Andrei

 

I was outside my bar, on the third story balcony that only my men and I had access to, smoking a fine cigar, when the back door opened behind me, and I just knew my night was going to turn upside down. Just what I didn’t need. This cigar was too good to be ruined. The night was pretty good. Cool. Quiet. Some nights I wanted nothing more than to go out, enjoy myself, maybe have a romp in the sheets. Other times, like right now, I just wanted a little peace.

 

Peace that was about to get ruined, I had a feeling.

 

Luckily, my associate knew better than to bother me and to wait for acknowledgement, so I attempted to enjoy the rest of my cigar before acknowledging his presence, but worry colored the taste of it. I growled out, “Yes?”

 

A stark white envelope was thrust forward. I snatched it, and the man slinked back inside, music and the sounds of drunken good cheer floating up to me for the few seconds the door was opened. While I appreciated that he was giving me space to read my business alone, that he didn’t wait to be dismissed but dismissed himself raised a red flag in my mind. Who sent the note?

 

I reached down, inside my boot, and removed my concealed dagger. With a flick of my wrist, I unsealed the envelope and read the short note, my peace shattering into a billion pieces that could never be brought together again.

 

V. G. back in town. Thought you would want to know.

 

It was unsigned, unmarked. No way to tell who had sent it, and my man’s disappearance made me think that the person who had dropped off the note was either a possible associate of V.G. or else the note had been discovered without anyone seeing the drop off. I certainly hoped it came from a friend and not an associate of V.G.’s. The thought that someone, friend or foe, could drop off a letter unseen and unnoticed by any of my men was enough to start a rage inside of me, but that was nothing compared to what the contents of the letter inspired.

 

The hairs on the back of my neck rose, and despite the warm nighttime air, goose bumps appeared on my exposed arms. I’d rolled up the sleeves of my blue dress shirt earlier. My fingers curled together around the hilt of the dagger still in my hand, to the point that my hand started to cramp up, but still I held on, relishing in the pain.

 

Mikhail Vasilev. The bastard had returned to town, to my town. How dare he show his ugly face around these parts! He had no right to return. No right to step foot on my soil. How long had he been sneaking around in the shadows? It better not have been for long. If my men had grown so lax that they had missed him for weeks…I would not abide by such a lack of dedication.

 

My other hand had tightened into a fist, and I forced myself to relax, to uncurl my fingers, to return the dagger inside my boot, and to smooth out the letter. I tried to read the words again, but the letters swam on the page. My mind had already been transported back to the worst time of my life.

 

I had only been eight years old when my life had been forever changed by the likes of one Mikhail Vasilev. Memories of my parents’ death reared their ugly head. Vasilev and his men had killed my family, every last one of them, and they had managed to get away before they had been caught. The bastards. I would never forgive them. Death might be too kind for them.

 

It had taken me years to get over it, survivor’s guilt. I had been a coward. As soon as I heard Mother’s screams, I hid away in the safe room she had shown me when I had turned two. I knew that was what she would have wanted, what my father would have wanted, as well, but even then, as I hid away, I hated myself for it. I had curled up in a ball and waited, trying not to sob but failing. I cried as I heard them shriek and scream and attack, and then they made no more sounds.

 

Of course, the safe room had been soundproof, so as soon as I had closed the door, I hadn’t actually heard the screaming or the fighting back, but I knew my father would not have accepted death easily. My mother either, for that matter. That I did not actually hear the sounds did not make what I heard in my mind any less real. Therapy might have been good for me, but I had pushed through the guilt and the grief and reforged my role, taking on my father’s place as leader of the Petrov mob. Now I was thirty-two, and I would never allow what happened to my parents to happen to me. I would not be the next to fall.

 

There had been a clock and food and clothes and other provisions in that safe room with me. Once a single day had passed, I couldn’t wait any longer. I had to check and see what had happened. Certainly it had to all be over by now. My mother hadn’t come for me yet and I was prepared for what I would see.

 

Or so I had mistakenly and foolishly thought.

 

The carnage, though, the stench…my parents’ bodies lay in a puddle of their own blood. Furniture had been overturned. Everywhere I looked, there were signs of chaos, of fighting. My house looked foreign to me. Everything was out of place, out of sorts. It was all wrong.

 

There were a few other bodies, too. Father had not gone down without taking out others. I knew from the red and gold they were Vasilev’s men. Father had never shied away from telling me the truth about his life, and what would be my life one day. He never thought Vasilev would go after him, but that hadn’t meant my father was careless. We all had bodyguards. I learned to ignore mine, but his presence was a comfortable shadow. I never wanted a bodyguard, but I accepted why one was necessary.

 

My bodyguard was dead, too. So were my parents’. So much for the protection they offered.

 

Just before I had left their bedroom, I spied another dead Vasilev man. Buried in his ear was my mother’s dagger. She had fought back, too, a fact that did not surprise me. She had been the one to teach me martial arts. She was born into this life, too, not married in. It was a part of her, just as it was my father. Or, rather, it had been a part of them.

 

I tried to remove the dagger from the dead man’s ear, but it had been buried too deeply. I could hardly budge it at all. Luckily, I did find another knife on the floor, and I grabbed that, just in case. Despite considering whether or not this was wise or if I should return to my hiding spot, I searched the rest of the house.

 

A lot of good that did me, though I had been smart to arm myself at least.

 

The living room and the dining room were empty, but another man was lying in wait in the kitchen, his back to me as he rifled through our refrigerator. My hand trembled, and my arc was too wide. I thought I could do it, be like my parents, that I could put up a fight, that I could take him on despite being so much bigger than me. If I had wiped my palms first so they weren’t sweaty, if I hadn’t been so afraid, if my nerves hadn’t gotten the better of me, I might have been able to strike him.

 

But he must have heard me because he whirled around and knocked the knife from my hand. I didn’t even have time to see the gun before he shot me.

 

I collapsed immediately, onto my stomach. I didn’t cry out. I didn’t move. I just lay there. My father had died. My mother had died. And now I was going to die, too. That fright I felt just vanished. I was almost…at peace, strangely enough.

 

Dimly, I heard voices, one of which belonged to Mikhail Vasilev. They thought me dead. They didn’t double check. And then they left.

 

This time, I waited longer to make sure no one else was still around. I might have even slept some, but I could never figure out if I had or not. If anything, I probably had passed out from the pain and blood loss more than actually falling asleep.

 

Eventually, some of our men returned, and they took care of me. They took me to a safe house and brought a doctor there to operate on me. During those early days of recovery, I berated myself for leaving the safe room, but no one other than my parents knew where it had been located. And with hearing the screams that were and weren’t real…I might have gone insane had I stayed in there for much longer.

 

Plus, I could use what had happened to my advantage. I could twist things around to suit myself because that fear and nervousness I had felt when I tried to attack that man had been reborn, just like I had been given a second chance at life. The fear and nervousness were now power and rage.

 

Mikhail Vasilev, that horrible villain, thought I was dead.

 

But I had survived. And I vowed revenge.

 

And now the fiend had dared to return.

 

I shook my head to blot out the memories and held onto the railing of the balcony. I could barely stop myself from hunting down Vasilev right this very moment and executing him right where he stood, but I knew I had to do more than that. I had to ruin Vasilev and his family completely before enacting my vengeance, or more like as part of my vengeance. I’d never forget how I felt when I realized he had also killed my aunt and uncle and my ten-year-old cousin. Every blood relative of mine he had killed. A swift death would be too kind.

 

Quicker than a snake, I reentered my bar and took my private stairs all the way down to the basement. In addition to the bar, I also ran an underground gambling ring. It was past time for tonight’s game of cards. Everyone would be waiting on me, and while it might be a good idea to keep them on their toes, I did not want to be alone right now.

 

My men greeted me warmly, but I had no smiles to share. I retrieved a bottle of imported beer and drank all of it before sitting down to play. After the obligatory game with everyone, during which I only had one more beer, I broke off to a side table with my right-hand men, Aleksey and Dima.

 

Aleksey cut the deck and dealt the cards. “What is it?” he asked quietly out of the corner of his mouth. An old knife wound caused the left side of his mouth to not move. It gave him a startling appearance. It also made him too distinct to be able to melt into a crowd, so I tended to keep him close by me.

 

“Mikhail Vasilev is back,” I said without preamble, watching their faces closely.

 

“Want me to knife him in the back?” Dima offered, his hand going to his side. He always kept at least ten weapons on him at all times. Honestly, it was surprising Aleksey had the visible scar compared to Dima, who got into more than double the amount of fights as Aleksey.

 

I waved his words and his offer away. “Killing him isn’t enough. He and his family will be ruined first.” I slapped my fist into my open palm.

 

“How are we going to do that?” Aleksey asked. He fiddled with the cards in his hand, but I knew I had his full attention. He was trying to make sure no one was paying us any attention, that they would think we were just playing a round. That he felt the need to put on a show here, when my men surrounded us, made me uneasy.

 

I could trust everyone here…couldn’t I? I would be a fool to blindly trust them all, and I was no fool.

 

“We’ll think of something.” I appraised the two of them. We had gone through the wars together. Dima and Aleksey were trustworthy, maybe even more trustworthy than I was. They would help me with everything, no matter how crazy it seemed. And this next part was going to seem more than a little crazy. “I also need to take care of something else,” I added casually. I laid a card down, continuing Aleksey’s charade.

 

“What is it?” Dima asked. He tossed his cards down, folding without even looking at them first.

 

“I need to find a woman to sire an heir in case I should be killed,” I said as calmly as if I had asked for a new suit.

 

I was the last remaining Petrov, and without an heir, my family mob would disintegrate. I would never ever allow that to happen. Mikhail Vasilev had taken too much from me already. He would not take my future, too. I would not go down without a fight.

 

I would not go down period.