Nikolai lumbers down the hallway, leaving a faint wake of smoke and perfume in his path. His shirt is wrinkled, and his eyes are bloodshot, and I don’t want to consider what’s kept him occupied in his absence, but I can’t seem to stop anyway.
He gestures me into his office and points at the chair opposite his desk. I do as I’m prompted and sit down while he slides a landline across the deep expanse of cherry stained wood.
“Five minutes,” he tells me. “Then Nonna will come for you.”
An unnatural stillness settles over me when I nod. He’s giving me five minutes with the phone.
Alone.
My fingers tremble when I pick up the handset. He wants me to dial the numbers before he goes. The numbers for the director of my company, who I told him I wanted to call. Maybe he knows the number, or maybe he doesn’t.
It’s a chance I’m willing to take.
I dial the number with false confidence. Outwardly, I know I’m holding it together. But inwardly, my heart is in my throat.
He can’t know.
He can’t.
I have to pull this off.
“Hello?” Gianni answers.
“Hello, Jean Claude. It’s Tanaka.”
A beat of silence follows, and I know it’s up to me to steer the conversation. Even when Nikolai leaves, my responses will likely be recorded on camera for later dissection. We must tread carefully.
“I was just calling to check in,” I say lightly. “If you have time, I’d like to fill you in on my rehabilitation.”
“I see,” Gianni answers.
From the doorway, Nikolai’s eyes meet mine, and for a split second, I think he knows. He knows, and he’s going to slaughter me right here in his office. But instead, he taps his watch and issues a final reminder.
“Five minutes.”
And then he is gone, taking my breath with him.
“Are you recovering well then?” Gianni asks from the other line.
What he’s really asking is if I’m all right.
“I’m fully focused on my health,” I answer. “And hoping to return to the company very soon, should there still be a spot for me.”
Gianni is quiet for too long, and I don’t like the sound of that silence. He knows what I’m asking. Has my position been held for me? Has he spoken with the director? What can he tell me?
“At this time, we believe it would be best for you to focus on your recovery. We can discuss your position with the company when you are ready to dance again.”
I swallow, and it hurts. Everything hurts. I don’t want to accept what he’s telling me. Even though I knew it would come to this, I don’t want to believe it.
“The company sends their love,” Gianni adds. “They all wish you a full recovery.”
I think he’s trying to tell me that he wants to help me, but his hands are tied. I can’t be certain, but it must be what he came to warn me about that night. He knew Nikolai was coming for me. He knew my life was about to be obliterated.
“Have you had any luck on the investigation into my shoes?” I ask.
“Very little,” he replies. “But there is a rumor it was an outside job. Someone by the name of il demone.”
My stomach twists. He must be confused. Or I am. Something is getting lost in translation.
“I don’t know who that is,” I answer. And I wish it were true. I wish I didn’t know that il demone is the name my father is known as on the streets.
“Where are you staying during your recovery?” Gianni asks.
It’s a bold question. And I can only hope my answer doesn’t get me killed.
“I’m at home. In Massachusetts.”
He needs to know I’m still in the same state, so he can come for me. So he can take me away from this place and Nikolai.
“I hope to pay you a visit soon,” he says.
Nonna enters the room, and I close my eyes. “I hope so too. Speak to you soon, Jean Claude.”
“Soon,” he echoes.
Shortly after the arrival of the guest downstairs, Nikolai comes to collect me from my room. Clean from a long shower, his hair is still damp, and he smells like himself again. Cloves and smoke, and maybe a bit of spicy aftershave. He made an effort to look presentable, but his face still looks like he spent a night in hell. In black trousers and a starched white button-down, he seems torn between light and darkness. Sinner or saint, it’s hard to tell from one minute to the next.
His eyes make a quick pass over the red dress hugging my figure. “Nonna dressed you well.”
It’s the same dress I was wearing earlier, but either he failed to notice or he’s providing obligatory compliments in hopes I will behave this evening. I’m not certain who he’s expecting for dinner, but it seems strange he’d want to include me. For all Nikolai knows, I could spoil everything. But I suppose he’s counting on me to be the well-heeled girl trained to be respectful of men and their business.
“Our guest is waiting.” He gestures for me to come closer, and I do, but not close enough for him to touch.
After last night, I want nothing more to do with him. I want only his suffering, and I have secretly vowed that I will do everything in my power to ensure it, though I don’t know how yet. I only know that I was a fool to be swayed by him for even a minute.
He is a thief. A liar. And I will never forget that image of him again.
We walk side by side, greeted at the bottom of the stairs by Nonna, who readily provides us each with a drink. Vodka cranberry for me, and a whiskey for Nikolai.
“He is in the main room,” she announces.
Nikolai nods and downs the amber liquid in his glass with one long swallow. Nonna leaves with the promise to return with another, and then we are off again. He guides me into the main room where our guest is waiting. And once I set eyes on him, I recognize him.
Alexei.
Like Nikolai, he has an overbearing presence. Tall, lean, and muscular with ice blue eyes. He rises to greet me, and his eyes never leave my face as I say a quiet hello.
“Nakya, you remember Lyoshka.”
I nod.
“Thank you for coming,” Nikolai tells him.
“I can’t stay long.”
Both men are rigid with equally cool features. The civility between them is forced, though I don’t know why. But when Nonna directs us to the dining table, Nikolai offers the head seat to his guest of honor.
Perhaps he is trying to win him over, but more than likely, it’s a matter of respect. There is always a pecking order in the mafia, and in this particular scenario, it would appear Alexei outranks Nikolai.
We take our seats, and for some length of time, they discuss business in Russian while I poke at the first course. Under any other circumstances, I’d love minestrone, but I find it an odd choice to be served this evening. I’m not hungry anyway, and my thoughts are far away when Nikolai barks my name. I look up from my plate.
“Eat,” he demands.
I make a point to disregard him, informing Nonna that I’m finished when she comes for the dishes. She frowns but removes the bowl regardless.
The conversation continues across the table, but it seems to be increasingly one-sided. When I look up from my salad, I find it’s because Alexei’s attention has diverted to me. He seems unaware that Nikolai is still speaking when he interrupts.
“Who are you?”
I have no reason to be rude to him. There is, in truth, a small part of me that basks in the power he holds over my captor. Nikolai is watching our exchange closely, his eyes challenging me to speak out of turn.
“My name is Tanaka Valentini.” I offer Alexei a warm smile. “I’m here as collateral for a debt my father owes.”
If Alexei reacts to my honesty, I don’t see it. My eyes are locked on Nikolai, taking a small victory in the way his fingers stiffen around his glass as he brings it to his lips.
I turn my attention back to Alexei. “And may I ask who you are?”
“I am of little importance,” he answers. “In fact, it puzzles me exceedingly what honor has bestowed a bastard like me the presence of your captor this evening.”
Nikolai’s eyes flash. “I do not trouble myself with the relations you speak of. It seems you have mistaken me for Sergei.”
Alexei shrugs. “It is hard, sometimes, to tell the difference between you two.”
A crimson flush edges up the pulsing ridge of Nikolai’s throat, and my stomach flips in response. I know I probably pushed him too far, but Alexei is unconcerned about his role, even when Nikolai excuses himself from the room.
When he’s gone, and the room is silent, I blurt something that would be better kept to myself. “Are you really his brother?”
Alexei pierces me with his eyes. “How did you know?”
My eyes wander over his features, and while it isn’t blatant, there are some similarities. It’s mostly their mannerisms, though, that I have seemed to connect. “You look alike. And you also hinted at it. Bastard. Relations. I think the only missing ingredient is brotherly affection.”
His eyes study me curiously while he sips from his cognac. “It’s hard to warm to a man like Nikolai.”
I think maybe he’s trying to tell me that Nikolai is not a good man. He doesn’t need to say so. My heart still hurts from the memory of last night.
“Does he treat you well?” Alexei asks.
I find myself nodding on autopilot, though I’m not sure why. It’s probably not wise to say anything else. Their hatred runs deep, but guaranteed, their loyalty runs deeper. It’s the mafia way.
“Why did you come to dinner tonight?” I ask. “If you don’t get along with him?”
Alexei responds with a flippant gesture of his hand. “I’m not sure. We still have business to discuss.”
Nonna returns with another course of roast and vegetables. While Nikolai is absent, I decide to eat a little because it smells good.
“If you stay here long, perhaps you can come visit my wife sometime,” Alexei suggests. “She could use a friend.”
My fork halts, and I look up at him.
A friend.
I’ve never had a friend. I wouldn’t even know what that relationship entails, but the opportunity sounds too good to pass up.
“I would like that very much,” I answer. “What is her name?”
For the first time since his arrival, there is a sign of life in Alexei’s eyes. “Her name is Talia.”
“Talia,” I repeat. “It’s a beautiful name.”
“She’s a beautiful woman.” He smiles. “But she is not yet familiar with this world, and I fear that it makes her an easy target.”
I nod in understanding. Growing up in this life, I’m intimately acquainted with the baggage that comes with it. But for an outsider, it can be disorienting, I’m sure.
Alexei retrieves the phone from his pocket and wakes the screen. “I have a photo of her. Let me show you.”
It’s probably not appropriate of me, but I stand and move to the other side of the table. I’m eager for the opportunity to leave this house, even if only temporarily. The idea of having a friend fills my heart with hope.
Alexei hands me the phone, and I stare at the photo, cataloging the details of the woman on the screen. She is beautiful, but there is also something heartbreaking about her. The gray eyes staring back at me are haunted and sad, and I’m left to wonder if she’s happy with her husband. And then I wonder why I would even question it.
What mafia wife is ever happy?
I want to assure him that she’s beautiful, which is probably what he wants to hear, but instead, I tell Alexei that she looks like she could use a friend. He nods, and it takes him some time to drag his eyes away from the photo.
“She has not had an easy life,” he admits. “And I don’t know that I make her happy, but I try.”
The profound level of sorrow in his voice provokes me to do something I probably shouldn’t. But I reach out and touch his hand, if only to let him know there is always hope.
“Will you tell me about her?”
For the remainder of the meal, we get lost in conversation. He opens up about his wife’s background, giving me intimate details about someone I’ve yet to meet. But I can see that it’s what he needed, and when I hear her heart-wrenching story, I feel like we are friends already.
After such a deep subject, the natural progression is to move on to lighter topics. Alexei explains his position within the Vory, their hierarchy, and some of their customs. The things he tells me are not so different from my own family’s codes, and I’m surprised to learn that I even find some of their practices more agreeable.
It’s when we are on the matter of children that Nikolai chooses to return. The timing isn’t ideal, considering he left us as strangers and returns to find me leaning in to study more of the photos on Alexei’s phone. The flash in his eyes as he examines the narrow distance between us warns me that his mood has only darkened, but for the first time in as long as I can remember, I’m enjoying myself, and I know he’s about to ruin it.
“You are dismissed, Nakya,” he thunders. “Go to your room.”
Not about to argue with his tone, I move to get up, but Alexei halts me with his hand on my arm. “She can stay.”
A silent war rages between the two brothers while I remain in my seat, hands clutched in my lap. The game of trying to provoke Nikolai is no longer fun, and at the end of the day, it is him I must answer to.
“Perhaps I should go to my room,” I volunteer.
“I think perhaps you should stay here,” Alexei argues. “It’s not a problem, is it, bratan? You trust me, yes?”
Nikolai’s nostrils flare, and I can’t be sure, but I’m beginning to think I have become the proverbial stick between the two.
“With my life,” Nikolai answers. “As blood should.”
Sticky silence descends over us before Nonna suggests we all move to the sitting room for drinks. She is quick to follow our movements, already prepared with fresh beverages. It’s my third vodka cranberry of the night, and I am feeling it more than I should.
I don’t drink often. Only on a few occasions did I steal a sip from my father’s liquor cabinet or nurse a beverage during a dinner party, but in general, I don’t make it a habit of imbibing. In the past, it was partly because my father had high expectations for my behavior, but mostly, it was because there were too many calories.
Tonight, however, I am not thinking of the caloric content. I am only thinking of the impending doom that awaits me if this tension does not dissipate before Alexei takes his leave.
Watching Nikolai as he speaks to his brother in Russian, I’m cursed to wonder what made him this way. Volatile one minute, and placid the next. His emotions do not ebb and flow like a ripple in the sea. They are either a tidal wave or the eerily calm silence before disaster strikes. I have known him to be kind, and I have known him to be cruel. But it’s apparent I am not the only recipient of his mercurial mood swings.
He is self-destructive in his own right. For someone constantly surrounded by people, his relationships are shallow and meaningless. He seems to have sabotaged the only ones that stand a chance at a deeper connection. I have an intense desire to understand what caused the rift between these two brothers, and more importantly, why their shared DNA needs to be kept a secret.
While I’m attempting to sort through these thoughts, Alexei’s attention drifts back to me, much to Nikolai’s vexation. It’s deliberate at this point. Alexei wants to provoke his brother, and it might be amusing if I wasn’t the one who will bear the brunt of it.
“Enough.” Nikolai moves in front of me, obscuring Alexei’s view. “I thought we could be civilized, but it’s obvious that you can’t let go of the past.”
“Perhaps when I am dead,” Alexei answers. “I will let go of it then.”
Nikolai curses his displeasure in Russian. “You never listen. You would not listen when I told you she was a whore. You would not listen when I told you she was servicing your Vory brothers. You needed to see it for yourself.”
“And you needed to take what was mine,” Alexei sneers. “Because you couldn’t allow me to have anything. You are just like Sergei.”
Before I can comprehend what’s happening, the two men are grappling with each other on the floor. Rage-soaked insults are hurled between punches as I watch on in horror. Drink glasses shatter, and the coffee table splinters across the room as I take shelter behind the sofa. I am not immune to violence, but this is pitiful.
“Stop it!” I scream.
Nikolai is the one to turn and look at me. His eyes lance right through me, piercing me with blame.
“Come.” Nonna tugs on my arm, and I’m not even sure when she entered the room. “Leave the men to their business.”