Vadim
"How's your intel gathering going?" Marek asks before I’ve even closed the door to his office.
It's been five days since the explosion, four days since Preston left to spend some time with his parents, and three days since I canceled my hairdresser appointment.
For him.
Not exactly let's-keep-things-professional behavior on my part, but there was something about hearing him talk to his mom about what to have for dinner that was both wholesome and made me extra horny at the same time.
Besides, I am keeping my distance. There's hundreds of miles separating us, and I'm taking advantage of all that space by doubling down on my efforts to track Farkas down.
"I'm making progress," I inform Marek, helping myself to some of his Belvedere from his wet bar. "Chcesz jednego?"
He gets up from behind his desk and starts making his way toward me, unbuttoning the cuffs of his shirt. "Sure. Why not?"
I pour a three-finger shot for Marek, slightly less for myself, and add ice to mine since only one of us is a freak who takes their vodka neat.
I hand him his tumbler and raise mine.
"Na zdrowie," we say at the same time.
I take a measured sip. Marek throws half of his back like it's lemonade.
We move to the couch overlooking the casino floor, the distant hum faintly audible through the thick pane of glass.
"Heard from our father?"
He and his wife Izabella, Iza for short, have been in Poland for the past few months, visiting relatives on both sides of the family and scouting locations for a new hotel.
Our younger brother, Kamil, is in Europe as well. Not for pleasure, unfortunately.
"He checks in daily."
"Of course he does," I mutter into my drink. The man's a control freak.
Marek crosses his ankle over his knee, and man, does he look tired.
The shadows under his eyes have deepened since I last saw him, which was the day he had to leave abruptly to pick up Lukasz from school.
He never got around to telling me what that was about.
I'm just about to ask about it when he turns to me with a deep frown on his forehead.
"Talk to me." He leans back, closing his eyes briefly before opening them again. "Tell me what you've got on Farkas."
I make a mental note to revisit the topic of my nephew after we've dealt with business.
"Farkas isn't as careful as he thinks he is." I set my glass down on the coffee table. "We have him on surveillance at two locations in the forty-eight hours before the explosion. The financial trail confirms this was a planned job."
Marek nods slowly, turning his glass in his hand. "Associates?"
"Three names. We're watching all of them. Two are local, and one flew in from Chicago the week before and hasn't been seen since." I pull out my phone and toss it to him. "That's him with the Chicago contact. Parking garage on Fourth, the day before."
Marek looks at the photo for a moment then hands the phone back. "And now?"
Tension crawls up the back of my neck. "Gone to ground. But he's still in the state. No border activity. No flights. He's hiding, possibly biding his time."
"For another hit?"
I nod.
"What about Preston and Ellie?"
"Both safe. Preston is still with his folks, and Ellie seems happy staying here."
"His room service tab supports that." Marek manages a small smirk. "I ran into him the other day."
"You did?"
"Yeah. In the hotel lobby. I was on my way to a meeting. Spoke with him briefly." He pauses. "He seems like a nice guy."
I pull a face indicating I couldn't disagree more.
"Do you know he's deaf in his right ear?" Marek asks.
"I do."
Marek tilts his head slightly, something unreadable filtering through his expression. "He's…interesting."
"Whatever," I mutter.
Personally, I couldn't give two shits about how much room service Ellie is ordering or whether he's a nice or interesting guy.
Preston is all that matters to me, and from what I'm gathering from our nightly calls—yes, that's what they've become—he seems to be over the worst shock of the explosion and is doing what he set out to do, spending some quality time with his folks before his dad passes.
I'd prefer it if he were here in Reno with me where I can personally keep a close eye on him, but I have my best guys on him around the clock as well as the surveillance feed from his parents’ house.
I understand why he wants to be with his family, and if I were in his shoes, I'd be doing exactly the same thing.
I would give up everything I have for the chance to spend one more precious day with Mama.
"Any idea where Farkas is hiding out?" Marek brings us back to the matter at hand.
"No." I pick up my glass and let the ice-cold vodka sit on my tongue. The flavor is lost on me, but the cold cuts through just fine. "He's gone to ground, but he'll surface."
Marek looks at me for a long moment with tired but steady eyes. "How long until you find him?"
"As long as it takes," I reply, knocking back the last of my drink. "I won't stop until he gets what's coming to him."
Marek nods, and I stalk over to the massive window overlooking the casino floor and survey the flurry of activity.
The blackjack tables are busy, a jubilant crowd has gathered around the craps table in the far corner, and the pit bosses are circling slowly, carefully, monitoring the way they always do.
My thoughts circle back, as they always do, to Preston, and I glance at my watch. I don't need to leave right this very minute, but our nightly call means I will need to soon enough.
"Co? jeszcze?" I ask, turning back to Marek, to check if there's nothing else he wants to go over before we wrap up.
He lifts his chin and circles his finger in the air. "You look…different."
"Do I?"
"Yeah."
"Different, how?"
"I don't know." His tone is measured as he gets up and strides over to me, eyeing me up and down. "Why are you wearing that?"
I glance down at my dark-gray business shirt. "What's wrong with adding a little color to my wardrobe?"
Marek lifts his head, his forehead creased, eyes still scanning like he's onto something. "Your hair," he says.
"What about it?"
"It's messy." He tilts his head. "And long. Weren't you supposed to get it cut this week?"
"Who are you? My freaking PA."
He reaches me, and even though he's clearly exhausted, there's a tiny glimmer in his eyes as he says, "New clothes. New hair. This wouldn't happen to be Preston's influence by any chance, would it?”
"Now that's a fucking leap," I push back, even though he's got it in one.
"Is it, though?"
"It is." It's a bald-faced lie is what it is, and I have a feeling we both know it. Desperate for a deflection, I ask, "Hey, you never told me what happened with Lukasz and the bullies at school. Is everything okay?"
Marek stares me down, and just as I start to think my tactic failed and he won't let me off the hook that easily, a heavy sigh escapes him. "No. It's not."
That's it. That's all he says.
Par for the course with us Piotrowskis.
Preston's approach when I'm my usual clammed-up self is to pepper me with questions until he gets at least a trickle of information flowing out of me. I figure taking the same tactic with Marek might be worth a shot.
"Anything you want to talk about?"
He appraises me for a moment. "Actually, maybe."
It's not exactly an enthusiastic response, but it's better than the 'fuck off and mind your own damn business' I was expecting.
He pours us each another vodka, this time into two small, stemmed kieliszki, which are like more elegant versions of typical shot glasses.
"Na zdrowie," he says.
I nod. "Na zdrowie."
We both sink our shots in one go.
With the slightest afterburn lingering in my throat, Marek retreats to behind his desk, so I pull out one of the two chairs opposite and sit down.
"What's up?" I ask.
"I've been speaking with a therapist."
"About damn time," I reply dryly.
Marek glares at me. "About Lukasz."
I straighten. "Why? What's wrong?"
"The world's a fucked-up place."
"Agreed, but…I don't follow."
He exhales and scrubs a hand across his worn face.
"The therapist I reached out to specializes in LGBTQIA+ issues, specifically in relation to children and adolescents.
Over the last six months or so, Lukasz has started playing with Mila's dolls.
One afternoon, Agnieszka walked in and saw him, and in her customary, understated way, almost had a heart attack.
When she called me in a state, I thought one of the kids had been seriously injured or something. "
I roll my eyes but say nothing.
Agnieszka acts every bit the rich, spoiled, entitled princess brat that she is. I made Marek well aware of my opinion of her and cited many, many examples to support it, but he went ahead and married her anyway. Can't say he wasn't warned.
"I told her to calm down, that it wasn't the end of the world. He's a kid. They like to play around and discover new things. Klara loves playing soccer, and no one blinks an eye at her playing what was, maybe even still is, traditionally a boys sport."
"That's…very cool of you."
Surprisingly so.
Marek is a funny one when it comes to queer issues, and I can't quite tell where he stands on it.
It's clear he suspects I might be gay. He's even said he'd be okay with it.
We have a number of LGBTQIA+ employees at the casino, and he's never once said, done, or even hinted he has a problem with them.
But saying something is one thing. How a person acts when they find out can sometimes be something else entirely.
And occasionally, threads of his more traditional Polish nature shine through.
He leans on the conservative side politically, and he's the only one in our family who still goes to mass every Sunday and observes things like the stations of the cross at Lent and ró?aniec on Fridays in October.
His eyes find mine and stay there for a beat longer than usual. "A few months back, during one of my weeks with the kids, Lukasz and Mila got into a fight. Lukasz wanted to borrow her tutu dress."
"What's a tutu dress?"
"You know, it's what ballerinas wear."
"Got it."
"She's only four, so hers was too small for him.
I ordered him a few online, and that's when I reached out to the therapist since I knew I couldn't count on Agnieszka for any reasonable support or advice on how best to approach this.
I wasn't sure if I was overreacting, doing the right or wrong thing, but I wanted to play it safe rather than be sorry later. "
I hide my surprise at his uber cool response and ask, "And what did they say?"
"That it could be any number of things. A phase.
Experimentation. Or perhaps something relating to his gender identity.
The important thing, he said, was to be open, supportive, and non-judgmental.
I flagged the matter as delicately as I could with Agnieszka, only mentioning that I saw Lukasz looking at Mila's dresses when they were at my place. "
"And what was her reaction?"
"She asked me why I didn't smack the hell out of him and inform him dresses aren't for boys."
I shake my head in disgust. "Sheesh."
"I feel like I gave her a chance to step up, but she only confirmed what I suspected, that this is an issue I’m going to have to deal with on my own.
So I told Lukasz he could wear the dresses at my place and my place only.
I explained it would be better for us to keep it our little secret for the time being and not tell his mother. "
"And has he?"
"He hasn't breathed a word to her. He may only be seven, but I think on some level he understands that wouldn't be a good option for him.
" Marek exhales. "However, last week, he snuck one of the dresses into his bag and took it to school with him.
During lunch break, he put it on. The bullies clocked it and took it upon themselves to beat him up and lock him in the janitor's closet. "
My chest clenches for my nephew.
I was lucky. No one suspected I was any different at school, and besides, I'm male, was good at sports, and no one clocked I was gay, so I basically had a free pass. I can't begin to imagine what Lukasz must be going through, just trying to be himself and being met with such hostility and violence.
And at seven.
"How is he doing?"
Marek's jaw clenches. "Not good. He hasn't been back at school since. I also had to tell Agnieszka the truth, and now she's threatening to take the kids from me."
"What a fucking bitch," I hiss angrily. "She can't do that, can she?"
"No. Well, she can try, but it'll only drag us through the courts again. My lawyer says it's very unlikely she'd win. But it's a drama I really don't need. So, that's what's going on. Any advice, little brother?"
I sink back into the chair, my hands draping over the armrests.
This is the last thing in the world I thought we'd be discussing. I consider my bro-ligarchy bros and cast my mind over some of their experiences, mining for something useful to offer Marek.
"I can't really speak to how you handle Agnieszka or the school incident," I begin.
"I think your focus needs to be entirely on Lukasz, which, by the sounds of things, it is.
You might be the only safe space he has in the world.
He needs that, and he needs you. Now more than ever.
Buying him some dresses was an awesome thing to do, Marek.
It really was. But you're going to have to keep fighting for him.
Protect him from everyone in this fucked-up world who will all too willingly tell him he's wrong or bad or try to shame him. "
"I agree." There's a growl of determination in his voice. "That's what I'm doing, and that's what I'll continue doing. He's my kid. And I'll love him no matter what."
I take in my brother with a new appreciation. I haven't really been of much help to him because he's already handling a tough, complicated situation beautifully.
Not now, and maybe not even any time in the immediate future, but one day, I will share my truth with him.
But right now… "If there's anything I can do to help with Lukasz, in any way, just let me know, okay?"
"Thanks." Marek exhales, his shoulders loosening as he offers a tired but real smile. "I might just do that."