2. Alex
ALEX
Ihave never liked going to the airport. I like it less now that we’re at war.
Last I heard, the Irkutsks were still pretty hot about our burning down their weapons stash on Staten Island. Word around town is that they’re looking for any opportunity for revenge.
That means that any crowded space I find myself in, I have to keep my head on a swivel, and airports are the worst. Too many people walking back and forth, trying to find their gate or trying to find family. No one’s paying attention. It’s the perfect place to off someone if need be.
The perfect place to ambush two of Fedor Molotov’s children. Wish I could have brought Rikki with me. If Dad didn’t need him today…
I can handle myself. Rikki being with me usually works better from a distance. His size is the best intimidation I’ve ever seen. A lot of people usually back off before there’s a need to stop anything.
Not that I’m any less frightening. At a lean, muscular six-four, I have the tendency to command any room I walk into. I’m not the wall of muscle Rikki is, though, so that means that there are those who will still try me if given the chance.
I’m standing at my sister’s gate, glancing at the time on the display above me. Her flight landed fifteen minutes ago. Why does it always take so fucking long for passengers to get off their planes?
I do a quick glance for the millionth time. Nobody’s around me except civilians. That’s good news. Maybe once Yeva arrives, we can just walk straight out. I’d rather not hang out here any longer than I have to.
Just as I think that, I spot two figures walking toward the gate.
They’re still far enough away that I know they probably don’t see me yet, but I’ve already noticed them.
It’s just two men, wearing dress shirts and slacks.
From what I can see, one of them has long hair tied back into a ponytail and the other is bald.
To anybody else, I suppose they could appear like any other couple of people in this airport. They’re a little taller and a little bulkier than the average guy, but still. Just two people walking through the airport, probably to pick someone up.
To me, however, they are. There’s something about the walk or maybe the way we carry ourselves that always gives it away, even at a distance.
It might not even be anything external. I think it’s entirely plausible that over the hundreds of years of Russians in criminal organizations in America, we’ve evolved to be drawn to one another cosmically like magnets.
I look away just long enough to look for Yeva. Hurry up already. Once they get close enough to see me, it’s going to be a problem.
Should have brought Rikki with me.
Another couple of seconds and I see a streak of jet black appear from behind the gates.
Then my sister appears, her long, black hair picking up on a breeze somewhere in front of her as she breezes past a young couple hugging their hellos right in front of her.
She’s wearing a dark blue peacoat and tight leather pants.
The moment she sees me, the icy blue eyes that we both share light up and she smiles my way.
Good. Great. I glance over my shoulder again to see that the two men have slowed down their pace. They’re looking away, but I can tell they’ve seen me. Shit.
Yeva rushes up to me, dragging her suitcase. She wraps her arms around my neck in a warm, welcome hug. I give her a one-armed hug, keeping an eye out.
“Big brother,” she says in Russian. “I have missed you.”
She pulls away and I acknowledge her, also in Russian. “I’ve missed you as well. How was your flight?”
Her smile falters slightly. “Good. I see Father and Rikki are absent.”
“They had work,” I say, glancing back to our company. They’ve split up. One of them is still in my sight, but I don’t see the other. “Come on, let’s get you home.”
I wrap an arm around her waist and guide her forward. She stiffens at my touch. “Uh-oh,” she says. “What’s up, Sasha? We got trouble?”
“Nothing I can’t handle,” I tell her. In English, I say, “You’re planning on staying with Father, aren’t you?”
“You say that like he gave me a choice,” she says with a little laugh. “I’m supposed to be in Ibiza right now, you know.”
I do know. Father made it clear that he wanted Yeva home for spring break with how things were going with the Irkutsks lately.
A few nights back, he met up with Slavik, but I’ve yet to find out how that meeting went or what was discussed.
Whatever it was, it most certainly wasn’t a peace treaty of any kind, judging from the two men following us.
“It’s better that you’re at home,” I say to her. “It’s safer.”
She huffs. “I can take care of myself. I’m not a little girl anymore.”
“Uh-huh.” We’re coming to a large hallway intersection. There are throngs of people going back and forth, stopping to look up at the monitors with the departures and arrivals listed or to drag along their children or large suitcases. It’s practically a traffic jam of people.
And it’s perfect. Underneath the din around me, I hear their footsteps. I lean over to Yeva and say, “You should probably hit the head before we get going. Manhattan traffic is shit this time of day and we are not pulling over just for you to take a piss.”
“Right,” she says without argument. She may not know exactly what’s going on right now, but she gets my meaning. Hide out for a few minutes while I handle this problem. She glances around and spots the sign for the bathroom sticking out on the wall right at the corner.
She starts to turn the corner and I follow, dipping in the doorway as she slips inside the women’s bathroom.
I pull out the knife in my pocket and wait.
A second later, one of them crosses in front of me.
I grab him by the arm and yank. Taken by surprise, he stumbles toward me.
Before he can do anything, I stick the knife high into his chest, between the ribs, stabbing him three times as he gasps for air that’s rapidly bleeding out of him.
I push him away from me and wipe my knife off on the back of my pants. He stumbles away, sliding down onto a bench nearby. I wait a little longer, and sure enough, the other one comes running past me, having seen his partner go down.
I follow him, jogging to keep up. Just as he reaches his partner, I drive the knife into his back, feigning like I bumped into him. His knees buckle and I hold him up.
“Hey, watch it,” I say as I twist the knife. “You almost fell over there.”
He gags and his left arm twists uselessly. Like his partner, I slide the knife between his rips. I break the handle off with a quick pull and bend of my wrist, then drop him on the bench next to his buddy.
“Tell Slavik better luck next time,” I tell him as I walk back to the bathroom. By the time I get there, Yeva is walking out.
“Everything okay?” she asks in Russian.
Someone yells behind me. “Hey. Hey! Somebody help! I need help over here!”
Better get moving. “Everything’s great. Let’s go.”
The rest of this evening has been a nice change of pace.
Father had dinner ready for Yeva when we got home.
Between her getting settled and the four of us sitting down to eat, I briefly told my father about the attackers at the airport.
He took it in, then told me to wash my hands and get ready for dinner.
Outside of that, this has been nice. Sitting here in the dining room under the amber candlelight, listening to Yeva talk about her adventures going to school in London and watching my father begrudgingly listening to her PG-13 version of her days as a humble student at one of the most prestigious universities in Europe.
“Oh, no,” she laughs. She’s looking over at Dad who’s sitting at the end of the table, rubbing his beard and looking down at his plate, a slight smile on his face. “Don’t tell me you’re mad. I swear I didn’t have a single drink.”
“No one believes that, you know,” Rikki says from his spot to the left of my father.
He’s got the sleeves of his shirt rolled up and his large elbows rest on the table.
Lately, he’s been wearing his long, auburn hair back into a ponytail, which coupled with his beard, makes him look more golem like than usual.
Yeva tosses her spoon across the table at him.
“Hey,” Dad says, “No food fights. The last time, it took the maids—”
“Three days to clean it out of the carpet,” we all say in unison. Dad just shakes his head.
“Then you already know better. Knock it off.”
“Anyway,” Yeva goes on, “the bottom line is that everyone got home safely thanks to me. The only sober driver.”
I snort a laugh. Rikki looks over at me and says, “You should probably move over a couple of seats so you don’t get struck by lightning.”
“That’s enough,” Dad says lightheartedly.
He gets up and walks over to Yeva, kissing her on top of her head.
“If my little angel says she remained clean and sober during a wild party on campus, I believe her. After all, it’s a school where kings and queens are educated.
I doubt the party was all that wild, anyway. ”
Yeva sticks her tongue out at Rikki. Rikki scratches his nose with his middle finger.
“In any event,” Dad goes on, patting her on the shoulder, “we should call it a night. Your brothers and I have things to discuss before they bed down tonight, so if you don’t mind, my darling…”
“I don’t mind,” she says. She stands and gives our father a kiss on the cheek. “See you in the morning.”
She leaves and Dad says, “She reminds me more and more of her mother every day.”
Rikki and I exchange a glance that collectively says, Let’s hope that’s not true.
Dad clears his throat and takes his place back at the head of the table. “So,” he says, “I’m sure you two are aware by now that I’ve had a sit down with Slavik Sokolov.”
And here we go. “That was a few nights ago,” I say. “Judging from the attempt on my life today, I take it peace is off the table.”
“Surprisingly, no. It’s not,” he says, and I tilt my head. “We’re still negotiating but… Slavik has made me a proposition that I have been seriously considering the past few days.”
“Oh?”
“How much?” Rikki asks.
Dad sighs. “Not every deal has monetary value, Son.”
“It does when it comes to him. He’s probably looking to be compensated for the warehouse we took a month back.”
“Yes,” Dad says, his face suddenly looking mournful and drawn. “The warehouse fire where I almost lost my eldest son.”
I’m stunned into silence. We haven’t talked about the details of what happened that night. At least not past Kostya reporting the events to him. Up until this moment, I thought it was forgotten or at least pushed aside.
When we set the warehouse ablaze, I got caught behind a stuck door. The damned thing wouldn’t come open for shit. Rikki had to break it down to get me out. It was a scary moment, but honestly, nothing we couldn’t handle.
“Kostya was very descriptive about that night,” Dad says, and both Rikki and I adjust uncomfortably in our chairs. “I’m Pakhan of this outfit. You think my spies don’t tell me everything?”
“It wasn’t a big deal, Dad. Rikki got me out to safety in time.”
“What if he didn’t?” He turns in his chair fully to me. His eyes have gone nearly black as they drill into me. “I’ve named you my successor. Trained you up to be just that.”
I sigh and glance over at my brother, who’s clenching his jaw. “You have two sons. Rikki is just as capable—”
“Rikki’s purpose is to enforce the rule of law, not make them,” he says. “I gave that honor to you and you alone.”
This is going somewhere. Wish I knew where. “The fact remains that I’m alive with barely a scratch on me. This is a dangerous job, Dad. Sometimes, things happen.”
He nods. “Be that as it may, you’re forty-two now, Son. By now I would have expected to have several grandchildren out of you. Looking at how that whole thing went down at the warehouse, it’s got me thinking how close I am to losing my bloodline.”
Again, I glance at Rikki. I could point out once more that he has two sons, but it’s pointless given Rikki’s forty-year-old single man status as well.
“That said,” Dad goes on, “Your mishap has given me a reason to consider Slavik’s offer to me.”
My skin gets ice cold suddenly. “What offer?”
“He wants unity. He’s suggested that our Bratvas become one,” he says. “His proposal is that our oldest children marry to unify our brotherhood under one name.”
“What?” I nearly yell. “An arranged marriage?”
“That’s right. He doesn’t have an heir. When he leaves this planet, one of the men under him is likely to take his place… unless his daughter marries someone of worth. She’s very pretty and quite young. Suitable for this kind of arrangement, in my opinion.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Suitable?”
“I’ve always found it beneficial to marry a younger woman. They’re much easier to handle and will likely give you plenty of future heirs.”
“Dad—” I stop myself, my temper starting to get the better of me. I don’t want to get married. I have never wanted to get married. That is something I gave up on years ago. I take a moment to gather myself, then, “I have no interest in getting married.”
“Honestly, Son, I couldn’t care less about your interest in marriage. This is a political contract and I expect you to fall in line.”
I just stare at my father. I know better than to protest too hard. My father is the one person on this planet who can move me to do whatever he wants. He can do it with his voice or he can just as easily do it with his fist.
But marriage? To a woman I don’t even know?
“Do I at least get to meet this chick before signing my life away on a political contract?” I ask. I can’t stop the bitter tone from coming out in my voice.
“Slavik and I can discuss a meet and greet between you, if it’ll make it easier,” he says. “Either way, you’re going to marry Nona Sokolov. I won’t accept any other option.”
“Dad,” Rikki speaks up, “what if they don’t get along? Or what if this chick has designs on stabbing Alex in the back? Literally. For all intents and purposes, she’s still Irkutsk. You can’t expect us to trust her.”
“The entire point of this union is trust,” he says. “When your brother is married, the Irkutsks will fall under Rostov dominion. We will both have access to more drugs, prostitution, and arms contacts, which will make us stronger in the long run. It’s a win-win for everyone involved.”
“Not everyone,” Rikki says. My father glares at him.
“He will do his duty. This isn’t for his own skin. This is for the brotherhood. Your brother, and you, I might add, have dedicated your lives to this. I expect nothing more than obedience. Am I understood?”
“You are,” I speak up just as Rikki starts to protest. “I will do as you ask.”
“Good.”
That matter settled, my brother and I leave our father’s house. As we walk out, Rikki says, “You know this is bullshit, right?”
“Yeah,” I say. “I know.”