Zariah
Three Weeks Later…
Chico was right about something. I’m not to be fucked with. Drugs were pinned on Noriega and his gangster friends, thanks to Officer Greene. However, the kilos of cocaine weren’t “found” until their Escalades were processed—meaning, the morning I found out I was pregnant, three weeks ago, I called Greene and he was happy to oblige. It’s karma for his ass, and guess what I’m actually guilty about?
My Fatburger with Rally’s French Fries.
Natasha and I are holed up in the game room. She’s at her toddler table chewing on a Baby fat with cheese. Needing elbow room while I eat, I chose to sit on the plush carpet and lean against the wall. And she has some nerve, eyeing my Rally’s French Fries. Really? She didn’t like them the first time, and, I suspected, gave them the stink eye due to the difference in color to her usual French fries. So, needless to say, I didn’t purchase her any fries at all.
“Mommy, fry, fry?” she begs.
“Girl,” I chuckle, my tone is as testy as Vassili’s usually is when he calls me that himself. “You can’t eat it all,” I pluck a few of my fries and hand them over.
Damn, I close my eyes and moan at the taste of my own. When who do I hear? Yuri’s loud mouth. He’s gotten comfortable with his cane. The other night, we went out, he was the oddball, and women flocked around as he gave boisterous stories about the shot he received during deployment with the army.
“Natasha, shhhhh,” I tell her.
“Zariah?” Vassili shouts up the stairs.
Please don’t come up… please don’t come up… This is déjà vu, but instead of me being almost ready to pop, I’m only three months pregnant now. He’s right at the proper weight, and if you let him tell it, he prefers kholodets, that nasty ass meat jelly stuff over a good burger and fries. So, I’m not in the mood for his ass. Gulping down a lump of food, I shout a reply, “Be down in a sec.”
He’s hustling upstairs now, so I slide my food over. “Natasha,” I start to get up, but that will defeat the entire purpose of hiding my stash on the opposite side of me.
“You are in so much trouble,” Vassili stands there, arms folded.
“Why do you move so quickly?” I grumble with a smile.
He comes in, scoops Natasha into his arms and gives her crazy kisses on her neck. “So, you’re the accomplice? Did she force you to eat this shit, or did you do it willingly?” He asks her as she giggles.
“Language,” Yuri says, walking into the room with a gait. “Hello, Zariah, cutie pie, don’t allow that, he’ll tickle you until you can’t breathe.”
Vassili swings Natasha high, and catches her a foot before she can hit the ground. I clutch a hand to my chest, right at my heart. “Yuri, get him before you two are sporting matching war wounds.”
Yuri chuckles. “Hey, this right here has the pussy flying,” he says, knocking his cane to his calf—which I suspect is more healed than he lets on.
“Now, you’re cussing,” I tell him.
“Aw, that’s not a bad word, it’s a… beautiful thing.”
“Keep having this conversation with my wife, and find yourself waking up in that exact spot in a few hours,” Vassili threatens. He pulls out a chair, and sits.
“French fry?” Natasha holds the fry so tightly the center mushes in her hand.
“No, sweetheart. I’ll take some tea; can you make daddy some tea?” He asks her.
“Yay!” She hurries to get up. Falls, and then heads to the Mickey Mouse play kitchen she has.
“Zariah,” Vassili says my name, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m gonna change the flight itinerary.”
“Nyet, brat—no, brother,” Yuri huffs. “Mikhail is moving in the house; he and the rest of my brothers will stick around town until Danushka comes out from hiding.”
Vassili doesn’t seem convinced. They set aside businesses and their lives after Igor—the baby, second only to Yuri, died.
While Mikhail is tasked with keeping his father from grieving it was Yuri who set in sequence the death of the Bertolucci family. I suspect that Vassili doesn’t believe the other brothers were callus enough to handle it. And right now, he wants to keep me and Natasha safe.
“What if Danushka comes around?” Vassili spits the words at his cousins, eyeing myself and Natasha with a world of concern.
“You think I’d let that cunt hurt Cutie Pie?” Yuri clutches at his cane and comes over. “Zariah, you’re my sister now.”
My husband isn’t moved by his cousin’s sincerity. “We will all arrive the morning of the match. Together.”
“No, baby, we’ll not,” I shake my head, climbing to my knees, I crawl over, and plant myself before him. We’re eye to eye, with him in the tiny chair. “You have to be well rested. I’ll be in Australia, before you even know it.”
I’m comfortable. Noriega is rotting in jail, for at least 16 months on drug possession—pathetic, I know. He should be in jail for the abuse of his wife, but Felicidad is still afraid of him. His attorney is so busy fighting me over his assets. This fool is so flashy that his cars are worth more than his one home, but Felicidad is stepping into her blessings. An involuntary termination of his parental rights is in the works as well. That should be slapped in his face tomorrow during, hopefully, the last of the contested court hearings for the Versa family will. My client’s parents want the continued litigation hearings to dissuade my client.
So, the very next morning, if all things go to plan, I’ll be on the plane with Natasha. Maybe I’ll even sneak some Benadryl into her apple juice sippy cup so we can both get a few winks before the fight.