by A. C. Bextor
As his grubby hand moves in close to grab it, I pull it from his reach. Thankfully, I’m quicker than he is.
“It’s a gift,” I casually explain.
Veni’s eyes narrow. “For who?”
“For me,” I cover.
“That’s weird,” he objects. “Really. No one buys themselves presents.”
Gleb, now fully focused on the argument ascending between us, breaks in. “Enough, Veniamin. You have money. Go buy something for yourself.”
Veni frowns. “Yeah, I did, but I don’t have any left.”
“What?” Gleb’s face grows pensive. “What have you done?”
Veni’s cheeks turn red as another frown forms, this one deeper. Looking up at me for the confidence he needs, he explains, “I gave it to an old man with a dog. He was holding a bucket. It was empty.”
Immediately on alert, Gleb stands tall. His towering height scans above the crowd.
Quickly, Veni adds, “He didn’t have any food or a place to stay, so I gave him the money Klara gave me from Dad.”
Oh, Veni.
My eyes sting with tears. Veni may be only sixteen, but he’s making decisions beyond his years.
Hugging him tightly at my side, he hugs me back with embarrassment.
“That was….” I lose my words as he looks at me with bright blue eyes and a shy smile. “I’m so proud of you!” I exclaim.
“Girls are weird,” he tells Gleb, who laughs.
During dinner, Veni sits to my left, Gleb next to him and across from me. Veni’s done all he can to keep the conversation steered away from the ‘incident’ of losing his money earlier. He’s gone on about his model car collection, his choice of new music, and how anxious he is for Vee to take him shooting again next weekend.
The area surrounding us is dim. The small light in the center of our table isn’t meant to be shiny, but intimate. Now that we’re in a quiet corner of an outside eatery, we’re left in peace with each other. No one would know we’re seated here unless they rounded the corner of the building.
Gleb’s been eyeing the pedestrians from a distance with quiet and eerily controlled focus. I’ve been with this family my entire life, learning from their actions. I know enough to recognize that Gleb is on alert.
“What do you think, Klara? I’ll tell Dad you’re coming with us to the cabin next time.”
Gleb glances to me, waiting for my expected answer.
“Dad’s cabin is big enough for all of us. Maag, too,” Veni insists. “It has three bedrooms and a really big back deck. Dad’s bedroom has a balcony. He can see the lakes from there. When I was a kid, he used to tell me if it was quiet, the water would talk to him.”
The cabin Veni is talking about sits deep in the hills near a protected wildlife conservation about three hours or so from our house. I’ve only heard Faina refer to it, usually when Vee’s in a bad mood and she begs him to go to his cabin and relax. I’ve never been there as I’ve never been invited. Veni has on occasion, but not often.
“Don’t push him, Ven,” I insist. Gleb’s eyes narrow at my ordered response. “Vee’s busy. Ask him, but don’t press. When he finds time, he’ll take you.”
“Us,” Veni bites. “I’m tired of you never going anywhere with us.”
“Who says I want to go?” I dig. “That’s why Faina’s not here. You boys are the reason we girls need a time-out.”
“Right,” he answers, giving me his beautiful smile that will assuredly win over the first girl he ever chooses to love.
In a slowing second, Gleb’s attention moves sharply beyond my right shoulder. Veni gasps and reaches for my arm. Before he’s able to get any closer, the smell of a filthy hand wraps tightly around my neck as dirty fingers dig viciously into my jaw.
The weight of a man I can’t see crushes down, his voice hissing in my ear, “Don’t fuckin’ move.”
Staying still, I watch in terrified silence as Gleb leans to his side, stretching an arm to grasp the back of Veni’s chair. Veni’s body jerks violently. The metal legs of his chair scrape against the concrete, and the table shakes as Gleb moves him another foot away from me.
Veni’s mouth is open, but he’s too stunned to react.
“Let her go,” Gleb rumbles low, eyes narrowed and jaw tight. When the man holding me to him doesn’t do as ordered, Gleb slowly repeats, “Let. The girl. Go.”
“Klara,” Veni calls.
When I look in his direction, his eyes move to Gleb’s hand resting under the table. He’s armed, I know this. But with the cool blade now pressing against my throat, I fear any movement made against the man will no doubt bait him to use it.
“Up,” he commands, stretching my neck to the point of pain. The sharp edge of the knife digs into my skin as I stand.
“Please let me go,” I whisper, but to no avail. He’s not listening.
“You and I are gonna take a walk,” he explains to the table at the same time he takes a step back.
My hands are shaking, and my eyes are full of tears as I go with him.
Veni’s eyes are now blazing in fury, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. His absolute anger at what’s happening and his helplessness to stop it washes over every feature of his face.
“Do something,” Veni snaps, turning his furious gaze toward Gleb.
“You won’t get far,” Gleb advises calmly. “You won’t make it ten feet from this table.”
“I’ll slice her here from ear to neck, then,” the man’s abhorrent voice hisses. “Save you the trouble of coming for her.”
“You’re a dead man,” Veni strikes. “My father will kill you for this.”
Gleb’s jaw clenches, his temples protruding to immeasurable degree. Veni’s feet move beneath him before he makes a fleeting jump to stand. With a quick hand to Veni’s shoulder, Gleb shoves him forcefully back into his seat. All this done without Gleb taking his eyes from where I’m being held.
“Veni, it’s okay,” I utter, my voice breaking in terror. “I’m okay,” I assure again as I feel more tears release.
“Oh yeah, pretty girl,” the man soothes in my ear. “Everything’s gonna be just fine. Now say good-bye.”
“What do you want with me?” I croak.
The man straightens, and the knife digs deeper into my neck. Gleb stands from his seat, readying himself to move.
“Someone’s been waitin’ a long time to meet you,” the vile man hisses. “He’s growin’ impatient. I don’t think we wanna make him wait any longer.”
“There is no other man. She belongs to Vlad,” Gleb states casually. “If you hurt her, Veni’s right—you’re as good as dead.”
Gleb pins me with a look I don’t understand. He’s relaxed, as though he’s finished dinner and is bored while waiting for dessert. His expression is troubling.
Then he winks.
The stranger releases my jaw. The blade, still in his hand, slices the base of my neck up toward the edge of my ear. The sting is sharp, and I gasp when warm blood trickles from the open wound.
“Klara!” Veni shouts.
Acting quickly, Gleb reaches out to hold him in place. Once Veni stops his struggle, he stands with his mouth open and his body motionless.
“Get that piece of shit the fuck out of here,” Gleb orders, pointing to whoever is behind me.
“Where to?” Rueon’s voice questions.
Gleb holds Veni back as he thrashes wildly to get to me. Once Veni is calm, Gleb turns to him, holding his head in both hands as he whispers, “Not yet, Ven. Keep it together.”
Once Gleb releases Veni, he makes his way toward me. Thrashing and muffles continue behind me before I gather the courage to turn around.
Once I do, I’m met with Rueon’s angry and hooded eyes. Standing in front of Rueon with a gun trained to his temple is the man who spoke grotesquely in my ear.
He’s dirty. Hair thin, face gaunt, not tall or short, small frame, and his eyes just as I imagined—crazy.
“You don’t know who you
’re dealin’ with,” the grotesque man lectures, whispering only to me.
Rueon doesn’t miss the threat. His arm tightens around the man’s neck before he growls, “You don’t know who you’re dealing with. She’s Vlad’s.”
Ignoring their heated exchange, Gleb states, “Have Steffan take him to the shed. No light, no food, no water. Tell him he’s not to leave him until we get back.”
When Gleb reaches up toward my neck, tilting my head to the side to get a better look, I crumple, surrendering to heavy sobs of relief. The area around us spins.
Using two fingers, Gleb motions toward Veni. “Some help here, Ven?”
Veni moves to attention and rushes to me, wrapping his arms around my waist and holding me so tightly I nearly gasp.
The ride home is quiet, other than Veni asking how I feel with every minute that passes. He wants to know if I’m in pain, if I’m still scared, and if I knew who that man was.
I haven’t stopped shaking. Gleb hasn’t stopped clenching his jaw. And Rueon, driving us to the hotel, continues looking to Veni and me sitting closely together in the backseat of his car.
“Fuck, I thought he was going to kill you, Klara,” Veni snaps as he holds me close. “I thought he was going to take you with him.”
“Jesus, Ven,” Gleb admonishes. “Watch your language in front of Klara.”
Smiling at Gleb, stepping in as only a gentleman would, I reassure, “Calm down. I’m fine.”
“Well, you weren’t fine. You were scared,” Veni insists.
Rueon looks again to the mirror; he now winks as Gleb did.
“I wasn’t,” I lie. “Really, Veni. I’m okay.”
“More than I can say for whoever sent the man to touch you,” Gleb quietly utters to Rueon. “More than I can say for his boss, his boss’s boss, and whoever else Vlad can think to get a hold of.”
“Dad won’t like his,” Veni assumes after hearing what they’ve said. Pulling away and scanning my face as tears still stain my cheeks, he tells me, “He’s going to lose it, Klara. When Dad gets mad, he—”
“I’ll be fine, so your dad will be fine.”
“We’ll get that cut looked at when we get back to the hotel,” Gleb tells me from the front.
Reaching up to where the blade nicked my skin, I find a clot of blood has already formed. I don’t think enough damage has been done to warrant medical attention.
“Thank you,” I tell them all. “For helping me and taking care of Veni.”
“It’s our job, Klara,” Gleb explains. “To watch over you and him both.”
“Ciro has never threatened my family or my operation,” Killian Dawson decrees. “But then again, once he’s finished with you, there’s no telling who or what he’ll come for next.”
“And what will you do if Ciro makes his next move in your direction?” I question.
Relaxing, Killian sits back in his metal chair and deviously smiles. “I’ll call you, of course.”
My hunch regarding Killian Dawson was spot-on. He’s a much older, quiet man, I’d say somewhere in his early seventies. He leads his family in a life of crime, but doing so carefully as to not make any more enemies than necessary. His tongue is sharp, his words direct, and their meaning clear. Crossing Killian or any of his own wouldn’t benefit his enemy.
As for me, cultivating a relationship with the Irish leader will serve a volatile purpose.
“I hate to admit this, but it seems I’ve misjudged Ciro’s determination,” Killian confesses. “I was sure after you wounded him all those years ago, he’d keep his place.”
“Doesn’t appear he got my message.”
“No.” He shakes his head and looks out to the dark street ahead. “Ciro’s impatience and temper have never led him to smart decisions. Personal or business.”
“A man can’t change who he is, I suppose.”
“But he could learn from his mistakes as the rest of us do. He doesn’t.”
“No,” I agree. “Apparently, he doesn’t.”
“And there’s no one strong enough to police his actions, either. With most of his blood family dead or gone, Ciro has no one left to guide him like we do.”
As we continue sitting around the small round table outside a dirty bar located on the edge of town, Killian shares his family’s history in great detail. According to him, his father was a criminally honest man who came from a wealthy family. He wanted the world for his son, and he provided as much guidance as he could before suffering from a fatal heart attack before Killian had turned forty.
So far, Killian hasn’t relented on his decision not to expand his business from gun sale and trade. And so far the only dislike he’s shown for me at all is that I sell flesh. His hate for Ciro’s drug and loan sharking is much worse. I’ll use this in my favor.
Killian believes any person can make a conscious decision, as long as they’re lucid and aware of the consequences of their actions. Drugs, he believes, lead a mind astray to do things they wouldn’t normally choose to do. Thus the reason he despises Ciro for doing what he does in producing and distributing a wide variety of drugs.
A woman’s body, Killian feels, is a decision she makes to sell. Even those women who consider themselves trapped in a life of prostitution. If they’re clean, there’s always a chance they’ll survive it. It may mean they must rely on the men who sell them for protection, but there are always other choices to consider.
“Do you have a family?” Killian queries with curiosity. “A wife? Children?”
“No wife,” I reply. “I have a son. He’s sixteen and so far hasn’t shown any interest in what I do. The time is coming for him to understand, I’m sure.”
“But you never married,” he notably observes.
As distracting as they are, images of Klara’s face enter my mind. The determined and tedious woman has been creative in finding new ways to avoid me since her birthday. She’s been relentless in torture in the way she smiles at the other men, talks so sweetly to Veni, and flauntingly jokes with Abram.
This morning, knowing where I was going and why, I woke with a powerful need to ensure she was safe, left untouched, and close. I decided both she and Veni would be coming to the city with me under the impression I was taking time off.
“No, I’ve never been married.”
Nodding, Killian rests his elbows on the arms of his chair. His hands are steepled, his mouth touching the top of his fingers. His eyes appear reflective.
He pauses before offering, “My son is everything to my wife and me.” With a knowing grin, he picks up the glass in front of him and peers over the rim before broaching the most sensitive subject. “You already know that, before he died, my youngest son Patrick was married to Ciro Palleshi’s younger sister.”
“I do know this,” I admit. “I heard you adored the young Palleshi woman.”
Setting the drink on the table, he holds it between this thumb and first finger before spinning it in a small circle. Then he smiles.
“Gina Palleshi was a remarkable person. She was a lot like Ciro’s wife, Sofie. I like her, too, but don’t see her often. My son loved his wife dearly in spite of whose blood ran through her veins.”
“I think I understand.”
“I think you do, too,” he knowingly returns.
Klara’s circumstance was much the same. Enzen Koslief was her father, but the two were nothing alike. Even if Enzen had lived, I believe Klara carried enough of the woman her mother was at the time to have done as Gina Palleshi did—escape.
“A person can’t change where they came from. And it’s no fault of their own where that might be,” Killian sternly advises. “Gina broke free of her Palleshi name the day she met my boy. If you ask me, I’d say she had been looking for a reason to leave the family her entire life.”
“They were in love,” I surmise.
“They were. My poor grandson is half-Irish half-Italian. But Liam’s more than only his heritage. He’s part his mother and part his father above all el
se.”
“It’s a shame he lost his parents so young.”
Nodding, Killian takes another drink, then states, “I’m sure some would say it’s fate. Even so, I miss them both. And Liam.”
“You ever think to get him back from Ciro?”
“No,” he answers. “I know he’s well. He’s always been cared for. Gina made Ciro promise if anything ever happened to her that he’d keep Liam away from harm. So far, as much as I’m told, he’s living up to that promise. Liam’s a grown man now, and he’s happy. That’s enough for me.”
“And I hear he’s going to be a doctor.”
“He is.” Killian nods. “And whether he knows it or not, I’m very proud.”
“What about your other son?” I prod, curious more than anything, but still vetting the family as I had intended.
“My oldest, Cillian, will follow me. He has a soft heart, like his mother, but we’re working to change that.”
Like his mother, no.
Killian is a soft man himself. I’m certain he’s aware of this, too, but would never admit it. Pride and honor won’t allow such a weakness to be seen by others, especially those who could be considered a threat.
“My wife, Erlina, has been begging for us to move back to Ireland. Her mother is there, and she misses home.”
There’s nothing left for me in Russia. I don’t express this as I don’t want to discuss it.
Leaning down from behind me, Leonid voices tightly in my ear, “North. Two hundred yards. A black van.” His chin lifts toward the same unmarked, black van I had noticed parked there twenty minutes ago. “I’m sending someone in for a closer look.”
Nodding my acknowledgement, my gaze meets Killian’s to find the aging, broad, blond-haired man in a gray suit grinning. It’s dark outside, but there’s no way to miss the flash of his white teeth.
He thinks this is funny. Maybe I’ve underestimated his easygoing disposition, as now I’m considering he may be crazy.
“We’ve been spotted,” he assumes correctly. “And we’ve been watched.”
“Considering we’re meeting on the edge of Ciro’s ground, he most likely got word the moment I arrived.”