4
“M y head is fucking killing me.”
Roman looked up from the papers he was reading and had to keep himself from chucking the led lamp on the desk at his brother. “Next time, you should consider to stop drinking after you first bottle of vodka.”
They had spent the previous night in one of the Bratva-owned nightclubs. As usual, Alek had gotten shitfaced and was now complaining about the aftermath. Roman was in no mood to listen to it.
Sensing his brother's irritation, Alek gave him a half-hearted grin. “And miss out on all the fun? Nah, I'm good with the headache.”
Roman let out an annoyed sigh before going back to his lecture. Alek managed to be quiet for all of thirty seconds.
“So, how's the wedding planning coming along? All I hear about is how hot your future bride is. ”
Roman grunted out a noncommittal sound. Alessandra was hot, but he didn't care to hear about it from other people.
In fact, to his complete surprise, she was more beautiful than he could have hoped for, and if this was a small compensation the universe had given for his sacrifice, then he was going to take it without much complaint.
Alek chuckled. “You don't look too excited about it, brat . What's wrong?”
“Besides having to marry a teenager, nothing is wrong.”
“Young pussy can be fun. You get to teach her all the things you like.”
“You should marry her, then.”
“If she’s got the sweet ass everyone’s talking about… well, I wouldn’t say no.”
Roman rubbed his eyes. “Why are you here, again? Don't you have shit to do?”
“I was in the neighborhood and thought I'd stop by. That, and I could really eat. Have lunch with me?”
Lunch sounded, in fact, like a good idea. Since they were in a restaurant, and Roman was running the place, Alek regularly took advantage of his brother’s position in the brotherhood to get free meals whenever the occasion arose.
“Steak and something green for me.”
Alek took the hint and stood to go place their orders in the kitchen. “You and your fucking diets,” he muttered.
Roman didn't see the point in correcting him.
He hadn't been on a single diet in his entire life, but he did try to be mindful of what he ate, whenever possible.
A body like his didn't maintain itself. It required regular workouts in the gym and healthy meals.
Alek, on the other hand, was basically a carnivore.
If it didn't have meat in it, he wasn't going to touch it.
Between that and his love of junk food, it was a miracle he still looked as good as he did.
Their joint sessions in the gym seemed to be doing the trick.
After reading and signing the papers in front of him, Roman pushed them into the first drawer and got to his feet.
Buttoning up his suit jacket, he headed after his brother.
He already knew he would find him at the table that was usually reserved for family and friends, drinking coffee to get over his hangover.
“Look at this shit.” Alek slapped that day’s newspaper on the table just as Roman sat down.
“When did you start reading the newspaper?” Roman asked, but his eyes were already perusing the title written in bold letters.
Unidentified man found floating in Chicago River. Mafia involvement suspected.
“They found the body near Columbia Woods, and it wasn’t us, that’s for damn sure.”
Roman quickly read the article detailing the crime scene. The dead body had been decapitated before being disposed of in the river, but that wasn’t the most interesting part. “No fingers,” he read aloud before looking up to meet his brother’s gaze. “It’s going to take a while to identify him.”
Alek nodded. “You think it was the Italians? They found the body right at the border between our territory and theirs.”
“Doesn’t look like them. Their method of execution has a bit more finesse than this.”
“Who, then? ”
Roman tossed the paper on the table. “Could have been anyone who’s watched too many crime documentaries.”
Alek leaned back in his chair. “Hmm. I just find the placement of the body weird—like it’s a statement or something.”
Roman stopped a waitress that was passing by to ask for coffee before turning back to his brother. “You’re reading too much into it.”
“Maybe. Anyway, there’s something else I wanted to talk to you about.”
“What?”
This time, Alek had the decency to look embarrassed. “I need some money.”
Roman felt his earlier irritation return tenfold. His younger brother didn’t come to him often with such requests, but when he did, it was usually because he’d fucked up somehow. “What did you do?”
“I lost ten grand at poker a few nights ago.”
“Jesus Christ, Alek. How many times do I have to tell you that you’re bad at the game?”
Alek sighed. “I know, but I’d had a couple of drinks and Nikolai convinced me to play with him and a few other guys. Normally, I wouldn’t ask you for ten grand, but I invested most of my money in a side business, and now I’m running low on cash.”
“Ten grand, huh?”
“Yeah.”
“Fine. I’ll have it transferred to you by the end of the day.”
“Thanks, brat .”
“Don’t mention it,” Roman muttered, refraining from giving his brother a lecture. He was a good kid most of the time, so he was going to let this one slide. Besides, at twenty-two, Roman had done his fair share of stupid shit, so he couldn’t exactly hold it against Alek.
The waitress delivered his coffee, and he accepted it with a “thank you” before switching the conversation to Bratva-related business.
???
The tailor focused on taking Roman's measurements, jotting them down in a thick notebook lying on his makeshift desk—a vintage, ornate table made of brass.
In order to pass the time, Roman scrolled through his e-mails, using the opportunity to reply to those that needed his immediate attention. There was one from their family lawyer, and he opened it, hoping to find good news.
Because he was getting married, he'd finally made the decision to buy a house.
The marriage was a sham, sure, but he liked his space, and his apartment was fit for a bachelor, not a family.
Daughter of an enemy or not, he knew Vitaly expected Alessandra to give him grandchildren in the near future, so the house was a wise purchase.
Roman found one he liked in under two weeks, and had passed on the task of handling the documentation to someone with a better eye for legal details.
As expected, he found a short note from Leonid, informing him that the necessary documents had been drafted and agreed upon by both parties. All he had to do was read them and then meet up with the real estate agent to sign them in person.
“All done,” the tailor announced, taking a few steps back to give him his space.
Roman nodded in acknowledgement, grabbing his suit jacket from the back of a chair and shrugging it on.
The older man made another appointment for a final fitting the following week, and with that, Roman put any thought of the wedding at the back of his mind.
He had more pressing matters to attend to.
By the time he was back in his car, it was a little past ten in the morning. His phone rang, and he wasn't surprised to see that it was Oleg calling.
“Meeting atBeluga1in half an hour,” his father's man announced as soon as Roman picked up.
“I'll be there,” he confirmed, fastening his seatbelt.
Beluga1 , as the name aptly suggested, was the first of the two nightclubs the Bratva owned in the city of Chicago.
Roman entered the building with his cup of to-go coffee in hand, and his eyes scanned the deserted space that came to life every weekend night.
Taking a right through a narrow corridor, he passed the cleaning lady who was busy dusting off the modern paintings hanging on the wall.
As he approached the office at the back of the corridor, muffled voices carried over through the closed door.
Grabbing the handle, he opened the door and stepped inside.
“There you are,” Vitaly said, a hint of impatience coloring his voice. His eyes followed his son as he took a seat in an empty chair beside another Brigadier. “Now that we are all here, the meeting can start.”
Roman leaned back in his chair and listened to his father start the meeting with the usual update regarding the sale of their product.
This wasn't their regular get-together that took place every other Wednesday, and he had to wonder what other reasons Vitaly had to ask all of them to be there.
He received his answer twenty minutes later when his father got into the topic of his wedding.
“I hear there is unrest among some of us caused by Roman's upcoming wedding to the Italian girl,” Vitaly said in Russian, pointedly meeting the eyes of a few men in the room.
“As you all know, this union is part of a strategy to keep the Italians in check and make sure they won't forge other alliances that could affect us and our businesses. I am well aware this is not my most popular decision to date. That being said, I am yourPakhan, and it is my duty to ensure the success of this organization. I expect every man under my command to accept my judgment, whether they agree with it or not.” He paused for effect before asking with finality, “Do I make myself clear?”
A few murmured responses broke through the silence following his father's little monologue.
That was, until Boris decided to speak up and voice his discontent.
“No offense, boss, but it's not right. Roman's children—your grandchildren—will have their blood tainted by that filthy Italian DNA. It's a slap to the face for all of us.”
Roman risked a glance at his father and noticed the vein bulging in his neck. The man was livid. “Are you questioning my ability to make decisions for this organization, Boris?”
Boris should have kept his mouth shut. Instead, he went on with making his point. “I'm not saying that. But maybe there are other options that don't require for one of us to mix blood with one of them .”
“Boss is right,” another man spoke, turning to Boris. “Did you not see how much of a pain in the ass they became when they were working with the Armenians? No one wants a repeat of that. Let Roman marry the Italian bitch. It's the only way to ensure we have her father by the balls.”
Roman's eye twitched at Alessandra being called a bitch in front of him. Regardless of her heritage, she was going to become his wife and she was due a certain amount of respect. He reined in his temper, not wanting to add fuel to the fire.
“Who says Rossetti even cares about her?” Boris challenged. “He gave her up too easily.”
“That's because he is a fucking coward. He is afraid of what we could do to his Outfit if we rekindled our ties with the Armenians.”
“Here’s another idea for you, Nikolai. What if he plans to use her to get information about the Bratva? It's a possibility and a valid one, no?”
Roman took the insinuation personally, and this time, he voiced his anger. “Are you calling me an idiot, Boris? You think I would discuss business with my wife, or let her hear something that she shouldn't?”
“Enough!” Vitaly's meaty palm met the surface of the desk with a deafening thud, effectively silencing the room.
“The decision is made, and I will hear no more of it. As of today, if another complaint regarding this marriage even breezes past my ears, I will cut off the tongue of the person uttering it.”
For the first time since the meeting had started, complete silence fell over the crowded office. No one even dared to breathe, all of them knowing Vitaly was not a man to make idle threats.
“Out. All of you. This meeting is over.”
Irritated by the outcome of the unplanned encounter with his Vory brothers, Roman shot out of his chair and left the room. The rest followed him out of the building, each man dispersing to their respective cars in the parking lot.
He aimed a glare at Nikolai who’d had the audacity to insult Alessandra.
He was laughing with another Brigadier, his ugly face even more unpleasant when he showed that hyena-like smile of his.
Anger simmered beneath Roman’s skin, itching to come out and make the man pay for even thinking the words, let alone uttering them in a room full of Bratva men.
But as it was, Roman knew that if he lost his temper, Vitaly would have a fit about it, and he wasn’t the most pleasant person to deal with when he went on a rant.
So, instead of going with his instinct, he climbed inside the car and slammed the door closed behind him, deciding to get out of there before he changed his mind.