Viktor takes his place at the front of the room, face solemn as he glances into the collective audience of my Vory brothers. Already, my offenses have been laid bare, and for the past five minutes, silence has entombed us as they’ve considered every possible punishment. Some of which include the removal of my tongue, fingers, hands, or other appendages. Other options are carving the stars from my skin, flogging, beating, burning, branding, and if that weren’t enough, the room is always open for suggestions.
It’s only the beginning, and even after my punishment is handed down, I could still be sentenced to death. At the end of the day, it is the pakhan I have offended, and he is who I must answer to.
“Is there anyone who would like to speak on Nika’s behalf?” Viktor asks.
I am not surprised that Mischa is the first to stand. His eyes cut to mine as he testifies to my character, offering both my flaws and positive traits, and the loyalty he feels to me as a brother. He tells several stories that portray me in a positive light, and I’m not certain I deserve his kind words, but I’m grateful for them nonetheless.
“Thank you, Mischa.” Viktor gestures for him to sit down.
The proceedings continue with testimonies from several of my Vory brothers, those who I haven’t managed to piss off in some way or another over the years. When they have finished, Viktor directs attention to the front of the room again.
“Is there anyone who would like to speak against Nika?”
The room is quiet, and I half expect several of the men to air their dislike of my character, but none do.
“Very well, then.” Viktor adjusts his watch and loosens his collar, already preparing for what comes next. “You have heard the laws that Nika has broken. He has made a mockery of our code, and therefore, we must make an example of him. Every Vor must place his vote. Let’s start with Boris.”
Boris tips his chin in my direction, a sign of respect. “I vote flogging.”
The man next to him, an avtoritet, also nods in my direction. “Flogging.”
The votes continue around the table, unanimous in their decision.
Viktor signals to a bratok, issuing him an order to retrieve the wooden device reserved for such occasions. “The first punishment will be flogging,” he says. “Any nominations for a second?”
Again, the room is quiet. After enough time has passed, Viktor nods, and I breathe. Flogging is not a walk in the park, but it could be much worse.
The bratok wheels in the flogging station, and I take my place at the front of the room. Removing my shirt and tossing it aside, I step into position, facing the wooden crucifix. The bratok secures my wrists to each side, and my face rests flat against the wood as Viktor takes the whip in his hand. He will be the first and probably the worst.
Not one to draw it out, he steps behind me and cracks the whip in the air twice, testing the distance and loosening his wrist. The third is the one to hit me, and it feels like a tree branch cracking over my back. My body jolts forward on impact, but the wood prevents me from escaping the blow. The only thing to do is grit my teeth and bear it, aware that this too is a test. Should I show any emotion or weakness, I’ll be sentenced to death without a second thought.
Twice more, the whip comes down on my back, splitting open my skin and raining fire on the wound. When Viktor is satisfied with his work, he calls the next man to take his place.
It requires a skilled hand to operate a bullwhip, and for this reason, the next Vor chooses the bamboo cane for his turn. Even though the sound is not as impressive as a bullwhip, the cane still feels like a punch to the kidney.
The level of severity is different for each man who steps up to take his shot, and I’m certain it doesn’t last more than a few minutes, but it feels like an eternity. When I am finally heaved from the crucifix, it hurts to breathe. Several of my Vory brothers drag me to my feet and help me to a chair, and it’s all I can do to lean forward and brace my weight on my knees.
There is no time for recovery. Viktor comes to stand in front of me, eager to finish the day.
“You have insulted me, Kol’ka,” he says. “But worse, you insulted my daughter. And for this reason, I am leaving it up to Ana whether you live or die.”
It’s a fair decision, but it doesn’t inspire any confidence that I’ll live to breathe another day. Ana is young, and she believes herself in love with me. She will likely be scornful from my rejection, and there is nothing else to do but wait for her decision.
Viktor summons the bratok to bring her in, and he opens the door where she must have been waiting outside. Fighting the urge to pass out from the agony in my back, I look up as Ana walks into the room. Her face is pale, and her cheeks are pink, and she is uncomfortable with so many Vory eyes on her. But when her eyes find mine, the discomfort morphs to anger.
Her lip curls in contempt as she moves toward me, and Viktor repeats what he just told us. It’s up to her to determine my fate.
For a long while, she just stares at me. I’m not certain what’s going through her mind, and it would be out of turn to speak unless she asks me to. So I wait along with all my brothers to hear what she has to say.
“Why did you pretend?” she asks. “Why did you come to dinners with me, and let me think …”
Her throat bobs, and she swallows the emotion.
“I’m sorry, Ana.” I hang my head in shame. “It was never my intention to hurt you. I only wanted to do what was right, but I should have been honest with you from the beginning.”
Her chin quivers. “My father tells me you love someone else.”
It’s a volatile question, but I answer it anyway. The truth is all I have left to offer her. “I do. I’m sorry that it wasn’t you.”
She chews on her lip and squeezes her hands at her sides. “I hate you for what you did. I’m humiliated. You could have saved me this pain by being honorable.”
“I know,” I agree.
She looks at her father. “I don’t want to see him again, but it isn’t my place to take his life. Please don’t kill him, Papà.”
Viktor’s eyes settle on me when he answers. “Very well, then. Nika will live to see another day. I only hope you can appreciate this gift my Ana has given you.”
Viktor hands me a glass of whiskey and takes a seat across from me while the bratok cleans my wounds.
The room has cleared, and now there is only one final item on our agenda. The most important item we have yet to discuss. I down my drink and reach for the bottle, helping myself to another.
Viktor lights a cigar and leans back to study me. “Your Valentini girl is a snitch, and I want her dead.”
I’d be lying if the thought hadn’t occurred to me. Every day, I’ve waited for the feds to show up at my door and arrest me. She had every opportunity to give them the ammunition they needed. I’d been careless during our time together, exposing too much of myself and the things that I do. I put my brotherhood at risk, but I believed in her loyalty. Perhaps it was falsely given, or perhaps this is what I deserve.
“I can see how this might present a problem for you.” Viktor flicks his ashes onto the floor. “Given your lovesick condition.”
“I can’t allow you to kill her.” It’s a bold statement, considering the circumstances, but Viktor humors me nonetheless.
“She ran out on you. She betrayed you, yet you would still protect her?”
“She snitched on Manuel,” I answer. “Not me.”
“It speaks to her character,” he says. “A rat is a rat. And I wouldn’t hedge your bets just yet. You don’t know what she’s told them.”
It’s true, but I still don’t believe she betrayed me. Not like that.
“I know her character. She is loyal to those who deserve it. Manuel did not.”
Viktor is quiet, and I worry that I’m too late. There’s no telling if he knows her location. If he already has men watching her. His resources are vast, and mine are not. I have left no stone unturned, but it does me little good if she’s in witness protection. She has a new name, a new life, and it isn’t with me.
Viktor sighs and stubs out his cigar, leaning forward onto his elbows. “I don’t think you deserve such kindness from me, Kol’ka, but if you are determined to save her life, there is one other option.”
I nod, anxious for the answer. “What is it?”
“It’s a last resort,” he utters. “And in truth, you must be prepared to accept that she will not like it.”