that word again.
Strands of kinship started forming, trying to knot themselves into my soul, but I shook off those reaching threads that again hardened my heart. “Since it seems like your mother discussed it, you must know who your ancestors are. Where do you come from?”
Her eyes scanned the table, taking in a deep breath before answering. “I know I come from a Romani tribe in Armenia, but that's it. Growing up here, I wanted to blend in, to be like everyone else,” she winced, eyes filled with regret. “I didn't take what my mom taught me seriously, thinking it was superstitious, but now…”
She trailed off, but I wanted to know. “But now?”
“But now I’m beginning to think there was something to all of it, but I still don't know.”
As the self-designated caretaker, Cezar scooped up some of each main dish and put it on her plate. “Eat. You’ll feel better. Eating makes the world go round.”
She laughed, forking some of the food before putting it in her mouth. Her eyes lit up in delight, and I was glad that I had looked through her phone records and seen that she had ordered a lot of Italian food. It was the first time I saw someone not try to correct Cezar’s butchering of a traditional saying or laugh at him like an idiot.
“Do you know why your mother would have any association with our father, Arek Azadian?”
Again, she shook her head, covering her mouth as she swallowed her bite. “I have never heard that name. Honestly, I don't think she associated with anyone from back home as soon as she left.”
“Do you know why she used a fake name instead of her real name, Martrice Lee?”
Her eyes sliced towards mine, and I found the kernel I sought. She put her fork down, voice strong as she asked me, “How do you know that?”
Leaning forward, I kept pressing. “And why would she give you her old world last name?”
This time, she glared at me; if she had fangs, they would be showing, and my heart skipped a beat. “It looks like you got all the information, so I don't understand why you need me?”
“Nicu?” Ion asked, but I couldn't look away from the woman before me. That familiar strength I felt from her while she was under the desk came wafting out around me, and I wanted to suck it down, savor it.
“Last question, and I’ll tell you what I know about your mother and her people.” This time, her eyes lit up with curiosity before she nodded. “Did your mother do anything you thought was weird or out of place? Something not normal?”
Her mouth pinched as her hand went up to her chin, eyes unfocused as she thought. “I mean…” she tilted her head in doubt.
“Anything. Anything at all.”
She bit her lip, eyes searching before they settled on me. “When she was with Mike, she said his energy would protect us from the evil eye. Then after…”
“You killed him.”
She flinched at my words, but still nodded. The sooner she accepted the facts, the better she would feel.
“A-after that, she would make a protection spell every morning at dawn. She would never miss it. She said it was the only way we would be hidden from evil.”
I knew it. I knew they had known each other. Picking up my glass, I took a sip just as she asked, “Now it's your turn. What do you know?”
My brothers looked at me expectantly, which I expected, but her desperate, sad expression caught me by the throat. “I only know a few stories because all the people who were involved or would have an eye account are dead.”
That made her sit up, her full attention on me with questions simmering in her gaze. “It looks like your mother and my father knew each other, so much so that she fled her homeland with you in her belly.” Taking a breath, I finished what I knew with a straight face. “Your tribe, the Lee tribe, was the strongest, largest Romani tribe with decades of traditions. They had worked with the Azadian family for years and had a long-standing partnership with them. Your grandmother was the leader; you come from a long line of Romani royalty. After your mother fled, my father went into a rage and killed all of your tribe. You are the last of your tribe, a Romani princess.”
She went still, her fork clanged against the plate as her eyes went distant, not making a sound as she digested what I had just said. Keeping my eyes on her, I leaned forward just a fraction, waiting to see the outcome of the information I told her.
The thing that I didn't tell her was that not only did my father kill the whole tribe, but he also killed a whole subgroup of our organization and a lot of the civilians who ever talked to her mother. My father wanted to ensure that no one knew what happened.
For a blip of a second, I thought maybe she was our half-sister, and her mother was the only woman who could get away, but if that were the case, my father wouldn't have kept it a secret. He would’ve told everyone to get her back here and to have the child, another tool in his tool chest. A Romani princess who would come with a tribe of loyal followers was a valuable tool, and he wouldn’t squander it. No, the fact that he looked for her for years in secret and killed anyone who knew of her meant that she somehow slighted him, disrespected him, and he couldn't let anyone know that she got away.
“Y-your father… who is he?” Now, she was asking the right questions.
My face fell as I answered her, “He’s one of the three leaders of the Armenian mafia. One of the most powerful, vicious men I know, and he wants your mother badly.” Her face went pale as she gulped. Finally, she understood the depth of our problem.
A ring interrupted our conversation, and I looked down at my phone; this time, my gut squeezed, and I lifted my finger to my lips before I answered. “Hello, Father. I have been waiting for your call.”
“You waste of seed! Where the fuck is Margaret Jones, and who the fuck is the girl you have with you?”
This time, all the warmth drained from my face as I realized he had someone watching us. I should’ve known better. This was my fault. Looking at Ion, whose eyes stared at his plate like a lost little boy's, Cezar mumbled, “No. Not yet. He can’t. I won’t let him.”
I failed them.
Looking at her confused face that kept bouncing between us, I couldn't help but feel sorry for her. To feel like this was all just some dream that we tried to live, and now we had to wake up. She was never meant to be ours.
“Margaret Jones is dead,” my voice hollow and unfeeling, the ruthless mask falling over me like a veil. “That woman is Margaret's daughter.” I couldn’t look at my brothers or her; it felt like I was betraying them when I was only doing what we were tasked to do.
“Bring her. Bring her to me.” His order was given, and that was it. The click of him hanging up ricocheted around my skull. My gut clenched as I realized our time had run out. Not a second afterward, all three of our phones went off. Private plane instructions for tomorrow’s departure and a blank instruction sheet for an additional passenger.
Fuck .