by Red Phoenix
Andrev announces, “There will be a service for Mama tomorrow.” Looking at me he states, “You are not invited to join us.”
My other brothers all nod in agreement.
I stand up, backing away from them, horrified by this unexpected turn of events.
They are all sniveling cowards, just like my father. It seems I am the only one with any backbone and a sense of justice.
“I would never stand in mourning next to the man who murdered her. You are all dead to me!”
I slam the door on my way out, feeling completely numb inside.
The fact that my brothers are as spineless as my father rocks me to the core. We may all look the same, but my brothers lack his sadistic nature.
No, that has been passed down to me, and I will have no trouble dealing out the kind of justice my father deserves.
Rescue
I go to my mother’s grave late in the day, after the graveside service is over and everyone in attendance has left.
My heart contracts when I see the fresh mound of dirt.
It makes it real.
I will never look on her face again in this lifetime.
I set the bouquet of chamomile on the mound. They were her favorite flower. Forty-two of them—one for each year of her life.
“Mamulya…” I cry out looking up to the heavens. The sky is filled with dark clouds, which seems appropriate—the world should weep for the loss of my mother.
I’m consumed by a mix of warring emotions—the guilt of not being able to protect her, the sorrow of losing such an extraordinary woman, anger at the violence of her death, a longing for justice and the profound grief a man has over losing his mother.
Feeling the first drop of cold rain, I nod, realizing that I am not alone. The sky above me expresses my grief in the form of a raging storm. I stand in it, my tears hidden by the drenching rain.
Closing my eyes, I extend my arms out while the winds blow around me. I mourn with nature over the loss of such a beautiful soul…
Afterward, I head to the family estate and wait in the car. I watch as my father leaves with an attractive young woman by his side.
I clench my fists, enraged that he would dare do such a thing on the day of my mother’s funeral. But there is nothing decent about the man.
The only thing keeping me from jumping out of the car and beating him to death is the knowledge that I must remain patient when exacting a revenge of this nature.
Once he drives off, I walk up to my ancestral home and let myself in. One look at my drenched clothes has the staff moving into action. A bath is drawn, dry clothes set out, while the cook, Nadia, quickly whips something up for me in the kitchen.
Unlike my father, I am well loved by the staff here, as was my mother. I notice their red-rimmed eyes and know they are mourning her death just as I am.
I can feel their silent resentment toward my father for his actions tonight. The open disrespect toward my mother’s memory is shocking. If they knew the truth about what happened, my father would have a mutiny on his hands.
Vladimir rules this house with an iron first. He is not fair, and his punishments are unusual and cruel. Only the loving touch of my mother kept the balance in this place.
Without her, this home has no heart.
I insist on eating what Nadia has made in the kitchen and call for more vodka as all of us begin sharing memories of my mother. In a time of great sorrow, we find solace in each other, remembering the joy she brought to our lives.
For a few precious hours, I feel no pain.
I want revenge, but without Tatianna and my mother in my life, I am struggling to survive. The pain of having to live each day without them is wearing on my soul.
The inheritance means nothing to me, while the allure of death continues to call with its sweet promise. More than anything, I long to be in their presence again.
I have made a vow to Thane, so I continue to go through the motions but I feel nothing now, and my soul is slowly dying.
I don’t want this life anymore.
I take to the streets of Moscow, visiting taverns and bars, drinking vodka and picking fights. I am a ball of rage that needs release, so I take it out on those I see abusing their power—the man who hits his wife for spilling his drink, the drug addict who kicks a panhandler sleeping on the ground, a gang of boys mugging an old woman. No one is safe from me, and my body keeps paying the price. Bruises cover every inch of it and two of my ribs hurt so badly that it’s difficult to breathe.
But I can’t stop.
When I notice the Koslov men trailing me, I don’t run. I stop and challenge them. “You want to off me? Now’s your chance.”
They make no move toward me and say nothing. I find it frustrating as hell and slam my fist into a brick wall. My hand explodes in pain, but I prefer that than to not feel anything at all.
I wipe my blood on my shirt and drop in to the nearest bar to order a bottle of vodka. Chugging down my liquid escape, I stare at my reflection in the mirror behind the bar.
I look like death walking and that’s exactly how I feel.
Glancing around the place, I notice a single woman nursing a beer. She doesn’t belong in such a seedy establishment. The woman seems lost in her own thoughts, oblivious to everyone around her.
I then turn my attention to the waitress. Some may not consider her comely, but I see how hard she is working and how the people respond to her smiles and jokes, and that makes her beautiful in my eyes.
The world needs more people like her.
I raise my bottle to the waitress and toast her. “To a beautiful woman. May you continually find happiness.”
She laughs self-consciously, shaking her head as she cleans off one of the tables. She probably thinks I’m drunk, but I have never been more clearheaded.
I get up, leaving the partially empty bottle, and give the waitress all of my cash as a tip. She looks at me strangely, then tries to hand it back. “You need to eat.”
I laugh, picking up the bottle to take one last drink. “This is all this Russian needs.”
As I leave, two men walk in, brushing past me. The instant we make contact I get a bad feeling, so I linger at the door while they sit down at the end of the bar and start making lewd comments to the waitress. She handles it well, using humorous comebacks to stave them off.
After the two down a shot, they catch sight of the woman sitting alone at the table. Elbowing each other, they get up and walk over to her table.
I stiffen as they approach her.
“Hey princess, what’s a fine woman like you doing alone?”
She looks up from her beer nervously, apparently too shy to speak.
One of them has the audacity to sit down next to her while asking, “You don’t mind if I sit here, do you?”
“But I do,” she answers meekly.
The other man ignores her answer, sitting down on the other side of her. He reaches out to touch a curl of her hair. “Don’t be that way, pretty thing.”
She moves to avoid his reach and tells them nervously, “I…I’m waiting for someone.”
“We’ll keep you company until he shows up.”
One of the men calls out to the waitress, “Get us three shots. No, make it four.” He looks at the woman again, stating, “She looks like she needs to loosen up.”
I start moving toward them, catching the woman’s eye.
She waves at me and says to them, “That’s the guy I was waiting for.”
I approach, assessing both men while I decide which one to take out first if they prove to be a nuisance.
The two men look at me and start laughing. “What, baldy boy here?”
I smile—the kind of smile that means only trouble.
Both men stand up at the same time, trying to look intimidating.
Crossing my arms, I tell them, “Leave, before someone gets hurt.”
They look at each other and laugh again just before Guy Number One tries to sucker punch me.
I’m ready for it and dodge to the right while landing a solid hit to his nose. He screams in pain as his blood starts to run.
This enrages the Guy Number Two, who then jumps me. I swing him around and push him up to the wall, smashing him hard against it. With the wind knocked out of him, the second guy falls to the floor, wheezing as he gasps for breath.
“We don’t want any fights here,” the waitress warns us.
I look down at Wheezer and say, “I have no issue taking it outside.”
The one with the bloody nose helps Wheezer up from the floor and they both glare at me. “We’re not going anywhere. We saw her first.”
“She wants nothing to do with you,” I tell them.
“Sure she does,” he replies, giving her a lustful look.
“You touch her and I will kill you.”
“You two leave now. Your business isn’t wanted here,” the bartender says, standing beside me.
Wheezer looks at him smugly. “We refuse to waste our rubles in this dive anyway.”
As the two leave, Wheezer winks at the woman at the table and offers a veiled threat. “Next time, princess.”
Once they’re gone, everyone goes back to their drinks.
“Thank you for helping me,” the woman says from the table, her fingers white from clutching her beer so tightly.
“It was nothing,” I grunt.
My blood is still pounding from having it out with those men. I wave goodbye to the waitress and step outside, blinking several times. The transition from the dark tavern to the bright rays of the sun makes it difficult for my eyes to adjust.
It allows just enough distraction that I’m unprepared for the hard kick to my groin. As I double over in pain, Wheezer and Bloody drag me into an alley. Bloody pins my arms behind my back while Wheezer pummels me over and over.
When he finally gets tired, they let go of me and I collapse to the ground, puking from the multiple gut shots.
“That’ll teach you to mess with us,” Bloody says, wiping his nose.
As they walk off, I roll over and slowly get back up to my feet. “We’re not done here.”
They both turn around and laugh at me. “Oh, I’d say you’re done,” Wheezer says.
I smile, despite the plain of my split lip. With a rush of blood filling my ears, my vision starts to blur and everything turns red…
I hear the agonized cries of both men as if from a distance and send a silent prayer to the God of the Universe.
Let this be the last. Take me home…
“Wake up. It’s Thane. I’m going to get you out of here, but I need you to wake up now!”
I don’t trust the demons in my head and choose to sink back down into the darkness.
I hear a low whistle and another voice says, “You must have a death wish. Don’t say I didn’t warn you…”
I’m shaken.
The pain that motion instills causes an instant reaction, and I hit my attacker square in the jaw.
He grabs my wrists and pins them to the ground.
I’m too dazed to hear what he’s saying until I detect the words, “Your brother.”
I open my eyes and croak, “Moy droog…” My throat feels as if it’s being pricked by a thousand tiny needles.
The realization that Thane is here, seeing me in this sorry state, fills me with shame and I turn my head. I command him to go and try to retreat back into the darkness.
“Like hell I will,” Thane growls in my ear. He tortures me by throwing me over his shoulder. I’m jostled about, enduring great pain until I’m finally deposited, fully clothed, into a bathtub.
I feel Thane’s hands as he carefully undresses me, before turning the water on. The warm embrace of the water revives me and I force my eyes open again.
I look up at Thane, the grief of my mother’s death still too recent to hide from him.
When he looks away, I’m sure he’s ashamed of what I’ve become. I need him to leave so that death can finally have its way with me.
Instead, he cleans me up, washing every wound thoroughly. I lay there, feeling like I did the night he found me after Samantha’s assault.
It is humiliating and I can’t help resenting it.
Once he’s done, Thane helps me to the bed and dials the phone to order food.
While we wait, the silence builds around us, but I have nothing to say.
“We’re in this life together, no matter how bad it gets,” he states, finally breaking the silence.
I turn my head away from him, embittered by that vow we made.
When the soup is delivered, Thane tries to feed me. After several failed attempts to force the soup past my closed mouth, I grumble. “What is this? A form of Chinese water torture, but with soup?”
“I need you to eat, damn it! So you can either let me continue to treat you like a spoiled aristocrat or you can pick up the damn spoon and feed yourself. It’s totally up to you but, either way, this soup is going down your throat.”
I growl as I sit up and take the spoon from him. “You’ve always been a pain in my ass, peasant.”
I can feel Thane’s eyes on me as I eat. I want to stop, but the lemony tanginess of sorrel mixed with the vegetable broth is too good to deny.
It was a favorite dish of mine, one my mother made…but while the soup feeds my body, the memories tear at my soul, and I throw the spoon across the room once I’m done.
Thane picks it back up, asking. “Did that make you feel better? If so, feel free to chuck it again.”
I glare at him, wanting to deck him hard in the face. However, grief wins over and I confess, “I failed her. I shouldn’t be here.”
“What are you talking about? Tatianna would want you to live.”
“I need to kill my father. I know he killed Mamulya…”
“Wait…your mother is dead?”
I nod, almost telling him the secret of Vladimir’s true motives, but I stop myself. It is the one secret I will not share with him. The shame of knowing that I am ultimately the reason for their deaths will haunt me to my grave.
However, the grief I feel is too profound to suppress and I cry out in pain. “The bastard sacrificed my mother for a gambling debt.”
Thane looks at me in horror. “How could he?”
I spit in disgust. “I went to kill him but was stopped from avenging my mother. Nikolay spared his life—and mine.”
“I’ve heard that name mentioned several times today. Who is he?”
“The Pakhan of the Koslovs, a powerful clan in Russia.”
“So, he’s part of the bratva?”
“Da.”
“I was told by his men that you owe him something,” he says with concern.
My eyes narrow. “I did not expect to live after my father’s death but, because of Nikolay’s interference, both my father and I are still alive.”
I glance at him, the pain intensifying when I confess, “I watched her die, moy droog…but was helpless to prevent it. I needed that bastard to die but I failed in that, too.”
“What about your brothers? Why can’t they help you? By God, there are four of them!”
I shut my eyes at the mention of my brothers. “That is the greatest cruelty of all. My brothers banned me from her funeral but let my father attend.”
“That makes absolutely no sense!” he growls.
I open my eyes to meet his gaze. “My brothers are cowards like my father. We should all be put out of our misery and rid the world of the Durov taint.”
“You are not allowed to talk like that.”
I refuse to put up with Thane’s demands any longer, and dismiss him with a wave. “I don’t want you here. Go home.”
Thane pulls up his sleeve and shows me the scar on his wrist. “We are in this together, damn it. Remember, brother?”
I look down at the scar, frowning. “I didn’t know how bad it would get when I made that vow with you.” I place my hand on Thane’s shoulder and say solemnly, “I’m sorry, but I
want to die.”
I can feel his palpable anger building. “No, damn it! You are not going to die. We vowed that we would be there for each other—and I will not fail you.”
He gets to his feet, demanding I stand with him. “You are not the coward your father is. You will not only survive this, but you will also exact justice for your mother’s murder. Someday, the pain of this moment will become the catalyst for you to do great things. I know that both your mother and Tatianna expect you to be strong, to endure, and to live a life that would make them proud.”
His words tear at my heart.
I want to join them, but he’s right. They both would expect me to endure.
“I’m tired and broken. I have nothing left.”
“Which is why I’m here,” he answers firmly.
I gaze deep into his eyes and plead, “Just let me go.”
“Never.”
My heart hurts for him when I explain, “You don’t understand, moy droog. You are doomed if you stay with me.”
“I don’t care.”
And he doesn’t. Thane would die for me, and knowing that breaks me. My voice is gruff when I admit, “I could not handle losing you.”
“We will survive this, I promise. But you can’t give up or you condemn us both.”
“That is not fair, comrade.”
“What? You take a vow to live, then try to commit suicide at the hands of ruffians by picking fights with them? That, my friend, is not fair.”
“I hate you, brother,” I snarl, angry that he’s so fucking stubborn.
“You’re a selfish prick.”
“Have I ever stated any differently?”
Thane chuckles, his eyes softening. “No, but I match your level of selfishness with my level of stubbornness. I’m like the never-ending waves hitting the rocks against the shore. I will wear you down to sand with my unyielding resolve.”
“I already told you the Durov clan is not worth your time.”
“Your family is not, but you, Anton Durov, are.”
His words rile me up and I growl, “Did I express how much I thoroughly dislike you?”
“You’ve mentioned it a few times,” he answers dryly.