by A. C. Bextor
Quickly tiring of this topic, I ask, “What is it you need from me, little sister?”
“You’ve hardly left your study in three days,” she rightly accuses. “When you have, Maag and the others tell me you’ve been impossible to talk to.”
Masking disinterest in an attempt to ignore her, I continue looking down, studying a colored map lined with all its territories while considering my next move. And I do all this while wishing I could ask my father for guidance.
I’ve been given fair warning that the—for lack of a better term—Sicilian Empire that dwells north of Chicago has planned once again to move in an attempt to overthrow one of our family’s most profitable stables of women located on the outskirts of what’s considered their territory. And from what I’ve heard, these plans are expected to take flight soon.
The last time Ciro Palleshi issued this same order, I instructed my men to trek across the city, to locate every drug-infested hole he had stocked and burning each one of them to the ground. By the time my men were finished, over sixty buildings had been demolished.
The mission was merciless, and therefore bloody.
Men, both his and my own, were killed. Women working in those filthy drug lots were left as unfortunate casualties, as well.
The number of dollars in damages I caused the Palleshi name wasn’t my intended purpose. My aim was to force Palleshi to not only recognize that I had found the traitor he placed within my midst, but for him to remember what would happen if he ever conspired against my family again.
“I have work to do, Faina. Important work. Tell me why you insist on bothering me as I do it.”
My younger sister, my only sibling, has always had a knack for demanding more than I’ve been willing to give her, whether that be detailed information about the family operation, material items of luxury, but more than anything, the freedom to live her life as she pleases.
Away from here, away from the organization—away from this part of me.
Faina holds dear to a romantic heart; therefore, she believes in love. The notion itself is an indulgence she’s allowed as she’s the mere princess to this Russian reign.
Her only duty to the organization is to find a man of Russian uniform, one she can tolerate, and then breed an alternate heir. One to come after any of mine in right, if needed. When the time comes for me to step down, and if my son isn’t ready or he’s unable to take over, she’s to proudly stand at her husband’s side. The laden pressure will fall on whomever she chooses to then rule this charter as their own.
However, the problem remains that my stubborn little sister has refused each man I’ve so far deemed worthy.
Faina Zalesky is witty, wily, and sharp. Her character is made up of an impenetrable mix of minx and mischief, with which very few men can contend. Each of those I’ve tried to sway her to consider, she’s spat out. She sent them back with their shattered heart in their hand and their egos unrecognizably ruined. Of course, I could order her to the obligation, forcing her to wed before she’s truly ready. However, my love for Faina prevails. I want her to live a happy life.
“Your solemn mood is about Father, isn’t it? He’s upset you again,” she guesses.
“No,” I return, though it’s a blatant lie I’m sure she’ll see through.
“Tell me. What’s he done this time?”
My father, who runs an entirely different, more lucrative and dangerous side of the business from Russia, honored me with this position. Being only thirty-five years old, I’m the youngest Zalesky to have been given an operation of his own.
I’m charged to handle one of our family’s smaller units, made up of only thirty men, give or take. Law enforcement in this city is paid an obscene amount in monthly bribes to turn a blind eye to our activities. Not often is it that we run into snags in this unacknowledged agreement. When we do, we negotiate a higher price for cooperation and then move forward with our business.
Prior to being gifted this assignment, I spent countless hours learning from books, listening to lectures, and witnessing firsthand the art of this ‘craft.’ All that time I spent not only voicing my desire to be part of this brotherhood, but demonstrating my worth inside of it, as well. Finally, after several years, I was left alone, without my father’s protective surveillance. My only intention was—and still is—to keep his trust in my abilities.
Weeks ago, when he dropped word that he’d be making more frequent visits to Chicago, I knew it was to ensure I was doing all I’d been expected. The notion he still may not believe I’m fully capable of doing as he’s instructed doesn’t sit well.
Surely my father, the great Vory Zalesky, can appreciate all I’ve so far been able to procure. I’ve done all of this with the help of Abram, my oldest, closest friend and advisor, of course.
Faina, not deterred by my lack of response, pushes, “You should take a few days away from here. Go to your cabin. Drink your expensive liquor. Relax and unwind. The quiet and peace might do you good.”
“Faina.” I shake my head. “Not all of us can pick up and disappear for weeks on end as you do.”
“Maag is beside herself, Vlad,” she notes. “She knows how hard you work and—”
Aiming my eyes over my reading glasses, I send my sister a glare of denial. I’ve never been one for words, nor have I ever been one who felt compelled to explain myself. I’ve lived stringently by the codes of this family and breathe each breath to serve its purpose. Aside from this, nothing else matters—including Faina and our house charge Maag’s little-thought-out opinions.
“No, Faina. You and Maag will stop this incessant mothering,” I tersely return. “Not that either of you believe this, but I can take care of myself.”
A small smile tugs at her lips. “You can?” Leaning forward and placing her elbows on my desk, I brace for her never-ending mockery. “You need a woman, big brother. And not a whore. You need someone who can help you take your mind off your work, not some cheap hooker who works inside of it.”
“I don’t need anyone or anything,” I deny. Changing the subject, I ask, “Do you know where my son is? I looked for him this morning but never found him.”
“I know where Veniamin is,” she replies with petulance. “I usually do.”
Another demand given by my father was that as soon as I settled in this country, I was to have a son. The order wasn’t issued so that I fell in love, married, and lived happily ever after while creating and then tending to a family of my own. Easy and free lives don’t exist for men like me, nor does it for the women we marry. The order was served for anything but a domestic purpose.
“He’s with his tutor,” Faina tells me, then elaborates, “Miss Clarice is working with Veni on the supplemental math lessons I scheduled for him this week.”
By all accounts, Veniamin Zalesky is a legitimate child. Yet, he was birthed from the womb of a whore I slept with time and time again until it was confirmed she carried him.
After he was born, I saw no further reason to extend his mother’s menial existence. To avoid her influence in our lives, I had her sold to the highest bidder at an underground flesh auction in Dallas. Recently, I’d heard she passed away due to an overdose. The drugs had been furnished by her pimp.
To this day, I harbor no remorse over my decision. I have a son who serves as my determined purpose in life and a reason to honor all I’ve been given to live it.
“And the girl?” I ask. “I haven’t seen her lurking around here for some time now,” I comment sarcastically.
Faina’s back straightens, her shoulders tensing in agitation. “Klara’s been busy helping me. But you already know this.”
Sitting back, I remove my glasses, push away the papers I’d been holding, and release an irritated sigh.
“Isn’t it about time for your guest to leave? I think she’s old enough by now to find a life away from here.”
The term ‘guest’ isn’t entirely true; however, it’s been easier for me to refer to the girl as this rather
than the product of my memory’s torment, the bane of my existence, over the last fifteen years.
“She’s twenty years old, but you know that, too,” Faina clips. “And even though you call her my guest, I’ve never thought of her as one. To be honest, I’m surprised you’ve noticed she’s grown up.”
I have—unfortunately—noticed.
“Klara is incredibly bright and even more beautiful,” my sister continues. “And she’s part of this family whether you admit it or not.”
Klara Koslief, the doe-eyed daughter of the first man I ever ordered to be killed, has lived in this house if only to taunt me. Her bright smile, playful but defiant demeanor, as well as her vibrant and youthful everyday presence in my home has continuously forced me to remember what I did to bring her into it. Yet, still, I shelve no grief in remembering what her father did to earn his due.
After Enzen was relieved of his life, I had his wife, Klara’s biological mother, dispensed of as well. Unlike her husband’s punishment of death, Amere Koslief was given one better. Due to her knowledge of her husband’s attempt to betray me, I forbade her from having any relations whatsoever with her daughter.
After my order was issued, no one ever heard from her again.
However, I hadn’t planned for what was to happen next.
Once word got to Faina in regards to what I’d done, my determined little sister insisted we take the child into our home until she could find one better suited for her. There isn’t a lot I wouldn’t do for Faina as long as what she asks is within my power. Because of this, I allowed the girl to stay.
As two years passed with Klara never leaving, I finally resigned myself to the fact that Faina never had any intention of sending her away.
Due to my own guilt in having to prevent Faina from having the life she’s always wanted, I relented my directive to be rid of the girl. However, I’ve carefully avoided her at every turn. Meals, I take to my study or my room. Daily discussions I have with family are done so mainly in private. Days, sometimes a week, can pass where I’m able to forget her existence.
I don’t relish in recollecting any further memories of the night I learned what I was capable of. Nor does that green-eyed girl, I’m certain.
Pushing back in my chair, I state, “Whether you consider her anything more than a guest in our home is up to you. But her time with us is coming to an end.”
Rolling her eyes, Faina stands, rests the palms of her hands on my desk, and leans down to get closer. I brace for the disappointment she so often voices while addressing me.
“Klara has been a part of our lives since she was a child, and she’ll always be welcome in mine, Vee,” she snaps, mimicking the name with which the girl refers to me.
Klara was young, only five years old, the dark night we met. She managed to escape the hands of my staff, as well as her mother, who was in the kitchen visiting with Faina and Maag. Klara made her way into the shed not far from the house, doing so undetected.
Once I pulled her from the room, carrying her back to the house, I refused to look at her directly. Before I could be rid of her, she whispered my name as ‘Vee’ in my ear. For weeks into months, the resounding echo of her voice burned each of my senses, repeating itself as a sad and tragic serenade which I knew I had composed.
After that, I’ve only corrected her once, providing her with my true and given name. But attesting to her defiance, she continues to call me Vee.
And the girl is incredibly defiant. This pays homage to my sister, who spends too much time teaching her own personal manners and tact.
“And you would be lucky to have a woman like her in your life,” Faina hales. “That is, if you’d take the time to get to know anyone outside your gang of monstrous men.”
Perhaps my sister is right. Except, again, her thoughts and opinions hold little weight.
She straightens herself in front of me. “I’m leaving for New York on Friday. Uncle has a few issues with the new—”
“You’re not going anywhere,” I counter before she’s finished. “We’re being threatened, Faina. The entire family. Palleshi is posing to strike. You’re not leaving these grounds.”
“Ciro Palleshi?” She shudders, the very name scaring her nearly silent.
Nodding, I sit back in my black leather chair, rolling a heavy silver metal ball through my fingers, and answer, “Yes. He’s up to something.”
“I thought you handled him?” she questions. “How’s it possible he’s back for more?”
Faina is partially oblivious to the malicious acts of others. In her eyes, our family does no harm other than when we’re being threatened. She knows how our money is made, and because she’s part of this family’s inheritance but a woman as well, she also understands she doesn’t necessarily get a say on how business is handled. Due to her quick temper and noted disobedience, I’ve kept as much bloodshed within our operation from her as I’ve been able.
In a tone which brooks no argument, I return, “Palleshi isn’t your concern, but because he’s mine, I can’t let you leave.”
Faina’s eyes narrow, fear giving way to her contempt. I’ve never had much luck issuing orders to her. Not without headache, anyway.
“I don’t have a choice but to go,” she explains. “This isn’t me leaving to get away again, Vlad. This is an order from home.”
Home.
My father, once again, is stepping in where he promised he wouldn’t. Vory Zalesky doubts my dedication and knowledge to handle all situations as they arise. Undoubtedly, the fact has always remained and is as ever painful to admit.
“I’ll be careful. I promise. Abram will make sure I have a seasoned escort. Nothing will happen. He’ll see to that,” she promises.
Abram will see to that, I mindfully agree. But the ever-present threat of our longtime Sicilian enemy still stands as reason to forbid her to go.
Ciro Palleshi and his grueling gang of vile and greedy ingrates have recently been caught behind closed doors and in the ear of several of my adversaries. Their knock to trouble has been heard, albeit through the vine of information coming in from trustworthy informants I pay exuberantly to ensure their loyalty.
With Palleshi budging his way from his territory in the north, creeping around the city itself and into mine further south, I fear bloodshed will be unavoidable. My sister, who must pass through all of it in some form or another, stands to get caught in its crosshairs.
So much risk.
“While I’m gone, you need to be sure Veni keeps his schedule,” she pleads. “I’ll be back in a week. Just in time for Klara’s party, where you promised you’d make an appearance.”
“The party,” I remember. “When is the big event again?” I question with sarcasm.
Sighing and rolling her eyes, Faina explains what I already know. “Next Saturday. I’ve worked hard to give her this, Vlad. You won’t ruin it.”
“I won’t ruin it,” I give in.
“You’ll be nice to her. I mean it,” she clips, pointing her first finger at me as she narrows her eyes.
Faina remains the tyrant I loved when we were kids, the temperamental girl I tormented as a teenager, and now the only woman in my life I trust—explicitly.
“See to your trip, then,” I direct. “And don’t worry about Veni. He’ll be fine with me. I am his father, am I not?”
Shuffling toward the door, Faina looks back and grins. “You are that, big brother. But you’re also a pain in the ass.”
“Name-calling.” I shake my head and tsk.
Faina smiles, looking so much like our mother it’s uncanny. Her hair is auburn, her eyes amber, and her skin fair. She’s a beautiful woman who any man would be lucky to have, even while being full of mischief.
Thinking more, I ask, “Will you be taking the girl with you to New York?”
Shaking her head, Faina stands straight before using her bullying charm to further taunt. “No, Klara will stay here. And you’ll look out for her, too, or you’ll answer to me.”
Conceding without words, if only to get her out of my office, I nod in answer as she turns to leave. As she does, she nearly runs smack into the same woman she vehemently despises.
Katrina takes a step back in the doorway, sneering as she typically does when greeting my sister, then straightens her posture. Her arms cross over her chest, and her long, manicured, blood-red-painted fingernails tap dance at either elbow. She’s a good four inches taller than Faina, and in the heels she’s donning she holds the advantage of looking down with a scowl.
“Faina, you’re looking well,” Katrina utters in greeting.
Faina turns in place, sardonically smiling at me, then turns back to Katrina and snidely questions, “Don’t you have work to do?”
Katrina closes the distance between them and bends her neck to get in Faina’s face. If I placed a bet on who’d win in a physical altercation, I’d say my little sister would tear Katrina to shreds. Faina may stand only about five-foot-three, as she inherited so much from our mother, but she’s a powerhouse nonetheless.
Needless to say I don’t have time for any of this, so I insist, “Faina, you were on your way out. Katrina, come in and tell me what it is you need.”
Standing back, Katrina’s gaze comes to mine. “Fine.”
“Fine,” Faina mocks, never letting one go. “Vlad, I’ll see you before I go.”
“You will.”
Satisfied once my sister has left, Katrina takes two steps into my office. The catlike smile she wears as she walks toward me is telling. She’s up to something.
“I don’t have time for you today, Katrina,” I bluntly explain, not bothering to hide my annoyance in regards to yet another of her surprise visits to my home.
Tapping her fingernails along the edge of my desk as she comes to stand at my side, Katrina looks down and quietly studies my mood. She coyly smiles before jumping up to make herself comfortable directly in front of me.
Crossing her legs and playing with a glass paperweight from my desk, she complains, “Your sister is a tyrant.”
“She says the same about you,” I return. “Why are you here?”