Chapter 11 #2
I follow him out the door, glad that one pair of the boots actually fit.
I shove the gloves he also bought into my coat pockets.
Inside the car, I watch as buildings give way to trees.
Soon the streetlights become less visible, sparse until they vanish entirely.
Roman doesn't seem like he wants to talk, so I keep quiet.
About thirty minutes later, he turns onto a smaller road, then a narrow one. Soon we’re barely on a road at all, just a dirt path winding through trees. Finally, he pulls into a clearing surrounded by darkness.
He turns the engine off. "We'll walk from here."
The cold slaps my face the moment I step out of the car. Roman clicks on a flashlight, its beam breaking the darkness.
We walk a few steps, then I stop. I tilt my head back, gazing up at the sky, cloudless and scattered with stars.
"I can't believe I forgot this.”
A small speck of light slides across the sky in a straight steady line. "What’s that?"
Roman looks up, following my finger. "Satellite. They send signals back to earth. They’re everywhere now.”
"Is that something most people know?"
"I don't know about America, but here, yeah.”
"Oh.” Another thing I don’t know. “Do kids know about satellites?"
He stops so fast I almost bump into him.
"I don’t know what kids know.” He turns to face me. “Why do you care what most people or kids know?
"I just want to know.”
He studies me, his jaw flexing. “What’s this about?”
You wouldn't understand," I mutter, looking away.
"Try me."
I move around him, my throat tight. "You won’t."
His hand closes around my arm, stopping me. "Nala."
My face burns from his touch, despite my embarrassment.
"I feel stupid,” I blurt out, the words tumbling from deep inside me before I can stop them.
“I got bad grades in school. That’s why I had to go to that dumb private school and…
” I clench my teeth, pushing the memory of what started this all.
“I didn’t understand things as fast as the other kids did and it’s worse now.
Everyone my age knows about satellites and everything else.
Even little kids know more than I do. I only got to the sixth grade. I’m an idiot and I hate it.”
“You’re not stupid and you’re not an idiot.” He looks at me and lets out a low breath. “You just didn't have the same chance as everyone else. We both know whose fault that is.”
“It doesn’t change anything, though.”
“No, it doesn’t,” he agrees. “That part’s on you. You adapt and move on.”
“How does a person move on from horrible things that happened to them?”
“For one, you need to accept that you’re alive. Then you need to decide if you want to stay alive and get things done.”
"Is that how you do it?”
Roman nods. “I set goals and I make plans. I don’t let anyone get in my way. I accept, adapt, and move on.”
We continue walking. I take in what Roman said about moving on. As harsh as it sounds, I know he’s being honest and trying to help in his own way. I look up at him, he gazes down at me.
“What is it now?”
"Can I ask you something?"
"You’ll ask anyway.”
"I will."
"What do you do exactly? Day to day when you go out. What it means to be Bratva.”
"You want to know about my job.”
“If you want to call it that.”
“I handle logistics,” he says, sounding slightly amused. “I take care of problems, and I make sure things run the way they should.”
"What kind of logistics?"
"Different things. We move goods. We manage businesses and collect payments."
What kind of goods?"
"Things people want.” His lips curve upward. “Items they can’t get through normal channels.”
I know he's being vague on purpose.
“What about the businesses?"
"Some belong to us and some we protect.”
"Protect how?"
"We make sure nothing bad happens to them,” he says matter of fact. “In exchange, they pay us."
"What if a business doesn’t want or need your protection?”
He pins me with a look. "Then they’re on their own. We can't guarantee their safety and unfortunately Moscow can be very dangerous, especially for anyone who thinks protection is a choice.”
The way he explains it… this twisted logic where everyone complies because they know what happens when you go up against the Bratva.
"Do you like the work you do?"
"I'm good at it."
I stop, tilting my head to the side. "Roman, that's not what I asked."
"No. It's not."
"Well,” I repeat. “Do you?"
He takes a moment before answering, as if deciding if he should even answer or not.
"I like control,” he says, watching me carefully. “I like knowing that when I give an order, it gets done. I like having power over my territory and anything that belongs to me.” He shrugs. "If that's the same as liking the work itself, I don't know. I don’t care."
His honesty is frightening, but not enough to scare me. He’s not pretending or trying to make himself sound better. I go to ask him about the other organizations when a rustling in the bushes grabs my attention. I grab Roman's arm without thinking.
"What was that?"
"It’s an animal. Maybe a fox or a badger."
The rustling continues and from the sound of it, it’s a small animal like he said.
"Can we look?"
I don’t give him a chance to answer. I tug him along, edging toward the sound then let go of his arm to crouch down, peering into the bushes. Roman shines the flashlight.
Two small black beady eyes stare back at me from a rounded shape covered in spines.
"Is that a hedgehog?"
"Yeah."
"Really?" I inch closer, careful not to scare it away. "I've never seen one before. Only on television, not in real life."
It watches us, it’s nose twitching and body tense. "It’s kind of cute,” I whisper. “Look at it just sitting there.”
Roman says nothing, obviously not sharing my opinion. I watch it for a bit, then stand. "I should leave it alone. I think I made him too scared to move.”
After a few seconds the hedgehog scurries deeper into the bushes.
I turn around to Roman. “That was really cool. That’s the first animal I’ve seen in years. Thank you for bringing me here.”
“You don’t have to thank me.”
“I already did.”
We keep walking until the trees thin out and open into a clearing. I glance at him, wanting to pick up where we left off before the hedgehog interrupted us.
“Sometimes when I read for your father, I saw other people. They weren’t Bratva. Who else does business here in Moscow?”
He looks at me sideways. “Why do you want to know all of this?”
I shrug. “I’m curious. I’ve seen bits and pieces of it over the years, but never the whole picture.” I meet his gaze. “Since I’m going to help, I want to understand how it works.”
He considers that for a moment. " Alright,” he agrees.
“There’s the Georgians. They’ve been here for a long time.
They’re established and too deep in the system to remove.
They control a few territories in the southern districts; we have the rest. For the most part, we stay out of each other's way. "
"Why?"
"It's just easier. No unwanted and unnecessary attention if we go at each other. Not that they’d win a war, but it’s pointless. It’s better to have boundaries and respect.”
"You mean like rules?”
“Exactly.” He gives me a faint smile. “Without rules, it’s all fighting and no money. The Georgians understand that. I don’t have a problem with them because they stick to agreements. They don’t overstep.”
"Besides the Georgians. What about the Alb—”
“The Albanians,” he says, cutting me off. “Yes.” His lips curl. “They’re a problem. A big one that needs to be dealt with.”
"You hate them.”
"Yeah, I do.” His grip tightens around the flashlight. “I despise them. They're a threat. They don't follow the rules like the Georgians. They crawl into places they’re not wanted. Break agreements and take what doesn’t belong to them.”
“Your father allows this.”
“More than allows. He’s helping them.” He shoves a hand through his hair. “If I was in charge, there wouldn’t be an Albanian mafia in Moscow.”
He turns toward me, the dim light of the flashlight giving me a view of his face, the intensity and deadly intent in his eyes. “Soon,” he says. “You and me, Nala. We’ll deal with them.” He locks his gaze to mine. “You’re going to help me find every last one of them sliding into Bratva territory."
My throat feels tight as I get my first real glimpse of this side of Roman.
"I don't have a choice, do I?" I ask, carefully.
He doesn’t answer immediately, leaving me to wonder if my question affects him.
“No,” he finally admits. “You don’t.”
I pull the hood tighter around my face, unable to look away. I get it now. Much like the Georgians, I also have rules. Harsh rules that come with belonging to Roman Ivanov.
Yet… I don’t mind.
Roman isn’t a good person, but he’s not pretending or has ever pretended to be something he’s not. He didn’t lie to me tonight, not even when it would make things easier for him to keep me in the dark, ignorant and obedient. He’s shown me who he is and I accept him.
“Roman, what happens after you accept, adapt and move on?”
He looks at me confused. I frown, trying to find the right words. “I mean, after you get what you set out to get. Do you ever think about something else that you want? Not because it’s strategic or necessary. Or part of a plan. Something you want just because you want it.”
He's quiet for a while, so long I think he won't answer and I begin to regret asking the question. Finally, he looks at me in a way that makes me think he understands what I’m really asking.
"Sometimes.”
A beat of silence passes, before he asks, “You?”
"All the time," I whisper.