Chapter 32
Ellie: Hi–can you please call me?
Ellie: You don’t have to forgive me…but we need to talk.
Ellie: It’s not even about all of this
Ellie: You’re going to want to hear me out
Ellie: I’m so sorry, Teddy, but I refuse to believe this is where we end things
“Hey, there’s my favorite new reluctant Bratva heir! You know, I was beginning to think nobody would ever be able to brood about it like I did, but I think you’re starting to…whoa, man. What the hell happened?”
The last time Sasha saw me, I was in much better health.
Plus, I still had love in my heart and something to live for…
I hiss as our family physician continues wrapping my ribs tightly.
We’re hoping that between this and pumping me full of meds, I’ll be able to play tonight.
If not, Pretzel will have a chance to make a name for himself on the biggest stage in sports.
Two days ago, the idea that I wouldn’t give a fuck about playing for a Stanley Cup would have been unfathomable.
Now, I couldn’t care less, and I tell Sasha exactly why.
“Betrayed by the woman I love. Tortured by her family. They think I killed her brother. Where the hell have you been? I would’ve thought Mila would have filled you in on all this already.”
“I have things to do that don’t solely involve catering to you and your sister’s needs within this compound, you know. As much as I love hanging out with Misha and seeing your progress. It’s actually a little scary how dead your eyes are now, bro. I’m sure Mila—”
“Is impressed, yes.” My sister strolls in wearing her scariest, blackest workout gear, and if she thinks I’m able to come to the training gym today, she’s crazy.
Thatcher follows her, sweaty and looking equally terrified and excited.
“But I wouldn’t have chosen this chain of events as the set of circumstances to finally allow him to tap into his inner badass.
” She sighs heavily before continuing. “All of us inevitably have to crumble under trauma before we can rise, though. I think I have something that might make you feel better, Brother.”
Brother, not Cuddles. Damn, am I tearing up right now?
“Misha is going to take the lead, and he’ll let me know how you do. You’ll have plenty of time to finish by lunch and then get over to the arena for your game tonight. If you’re sure you’re committed to playing?”
Ellie: Please at least tell me you aren’t trying to play tonight…the news hasn’t said anything about you being out but you should be in the hospital right now
I shrug. I really don’t care, but the guys deserve the best shot I can give.
If I feel like Pretzel can do better, I’ll pull myself.
For the team, I’ll at least try. We’re already struggling without the fucking Santori brothers.
Mila stalks off, Thatcher following like a puppy, and Misha strides in just as Doc is finishing up.
“I’m not so sure I agree with your sister that it’s the right time for this, but she’s right that we can’t wait much longer. Follow me.”
He takes me on a winding path, through a section of the house I haven’t yet explored, and enters a code into a keypad next to a…
bank vault? The vault door swings open, and he gestures for me to go first before swinging the door closed behind us once he follows.
Leading again, we wind through more halls full of unmarked doors until he raps out a sequence on one, and it opens.
The room is small, with one wall of windows looking into an adjacent space.
A couple of our top guys are already here, and I give each a nod before turning to see what they’re looking at.
“Jesus.” I don’t even realize I’ve said it until it’s out, but the view through the windows is shocking, even after all my desensitization training.
When Misha and Mila started putting me through my accelerated Bratva course, I thought the physical aspect would end up being the hardest part. It wasn’t. Not by a long shot.
The lessons on hierarchy, rival families, and the history of our own were tedious but interesting.
Learning the bare-bones basics of our finances and legal standing within the community made my head swim, but Misha assured me that once we had more time after the season, everything would make more sense.
Training humbled me quickly, but helped me build rapport with the men, my men, faster.
It reminded me of the camaraderie of a locker room, so I didn’t mind it.
No, the worst part, by far, was the desensitization.
To blood, torture, death, and dying. Those sessions were staggered and also basic, according to Misha, with more to come on the intricacies of how to bring a man to the brink of death many times without pushing him over the edge.
It was enough to affect my sleep for a while, but, according to my sister, the lesson plans have been honed over the years, and her encouragement proved true.
Eventually, I compartmentalized and figured out how to go from watching a man being tortured to laughing at a movie with Ellie within an hour, no sweat.
Ellie…
The crack of a whip pulls me back to the situation at hand, which is a man, I think, tied to a chair in the room beyond the glass. He’s flayed within an inch of his life, and the man holding the whip looks so incensed that this must have been a personal attack. Misha breaks the silence.
“The man in the chair is about to be dead, so I won’t tell you his name.
The man with the whip is Yakov, one of our mid-level leaders, third generation, good stock.
He’s as solid as they come and prevents a lot of problems for us with the unions.
The man in the chair was one of his guys.
Broke into his house and attacked his daughter.
We aren’t sure why, or why he thought he would get away with it.
She survived, but won’t be the same for a while. ”
“Fuck.”
“Yep. This is the justice that’s owed to him. Dumb fuck must have forgotten that his boss was one of our foremost experts with a whip. He’s been at this for hours, at this point. It’s tricky not to take off too much skin, or they’ll pass out from blood loss or dehydration.”
We watch as justice continues to be served, and I finally ask the question I’m dreading the answer to.
“Why am I here?”
Misha sighs before grabbing something off the table behind us.
My gun. When I had proven myself enough to “graduate” beyond the entry-level classes Misha and my sister gave me, I was rewarded with a personalized firearm.
One fancy enough to benefit the prestige of being our Pakhan, as Misha had said.
It was a whole damn thing, with a select few of our men present, and it was one of the first times I realized that for these people, ceremony and tradition matter.
Since I didn’t grow up in the business, as everyone calls it, my learning curve is still steep.
But if I’ve learned one thing, it’s that Misha would never let me flounder when it comes to earning the respect of our men.
My success is crucial to the continued success of what my sister and my…
father worked for for so many years. Lots of families depend on us. On me.
Misha hands me the piece, and I take it, checking the safety and then the chamber like the expert they’ve already trained me to be.
“When we offered the estate to Yakov for his justice, he asked if the Pakhan might honor him with his presence. I then offered him the extreme honor of you finishing the job.”
Dammit, Misha. By having the other men in the room, I’m forced to react calmly and coolly, and not freak the fuck out like I want to. Like he knew I would want to. With a few deep breaths in and out of my nose, I manage to sound nonchalant, if a little squeaky, when I reply.
“Would he,” I cough. “Would he not prefer to end the man’s life himself?”
“It would be prestigious, actually, for the Pakhan to grace him with his presence and to give such a final judgment to the man who violated one of the women of our family. Rarely in the course of your career will you mete out another’s justice. It is an honor to Yakov that you choose to do so now.”
Well, when you put it that way.
“Anything else I need to know?”
Once Misha has given me the, thankfully short, ceremonial words to say, I brace myself and step into the room. Yakov immediately lowers his whip and bows from the neck as I reach out a hand.
“Thank you for being here today, Pakhan. You honor my family.”
“The honor is mine, Yakov, that you allow me to join you and rid our family of this traitor to the standards we uphold.” Leaning in, I speak quietly so that only he can hear me. “How is your daughter?”
He sniffles, but stands proudly as he replies, “She recovers valiantly.”
Nodding and releasing his hand, I move to the pitiful creature before me.
Misha was smart to give me a completely irredeemable crime as my first kill.
There’s no guilt for what I’m about to do.
The world will be better off without this sorry excuse of a man.
As per tradition for his crime, I don’t name him as I state his order of execution.
“You have violated the sanctity of our organization and our family, and I, Theodore Taranov, Pakhan of the Taranov Bratva, declare that your penalty shall be your life. Your name shall be stricken from our records, and your grave will be unmarked and unhonored. You dishonor yourself in life. Enjoy hell.”
With that, I raise my gun to his forehead, and even though he still has life in his eyes as he looks up at me, I don’t hesitate or flinch. There’s no hint of a tremble in my grip as the shot goes clean through his forehead, and he slumps forward in his seat.
A glance at my watch warns that I’ll need to leave for the arena soon, as soon as Doc pumps me full of meds one more time.
But as Yakov, Misha, and the other men toast to a planet rid of another bad man, I think of Sasha, covered in tattoos.
I never determined how I would keep track of my kills, and I’m not sure I should.
Even though I have more “real estate,” as he called it, I have a feeling that even that won’t be enough.
The count might stay unknown. Visible only on my soul.