Vassili
Four months later
It's hard to fathom how something so goddamn beautiful was such a big shitting machine and now is the reason for my smile. I recall one day, before I’d mastered how to change a diaper. Zariah was nursing her, Natasha grunted and shit torpedoed from the side of her Huggies disposable diaper. Apparently, I had put the thing on backwards. The baby just continued to eat like nothing was the matter while Zariah silently freaked out.
Now, Natasha is five and a half months old. She no longer has the one curl at the top of her head that Yuri and my cousins joke is a Mohawk like mine. She’s seated in her crib, with a halo of black curls, she leans back to laugh and lands on one of her stuffed elephants. My tensed lips smile delighted in the way she cracks up.
“God, I sometimes wonder how I could be so blessed,” I mumble.
“Why?” Zariah leans her head on my shoulder.
“All the shit Anatoly, my younger brothers… my whole family, even Malich does, some of the bullshit from my past. How does God pardon it? How could God give me her, you.”
“You're a good man, Vassili, and we serve an even greater God.” she glances up at me. The moonlight from the open balcony of Natasha’s nursery lights against her eyes. “Now, granted, I worry, too. But only when you step into the cage.”
I start to hug my wife for her encouragement, until I get a good look at her. “Zar, you worried?”
She shrugs, “You know how I am the night before a match.”
“What happened the last time I was in the cage?” I cock an eyebrow.
She bubbles in laughter, it rivals the beauty of our daughters cooing and chuckles. “You beat a man in less than ten seconds. Don't be cocky, Vassili.”
“You just stated a fact. How am I being cocky?”
“God blessed you with super hands. All I can say is, Kill ‘em, Karo.” She kisses me, lips spread into a smile.
###
Honda Center, Anaheim
“You good?” Vadim asks
“Good, good,” I nod, fists slicing through the air so fast it swooshes. Right, hook, uppercut…Skin warm, I mentally review the signature moves of Louie Gotti, The Legion, the next person gunning for my belt.
“Look, son, you fought Juggernaut too damn soon. You promised you'd lay him out. Good…”
“Vadim, get to the point.”
He clasps the back of my neck and stares me in the eye. “You went from hopping into the cage too soon and now, you’ve been out of the cage for four months.”
“That's standard.”
His glare is harder. “Don't fuck with me, Vassili. This past 120 days ain’t been the same as the past, not to say you’re past your prime. You’ve got a wife and kid who commandeer much of your days lately. Are you good? I fought with you to visit the doctors, and shit, you were supposed to go after fighting Cordova, not wait till fucking off with Juggernaut. The scan of your knee came back normal. But I’m not convinced. So, are you good?”
“I’m good,” I glare harder, repeating myself for emphasis, “Vadim, I’m good, okay?”
“Yeah, you barely got that submission with Cordova and then you go gallivanting down to Louisville before the medic clears—”
“To witness the birth of my daughter?” I laugh. “You're going senile if you don't think I would've rolled heads if I missed it. Every time I speak, I come through, don’t I? I said, the little bitch would be knocked out in seconds. Did I disappoint? I will murder The Legion—like I just said. Do you want to shut your cunt or pray?”
Vadim shakes his head, laughing. “That's my line, Vassili. I tell you and all those up-and-comers at my gym to shut your cunts.”
“Can I pray, get my head in the game or are you trying to hold my dick?”
He steps away mumbling about my choice of words, using prayer and dick in the same sentence. I pull off my cross pendant and place it onto the counter before me. This is a ritual I've done so many times, except when I left the cross with Zariah while in Singapore a few months ago.
In hindsight, looking back, I felt as ready as I’d ever be. My father always told me that I’d have to choose a love. The syndicate or MMA. And there was no question to what I’d choose. But with my family and my love for pounding flesh, I really thought I had found some semblance of balance between the two.
Contrary to Vadim’s hard questions, I did well. I’d learned how to change a diaper after Natasha’s first shitting warzone. I’d baby proofed the house and she wasn’t even crawling yet. And I split my time, with my rigorous training schedule because Zariah helped me tag team our child.
Thus, this fight with Louie Gotti, The Legion, starts like any other. I go out, guns blazing. And by that, I mean my fists spray like bullets against his face, neck, and ribs. Gotti slams into the fencing. He's unable to ball up, get to the clinch. All he can do is take it.
The referee steps in. Like a dance, I hustle to the opposite corner. One foot before the other, Gotti catches his bearings. There are people first pumping the air, and I know the surrounding arena is in chaos, but I beckon this bitch to me with a nod.
He fakes right, and goes for a shin kick. Every attempt is blocked. Though his face is a bloodied pulp, I'm tiring him out. When I get him to the floor, I want my signature move flawless.
Gotti jabs my chin. I issue a low kick. Soon as he comes alive, I slam him into the cage with my hand behind his neck and a knee to his abs. Now, for the take down.
Ding. Ding. Dingggg! I navigate to my corner.
Nestor grabs my chin, grinning. “You killing him!”
“Finish him, good!” Vadim pats my shoulder.
I toss back a bottle of water, crunch it into my hands, then press it into Nestor’s chest.
This time Gotti leaps from his seat, as if a few moments have revived him. His cross lands against my ear. Sending a long drumming wave through it. I step back. Feeling comfortable, Gotti comes at me again. This time I move to the side. As he’s side by side with me, my opposite palm presses against his forehead. Timber!
With the Italian on the mat before me, I position myself for my signature move. My bicep applies pressure to his esophagus and that greedy ass feeling of squeezing until he can no longer breathe takes over. His throat is tightened between the steel of my forearm and bicep. Gotti’s eyes flutter up, and then lock onto mine. The vessels in his gaze pop. What I see next breaks my concentration…
My boots step over piss, water, and vomit, as my eyes adjust to the darkness of the room. Sergio’s arms are tied above his head, to a beam along the ceiling. One of Malich’s goons apparently thought that water torture would be a good starter, as his stomach is extremely bloated. There are weights strapped to his dangling feet, stretching his body further. The guys did just enough to break his spirit, leaving the big motherfucker in tears.
I took a drag from my cigarette and released smoke through my nose. “I’ve been told you enjoy hitting women. Big piz’da like you can’t find someone your own size to fight?”
“Please! Please!”
He starts to beg God, yet my heart hardened further. I rub a hand over the side of my neck where, conveniently, there’s a tattoo of an eye inside a triangle. It’s the symbol of God's omniscience, His ability to see everything. Yet, I didn’t feel convicted.
He speaks rapidly in in Italian. He’s praying to the Almighty God. I know his every word because Anatoly made learning the language a requirement when I was a child. Every bit of his training was to prepare me for the syndicate.
“Listen.” I clasped my hand against the back of his neck, bringing his tear swollen gaze to mine. Time to cut in before he pleads to the Holy Spirit, again. “I believe in God, too. Maybe, just maybe, I’ll pray for your soul later. But tonight, you’ll either go…” My cigarette points up and then down. “I can’t see further than your death, but your death is inevitable.”
I tune out his cries, burning the cigarette into his chest. My eyes locked onto Sergio as my powerful left hook slammed into his jaw. His chin instantly flopped to his chest.
“You killing him with one punch, Vassili,” the doctor, Yuri had requested to be here, spoke up in Russian.
“Nyet, but you can bring him back to consciousness.” I nudged my head toward Sergio. The big mudak was knocked out with one hit.
The doctor stepped forward. He stabbed the syringe of adrenaline into Sergio’s heart.
“Ahhhh,” Sergio gulped, like a fish out of water.
I clasped his jaw. “Stay awake, I’m not ready for you to die just yet. And if you stop breathing, my doc will bring your ass back to life. You think you can hit girls and go out easy, eh?”
He makes this noise that sounds like he’s drowning, before spitting up blood.
I chuckled. This time my hands slammed against his ribs, like my fists were never-ending fireworks. The doctor readied another syringe. The goons joked about me not killing him too soon . I beat Sergio until his fucking eyes dimmed for the last time…
One second, the Italian’s gaze had faltered, and the next, he’s pinned his elbow into my ribs. Though, I’m a man professionally conditioned to this pain, I keep fucking seeing Sergio through Gotti’s gaze. He twists his arm around, and flips his body backward, until his legs are positioned around my left leg, locking my leg forward against my chest, calf twisted sideways.
My mind continues to see Sergio dying before me. Until the crowd is hushed. A searing pain roars through my left leg as my team cusses in Russian.
“Otpustit! Sdavat’sya!” Vadim and Nestor shout. I no longer see them, but their voices are blaring through some imaginary speakers.
They’re telling me to tap out. Let go.
Why the fuck are they telling me to tap out? Why the fuck is Sergio praying so loudly?
POP! The sound of my knee joint cracking is heard throughout the quiet arena…
###
My entire body is desensitized while sitting on the examination table, leg in cast. The hot sweat against my skin has salted, cooling over. The pain drugs coursing through my veins have numbed the hurt temporarily, but this shit is still in my brain. The feeling of sinking and of failure.
I’m a failure. There’s a second L to my name and my belt.
“Your patella is fractured,” the doctor tells me.
“For how long?”
“Six to eight—”
“How long?” Zariah cuts, tossing my question at me. “Vassili, baby, just stop. We have a good life! We have a beautiful baby girl, who your doctor hasn’t even cleared to pick up without you having to be in a seated position! And your only question is for how long. Damn, I can pretty much guess your query is about getting back into that cage and…” Zariah stops speaking abruptly and steps out of the room. The blinds along the window of the door bounce back and forth as the door is harshly closed.
Heat prickles across my skin as I rub a hand along my face. Vadim’s arms are folded. He has no words for me either.
Every time I blink my belt is being snatched away from me.
“Unfortunately, holding your daughter should be held off, unless you’re seated,” the doctor reiterates. He'd just explained the ‘how to’ bullshit. “For now, you’ll use a wheelchair.”
I gotta get back in the cage! “When do I get physical therapy?”
“We will talk crutches next month. But I'll see you next Tuesday. Nevertheless, there were a few more things your wife must be made aware of regarding proper care,” the doctor says before he makes his exit.
“What happened?” Vadim breathes heavily.
“I lost.”
“You didn't think to tap out, Vassili? I screamed that shit to you, man! You didn't even shout because of the excruciating pain. Just held your gaze and your gritted teeth as if you're so fearless. As if you are invincible. The crowd was silent, don't tell me you didn't hear me shouting: Tap out. Tap out. Tap. The. Fuck. Out. How many times has Nestor—”
“I AM THINKING!”
“— placed you in a ‘knee bar,’” he continues right along. “Just for you to get the picture and A, fix the situation or B, tap the fuck out.”
My finger points to the door. I shout, “I just looked like a bitch! I need a moment.”
“Really, you need a moment? You’re an idiot.” He pokes me in the forehead. “Tell me what happened? Vassili, you gotta tell me what happened. One way or another, I’m your coach, we have to work on this. Was it all a show of balls?”
“I was…” I stop talking as Zariah returns to the room.
“Where's Natasha?” I ask.
Her tear-stained eyes turn toward me. “I drove here, Taryn and Yuri met me in the parking lot when I called. They're sitting in the car with our child…our child that you can't even pick up!”
“I'm sorry.”
“Vassili, it's a game,” she softens. “I know how much it means to you, baby, but there is life outside of the cage. I am in shock right now, so I will be a bitch until this crap sinks in.”
Vadim quietly steps out of the room now.
Another image of my belt passes before my eyes. I slam my palm into my forehead. “Fuck!”
Zariah leans against the wall, next to a poster of the human body. Eyes red and cheeks wet from crying a river.
I can't even stand up and go to her. There’s nothing for me to say that will soothe the hurt I’ve caused her.
“You chose not to tap out. I watched every second on Pay-Per-View,” she murmurs, head to the ceiling. “The scariest thing I've ever watched, but I didn't even have the power to look away. Gotti told you to tap out. I could see his lips moving. He told you to tap out. I screamed so loud, Natasha started crying. I swear she cried herself to sleep during the hour drive here. Gotti told you to tap out,” she whimpers. “Did Nestor? Did Vadim? Were they shouting in your corner?”
Lips set in a line, I nod.
“Then why?” she asks the question that the entire MMA world would like to know.
I rub a hand across my mouth. “Remember that mudak who touched Ronisha?”
Fresh tears wet her eyes. “No amount of trying can stop be from thinking about what I asked of you. That was over nine years ago, baby.”
I glance down at my hands, my hands that have failed me. “I was winning the fight. I had that bitch pinned to the ground.”
“You did. Talk to me, Vassili. What happened?” Zariah steps before the examination table, stroking my hair.
“I had Louie, The Legion, Gotti right where I wanted him. There was fear in his eyes. I was lining that bitch up for the triangle choke. He’d become my next submission—fucking easy.”
“Easy,” Zariah murmurs, doing wonderful things to my hair. She coaxes the fence around my emotions to fall. The instant I lost my belt, I broke.
I huff, “Yeah, easy. Then I saw Sergio through him. Never did I give a fuck about Sergio. I would kill him again. A few years ago, his mother passed. I sent the family a check. I'd been too bitter, didn't give a fuck about him when he died. When I heard of her death, I learned that Sergio’s mother lived in a bad neighborhood, she’d been going blind before her death. The motherfucker was the woman’s only son. I’m not even aware if he’d been a good son to her, helped her out or whatnot like how it should be. But on the chance that he had, I’d taken him from her and this didn't sit right with me, Zariah. Not to say that I would go back on my actions, there are few things in this life that I regret. But, I've never been a murderer, baby, not until that day.”