Chapter Thirty-Six #2
"Our father is dead," Maks says. "What the fuck has happened? Why are you being so calm about this?"
"Oksana shot him," Nikolai says. "She had the right, Maks."
Maks' head turns slowly to stare at me, as if he's never seen me before, and maybe he hasn't. "Why?" he whispers.
Nikolai's already on the phone. "Konstantin Turgenev. This is Nikolai Vasiliev, the new Pakhan of the Vasiliev Bratva. Can we speak?" He walks into Mother’s greenhouse, his tall, black-suited form framed by the irises and orchids.
"Vadim's been taken. Father refused to help us," I say numbly. "They're going to torture him to death; they're going to make it a spectacle."
Maks' mouth drops open. "Who could possibly take Vadim Turgenev?"
The tears filling my eyes flow down my cheeks, I don't bother to wipe them away. "He traded his life for mine," I say numbly.
"Who took him?" Maks asks sharply. He leans forward, putting his hands on my shoulders. "Tell me what happened."
So, I tell him about the abusive monsters, how we helped their wives and children disappear. "They were so angry, how dare their wives and children escape their brutality? They're pathetic, dickless, cowards. I don't know how they found each other, but they hired a tracking service…"
My head is swimming.
"Hold on." I hear him, dimly. He comes back with a glass of water. My hands are shaking, but I manage to take a few sips before it spills down my chin.
"What group?" he asks, handing me a tissue.
"The Black Kynigós Group," I say, thinking of the men who'd held Vadim down, like an animal. He must have hated that. He can't tolerate people touching him…
Maks laces his hands over his head, pacing the room. "Fuck, even I know of them. The dark web is full of their shit. They love posting pictures, and -" He looks over at me, stricken. "I'm sorry."
My heart gives a leaden thump. "Can you look?" I don't recognize the voice. It doesn't sound like mine.
He takes my trembling hand, gently setting the water glass on the desk. "I'll contact David now," he says gravely. "If there is anything - which, Bozhe pozhaluysta, let there not be - he will find it first."
Nikolai comes back in from the greenhouse, and maybe it's my imagination, but he looks like he's standing taller.
His face is sharper, and more focused. "I spoke with Konstantin," he says, putting his phone back in his pocket.
"Maks, pull fifty men. The best we have. I'm going to need them within an hour."
"An hour?" Maks wheezes, "Are you shitting me?"
"Do it," Nikolai says. "Do you want to be the one who moves too slow to save your brother-in-law?"
"Fuck!" Maks snarls, ripping his phone out. Now it's his turn, to pace up and down Mother's greenhouse.
I grab my brother's sleeve. "What did Konstantin say?"
"Vadim had already been moved by the time they got to the house," Nikolai says. An ugly sob rips for me before I slap my hand over my mouth. "But they're tracking him. Oksana- listen to me."
My lungs are seizing. I can't seem to draw full breath.
Not now, I think desperately. Please.
"What's one thing that you see?" Nikolai says sharply.
"Mother's incongruous flowered chair." My voice is wobbling, but it's there.
"Tell me two things you hear," he says, taking my hand.
"Your bossy voice," I manage. "And Maks'."
"Good." There's a bit of a smile on my brother's face. "Three things that you can feel."
"Your death grip on my hand," I say, wiping the tears off my face. "The cushion on this chair. It's fluffy. And guilt, I feel crushing guilt."
"You don't have time for the luxury of guilt," Nikolai says.
He smiles wryly. "You're the best of us.
Father knew it, that's why he hated you.
It presented a very unattractive reflection on him.
" He smiles bitterly. "Frankly, I'm not liking how I look right now, either.
But what matters is that we have to get moving.
" He eyes me with a frown. I know my shirt is ripped, and there's some blood on the side of my face, but it's not bad.
"Why don't you go get cleaned up and changed? We need to leave soon."
"No," I say instantly. "I don't trust you. You'll try to leave me behind because you believe it's for my own good."
With a sigh, he calls Grischa. "Please find a clean shirt for my sister. I don't care whose it is, whatever fits."
He nods, eyeing me doubtfully before he disappears in search of something that makes me look less like a serial killer.
Checking the mirror next to Mother's desk, I wince. Okay, the blood might be a little worse than I thought. It's splattered across my face and my neck and my shirt sleeve is already stiff from the overspray.
I open the door to the adjoining bathroom and keep my eye on Nikolai while I wet a cloth, angrily wiping the blood off with angry, rough strokes. I don't deserve gentle touches. Grischa brings back a plain black shirt and makes an appalled little yelp as I yank my blouse off.
As he hurries out of the room, Maks is back, talking to Nikolai. "I have Avsey and Leon scouring the armory for all the rifles and the drones. Our drone technology is good; they're going to need that."
"Have they found his location?" I ask desperately.
He gives me a crooked smile. "Not yet, sestra."
***
Sestra - Russian for sister
Moy Brat - Russian for my brother
Tetya - Russian for aunt
Bozhe, pozhaluysta - Russian for please, God