24. Vitaly
24
VITALY
M y hands cramp from my grip on the steering wheel when I pull into the drive of my childhood home.
I want to kill him. Now . The closer the Jeep crawls to Nikita, the tenser I become, and the harder my jaw clenches.
Not once before today did I wish my uncle dead. Not once, despite the cruel man he’s obviously become. In spite of everything, I’ve still seen him as my father’s brother, as part of my family. I don’t know what my father would’ve wanted, and that was enough to keep me from wishing anything at all.
Now I can’t stop seeing myself with my hands around his neck. And I think he somehow knows this because there are four more guards than yesterday visibly patrolling the grounds and an extra two at the front door.
When I park the Jeep and go to the door, hoping to head straight to my room before anyone notices the fury I’m holding inside of me, one of the guards holds out a hand to stop me.
“The Pakhan requests that you meet him out back.”
“Out back?” I ask, my forehead wrinkling.
“In the garden.” The guard angles his head like I need further clarification regarding which direction to go.
My spine steeled, I start that way, using the walk to collect myself.
This is important.
It’s vital .
If I don’t pull off a calm demeanor, Roman will die. Mila could be found, then she will die. Neither of those things can happen.
I clear my throat and roll my neck, shaking out the tension in my hands just before rounding the corner.
I haven’t been out back yet. I suppose I’ve had little reason to. There was nothing sentimental about this part of the property. Nothing of my parents to remember.
There was a pool. A patio. A shooting range where my grandfather gave me my first gun.
There was no garden. My mother kept her flowerbeds at the front of the property.
This was not here.
My steps slow to a stop as I roam my gaze over the archway, the only opening into the expansive area filled with trees, bushes, flowers, and most prominent of all… purple lilies. The same kind my mother spent hours tending to.
I step beneath the arch, rotating my head to take in the flower-woven ivy wrapping around the extended archway to create a canopy above me.
I don’t remember my anger until Nikita’s voice comes from my right, hidden by a tree.
“Incredible, isn’t it?”
I turn that way, searching for him, and squint in confusion when he stands from a crouched position, holding a pair of gardening shears and wearing dirtied gloves. He tosses the shears to the soil before taking the gloves off to join them.
“My mother was a whore,” he says, doing nothing to hide his disdain. “But yours…” He looks around and sighs. “Yours was a remarkable woman.”
I tell my eyes to stay on Nikita, but they trail at his words, taking in the flowers, the magnificence of the garden. “She did this?”
My throat feels thicker, but I suppress the urge to clear it. I don’t know why.
She’s already dead. He can’t use her against me.
“No.”
My gaze returns to Nikita.
“It’s a … memorial.” He twirls his finger like he wasn’t sure what to call it then points to the archway entrance. “I spread her ashes there.”
I narrow my eyes. “Her grave…”
“Empty.” He shrugs. “Some people like to be buried. Some like to be cremated. She didn’t mention which… The casket’s full of jewelry, gold, a few photos. You’re in one, by the way, in case you thought I was a heartless uncle.” He gives me a wicked smile, the first sign of evil he’s shown me during this conversation.
I don’t know what to say in return. My mind tries to search for meaning in what he’s doing, but it’s too busy focusing on my mother. Her ashes. Her empty grave.
I wasn’t here for any of it.
“You know, she’s the reason I didn’t kill you the second I laid eyes on you with my lieutenants.” He pauses a moment, looking me over before sighing. “I can be honest about that, right? You’re a man now. You can take a little harsh truth from your uncle?”
My shoulders raise with a huff. “Go ahead.”
He nods, his lips barely lifting on one side before he looks back at the flowers. “To be completely truthful, I didn’t even know she was the reason until recently. I thought I didn’t want to look weak, and I mean…” He shows his palms and shifts them like he’s balancing something. “It would’ve looked like I was afraid of you. But the hell I go through just being around you.” He cringes.
“Do you know what’s horribly ironic, Nikita?”
He opens his eyes fully and gives me a blank, bored stare.
“You’re twice as bad as your father, who my mother spent every day that she breathed on American soil hating because he tortured her and everyone around him. And you have the fucking nerve to talk like you meant something to her.”
Nikita smiles, his sinister lips spreading slowly. “Do you want to hear a secret?”
He steps up closer to me when I don’t answer. “I knew she was going to kill my father. I didn’t know how, and I didn’t know she was going to kill herself in the process, but she told me she was going to kill him. She begged me to help you once he was gone, and I had the authority, but I refused. I told her I’d never help the man who killed my brother. That if it’d been up to me, you wouldn’t have been in prison, you’d have been dead. Do you know why I told her that, Vitaly?”
He steps up even closer and waits, even though I have no intention of answering. Finally, he continues.
“Because I did not lie to Nina. Ever . She taught me things when my father only had time for Vlad. Because of her, I know how to read and write Russian. Cook, garden.” He gestures around. “She taught me everything she couldn’t teach you because despite your blood, I was the son she wished she had. Would you like further proof?” He smiles. “When I told her I’d never help you, she said, ‘ oh-kay .’ That’s it, Vitaly. She could’ve killed me that night along with my father, knowing it was best to protect you, but she didn’t . I meant more to her than you ever did, and that is what is horribly ironic.”
His chest shakes with his laugh. “You’re here trying to honor your parents, and you think you’re going to do it by taking my place. But your father thought you were an entitled, arrogant brat, and your mother chose my life over her own kin’s. Now what is it you think they wanted? Or can you admit to yourself that you’re here for one person, and that person is you?”
His gaze wanders behind me while I try to process what he’s saying. He’s getting into my head, making more sense than I want to admit, but when he speaks next, all my thoughts cease.
“Where’s Mila, by the way? Isn’t she supposed to be the one you’re really here for?”
My eyes widen, but I don’t see him as my vision blurs with a red sheen. I lunge, my hands wrapping around his throat. I spear him to the hard earth as I squeeze like I’ve been daydreaming about.
I’m not going to be able to stop. I don’t intend on trying.
But it doesn’t matter. Five seconds don’t pass before there are two guards running into the garden. One tackles me, sending me colliding with the ground while Nikita gasps for air.
A boot connects with my stomach, then one with my back. The guards take turns kicking me while Nikita stands and swipes dirt from his clothes.
“Enough,” he eventually growls.
The kicks stop, leaving behind aches in various parts of my body.
“Leave us.”
The guards storm away so it’s just Nikita and me. When I sit up, his hands are tucked into his pockets, and he stares at me like I’m a splattered bug on his freshly cleaned windshield.
“Today, I learned you’ve been conspiring to take me out… I should kill you now, but yet again, your mother is getting to me. She always used to tell me that everyone deserves a second chance, so I suppose you, Vitaly, are going to get a third… Aren’t I merciful?”
When my sole response is a glare, he raises a brow. He really does want an answer.
I look off and shake my head with a bitter laugh. “Fuck you.”
Nikita humphs. “You know, that’s the first curse word I’ve heard you say since your return. And here I thought you’d become a good boy.” He turns and walks a few feet away before speaking over his shoulder. “I’m throwing a little party Saturday night, and good news, our Italian friends have RSVPed. I’m sure they’ll be happy to see you.”
With that, he leaves me on the garden floor, wondering what hell he has in store for us all next. I do know one thing for certain now.
He’s heavily guarded and is no Julius Cesar. It’s going to take more than a knife to the back to kill Nikita, especially since his back is being monitored at all times.
Roman better have a good plan.