Cemented
Once we exited the building, the enforcer ushered me toward a black Mercedes limo with dark windows parked at the loading dock. Gruesome images flashed through my mind as I marched toward the vehicle in autopilot mode. Yuri made a mistake when he left our family, but we had just gotten him back and the feud was over. It floored me knowing Yuri would never see his mother and grandmother again, his family would never welcome him home, and he would never see Boris again to reconcile their strained relationship and put the past behind them.
A man in a dark suit stood guard by the limo and opened the door as we approached. Terror overtook me when it occurred to me that I might suffer the same fate as Yuri. Semyon had no regard for human life. The fact that I was Vladimir’s wife meant nothing to them. They needed his skills, but I was expendable—and a witness. The enforcer guided me into the vehicle and took a seat across from me. I gasped when I realized I wasn’t alone. Boris and Dmitri were along for the ride as well.
I darted my gaze between them, but neither of them spoke a word. There were only two scenarios in which the three of us were in the back seat of the vehicle. One: Vladimir had bargained for our lives and they were taking us to the airport. Two: Moscow was tired of our bullshit and we were on our way to the slaughterhouse. Judging by the tense expression on their faces, the odds of going home were not in our favor.
The driver rolled away from the warehouse and headed toward the city. I mirrored Boris and Dmitri’s demeanor and sat quiet and still. I peeled off my thin skin and stepped into a suit of armor lined with an indestructible layer of survival instincts. I laced up my boxing gloves with razor wire and sharpened my street smarts with shards of broken crystals. If we had any hope of going home, I sensed our collective fate rested in how well I played my part.
The enforcer seated across from me was an older man with wrinkles so deep in his skin, the contrast between dark and light resembled tiger stripes. He glared at Boris and regarded him with disgust. “You helped Vladimir escape from the Bratva.” His accusatory tone was bone-chilling. Boris was an expert in security and had the skills and connections to make anyone disappear. He had made all the arrangements for Vladimir and me to start a new life with fresh identities in Canada, but my accident at the hands of Boris’s wife, Anya, sent me to the hospital and exposed our plan.
“Da.” Boris owned his treasonous role as Vladimir’s accomplice and made no apology or excuse for his actions.
The man with the tiger face shifted his gaze to me. “Who is responsible for your injuries?”
I emulated Boris’s cooperative demeanor and named my attacker. “Valentina.”
“Those are defensive wounds. You don’t know how to fight?”
“I had to protect the baby.” I placed my hand on my stomach.
“Carter knows how to fight. She knocked Valentina unconscious,” Dmitri said. “No one fucks with the pakhan’s wife.” Although the circumstances of our bout were damnable, Dmitri was proud of me for rising up and defeating my foe.
The enforcer looked to me for confirmation.
“Da. Bitch deserved it.” I straightened my shoulders and sneered, layering my performance with a nasty disposition.
He nodded his approval and turned his attention to Boris. “You have travel papers?”
Boris slowly reached into his suit jacket, retrieved a stack of passports, and handed them over to him. The guy thumbed through our documents, four total, and inspected the information. I took this as a good sign. An indication we were on our way to the airport. I had no idea what kind of “deal” Vladimir had made with Moscow, but it appeared our situation was finally looking up.
The man handed three of the passports back to Boris but held one of them back. “Yuri don’t need this anymore. He’s been eliminated.” He slid the last passport into his pocket and stared at Boris to gauge his reaction to finding out his son had been murdered.
Boris’s jaw tensed, but he kept his composure. He’d been a member of the Bratva since the Soviet era and had lost many family members and close friends throughout his career in organized crime. Even a man as tough as my father-in-law had to feel the sting of losing a child, but instead of letting his emotions show, he remained stoic, drummed his fingers on his leg, and uttered a single word of acknowledgement, “Da.”
I buried my emotions in a shallow grave and wrapped my broken heart in duct tape to keep it together. I had to stay strong and resist an emotional outburst that would expose my weakness as a compassionate human being with a soul. I wanted to tell Boris that Yuri was a hero. That the baby and I wouldn’t have survived had it not been for him, and that Yuri and Vladimir had mended their broken relationship…
No one spoke a word the rest of the ride until the driver arrived at the airport. Dmitri and I got out of the car as soon as the driver opened the door, but Boris stayed inside the limo and stared down the tiger-faced enforcer.
Dmitri and I exchanged nervous glances.
Oh, shit. Don’t do it, Boris. Keep your rage bottled up until we get on the plane. Please don’t challenge Moscow. I can’t lose you too.
“I want my son’s body delivered to Ekaterinburg. His grave will be blessed by a priest from the Orthodox church, and he will have a proper funeral. Yuri is a hero. He will be laid to rest with his family—the Ivanov family.”
The enforcer mirrored his ominous glare. “It’s risky to move a body out of the country.”
“Yuri is my flesh and blood. The Bratva must honor my request.” Boris stared him down and challenged his superior to give him the right answer. His mind was set on honoring his fallen son, and not even a bulldozer could have forced him out of the limo until he was satisfied Yuri would be laid to rest honorably.
The guy conceded. “Da. Your son will be buried in Ekaterinburg.” The fact that Yuri was related to Boris somehow meant they owed it to him to give his relative a proper burial per Bratva code. I was relieved Yuri would have a final resting place where he belonged, with his family.
Once Moscow allowed us to board Vladimir’s private jet, we buckled into our luxury seats and prepared for the long journey home. I peeled off my protective armor and stepped back into my own skin. I popped the cork off my bottled-up emotions and sobbed as I replayed everything that had happened for Boris. I told him how Yuri came back to the family, saved all our lives, and was loyal until his last breath. Then I questioned him about Vladimir. “Why did they have to take him to Moscow? When are they going to let him go? Are they going to hurt him?”
“Quiet, Carter. You need to relax.” Boris dipped a cocktail napkin into a cup of ice water and dabbed the sweat off my forehead. “Think good thoughts for the baby. Don’t worry about things you have no control over.”
Dmitri tucked pillows around me and pressed icepacks on my broken arm, my aching shoulder, and my bruised chest where Valentina punched me with her bony hand. I had been under constant duress since my bout with Valentina, and my survival instincts had masked the pain from my injuries. Now the immediate danger was over, I came down from my adrenaline high and realized how sore and banged up I was. I knew my injuries were superficial and I would heal physically, but mentally, I was torched beyond recognition.
While I had the ability to slip in and out of my thick, mafia wife skin, Boris was cemented in his role as an unsympathetic enforcer. His protective wall might never crumble, but the aftermath stemming from the tragedy of losing a child had undoubtedly left cracks and holes in his rough exterior.