Empires and Kings (A Mafia Series Book 1)

by A. C. Bextor

  “His son,” Pete remembers. “Veni will lose everything. He’ll be a man sooner than you know, and he’ll come at you with all Vlad’s built.”

  As Ciro stands, he takes his drink with him, then turns to stare out the window to gaze down at the city he considers his. He admits only to himself that he would’ve liked to divest Josef, the liar he knew the man was, of more information. However, being that the dead can’t talk, he’s unable to get more from him.

  “Not if I take with me all that Vlad’s built. People can be swayed, Pete. Some even purchased for their loyalty or silence.”

  “Veniamin isn’t ‘people,’” Pete utters.

  “Vlad Zalesky is a roadblock. He’s in the way of what I want. One way or another he’ll be moved from my path.”

  “But you’re not going after just him,” Pete jabs. “Your target is the innocent.”

  Turning in place, Ciro frowns. Having your second-in-command doubt your genius in strategy isn’t only appalling—it’s as good as betrayal.

  “You work for me, Pete. If you don’t agree that what I’m doing is for the good of this family, then by all means find your way out of it. But let me warn you. This will be the last time I hear your worry about any Zalesky. As far as I’m concerned, the name from your mouth is forbidden.”

  Katrina releases a one-syllable laugh. Her happiness is cut short when Ciro turns to her and scowls. The woman who’s been in his bed since the day she walked away from that filthy Russian has by far worn out her welcome. She’s been nothing more than a leech, liar, and shitty lay since she arrived.

  “The time is coming, Pete. Enough talk. Enough threats. Enough.”

  “Cillian was just laid to rest. Have you no sense of loss? He was your family.”

  Shrugging, Ciro returns, “He was my family, but by association only.”

  Striking to the heart of him, Pete includes, “He was Liam’s family. Liam lost his uncle.”

  “An uncle with Irish blood. An uncle he’s never known. Killian’s broken heart doesn’t matter.”

  Pete drops his head, murmuring in Italian. Ciro clearly understands his ramblings as being a prayer, but offers no reassurance regarding his already long-dead soul. Pete can pray to whoever may listen, but this is going to happen with or without his best friend’s help.

  Pete looks up. “You’re right, Ciro. We’ve all had enough.”

  No way does Ciro believe Pete’s conscience has taken to what’s about to happen. Pete’s always been the voice of reason. His love for Liam’s future has always clouded his duties, his care of the innocent always closely held.

  “Katrina,” Ciro calls. The cat-eyed woman smirks. “Find Liam now. Tell him he’s leaving town for a few weeks. Tell him he has business somewhere else. Steer him clear for as long as I need him gone.”

  “Where do you want him to go?” she asks.

  “I don’t care. Make something up,” Ciro tersely answers, losing patience with his orders being questioned. “It’s a lie. You’re good at lying, aren’t you?”

  Pouting, Katrina stands and brushes off his tone. “Anything for you, Ciro. I’ll be sure he’s gone for as long as it takes.”

  And it won’t take long. Not if the plan goes the way he hopes it will. Unfortunately, he’ll have to rely on the whore standing in front of him, surveying her red lipstick in a compact mirror. Hardly the time to care about what she looks like on the outside, considering what she’s about to do makes her sick in the mind and abhorrently ugly on the inside.

  “Thank you for thinking about Liam,” Pete mutters. “At least you’re thinking about something that truly matters to us all.”

  “What are you doing?” Veni queries, walking through the kitchen door.

  His hair and face are drenched with sweat and his clothes, which smell of three-day-old sewage, hang like wet rags from his growing body.

  “Work,” I reply, sitting back and closing my laptop in front of me.

  It’s been two weeks since Ciro and I met face-to-face after years of successfully avoiding each other in a public setting.

  The way Ciro took to Klara, watching her move and licking his chops as the wolf he tries to be, recommitted my cause to destroy him. And if it’s the last thing I ever do, I will.

  Katrina is a whole other story. The woman is now in Ciro’s bed, doing as she did during her time with me. She wears his rank of power as her own, doing nothing to earn it. She can sit where she is. The woman will never be a pillar of society, but as long as she steers clear of this family, she’s nothing to me.

  Grabbing an apple from the bowl and tossing it into the air before catching it, Veni snags a generous bite before asking, “Where is everyone?”

  “Klara is out shopping with Faina,” I tell him, sitting back in my chair and reaching for my cold cup of coffee.

  When Klara and Faina explained that they were headed out for a day of shopping, I stopped listening. Those two women have been known to gossip while shopping. Both know I want nothing to do with any of it.

  “They left first thing this morning. Steffan is with them.”

  Instinct told me to deny their trip entirely, remembering the harrowing sadness that Erlina Dawson wore as she watched her son’s casket being lowered into his final resting place. Attesting to her stubbornness, Klara insisted they go anyway. She wanted time with Faina because my sister sets off next week back to my father. I granted this only because they each promised they’d let Steffan stay close, check in often, and would meet me at Abram’s house this evening.

  My son flinches as though in pain as he comes to take a seat next to me at the table. “Why do they shop so much? What’s left to buy?”

  “Son, all my energy goes into never asking Klara that question.”

  “Yeah, I’m not asking her, either,” he jokes.

  “Don’t ever ask why women do the things they do, Veni. Life is easier if you don’t.”

  “Totally.” He smiles. “Especially life with Klara.”

  My son is smart.

  Looking at him up and moving so early on a Saturday morning, I question, “You went to the gym before breakfast?”

  He smiles again. “I did. Abram and Gleb forgot how old they are. Morning or not, a few of us handed them their asses in basketball.”

  “Is that so,” I reply, doing little to hide my smirk.

  Gleb hates to lose. To anyone. But losing even so much as bragging rights to a smart-mouth young man like Veni must have hurt his fragile and aging ego.

  “Yep. Gleb got pissed and demanded a rematch. He called Rueon for backup. Didn’t help. Rueon’s good, but not nearly as good as the rest of us.”

  “This evening is little Aline’s birthday party,” I remind him again. “You’ll be there. Luci is looking forward to having everyone together.”

  Pouting, he asks, “How long do I have to stay?”

  “Long enough to make an appearance.”

  Sighing with relief, he agrees. “I can do that.”

  “Good. Now let me work.”

  “I have a question,” he poses, placing his half-eaten apple on the table and sitting back in his chair.

  My son has grown tall; he’s nearly as tall as me now. He doesn’t have the thickness of my build yet, but with as much time as he dedicates to the gym, I don’t expect he’ll be too far behind for long.

  I do wish he’d cut his hair, though. He wears it too long, too shaggy. I’ve noticed some of his friends as they come and go throughout the house. They wear theirs the same.

  “What kind of question?”

  “A female question,” he replies.

  Veniamin, although sixteen, has surprisingly never asked me anything that pertains to women in general. Other than his curiosity of why they do the things they do, of course. I’ve thought at times that maybe he was going to Abram or Gleb, being they are probably more subtle in their advice. Not to mention they both have more patience than I do.

  “Go on,” I carefully prod.

  Cleari
ng his throat and straightening his posture, he asks, “The first time you asked Klara out on a date, did she say yes?”

  Seconds pass. I have no answer for this. For the first time in my life, I’m utterly speechless in front of my son. Not to mention it’s only just now struck me that I’ve never taken Klara out on an official date. Not that she’s ever complained.

  “Klara and I didn’t have a simple start to our relationship, Ven. You know this,” I note.

  “Right, I do. But I mean, when you decided you wanted to ‘pursue’ her,” he jabs, knowing my aggressive nature as well as everyone in the family does, “did she say yes?”

  “Son.” I sigh. “Is there a question about you we’re getting to?”

  Smiling, he gives another, “Right.” A word I’m finding is a staple in his vocabulary. The response being not a response at all.

  “Well?”

  “There’s a girl I want to ask out, and if she says yes, great. But if she says no, it’ll piss me off.”

  Now I smile. Veniamin Zalesky is definitely my son.

  “It’ll piss you off because you really like her or because your feelings will be hurt?”

  “Because I really like her,” he admits quickly, his eyes darkening as he does. “I’ve known her for years. She’s pretty and funny and smart.”

  “Then I think you should ask her, but I’ll advise that, if she refuses, keep your head.”

  “Like you do with Klara?” he smarts. “’Cause I’m thinking you don’t always ‘keep your head’ with her.”

  “Yes, well, we both know Klara, and we both also know she can be a challenge.”

  “You like that about her,” he insists.

  “I do.”

  Veni and I have never discussed how Klara and I finally came to be together. In the beginning, Klara told me that showing affection in front of the others felt awkward. I disagreed and made it perfectly clear to her and everyone else in this family that Klara was mine and that we’d push forward without questions or doubts.

  My son loves her deeply. He respects her. Thus, once getting used to the idea of the two of us together, he took no issue with the change.

  “Dad,” he calls. When I look up, I find Veniamin’s expression serious. “Are you ever going to marry her?”

  Yes, my son holds the utmost respect for her.

  “Make an honest woman of her, you mean? Is that your question?”

  “No. Maybe.” He shrugs. “I don’t know.”

  “Are we talking man-to-man?” I ask. “Or am I talking to you as Klara’s best friend?”

  Veni stares at me for a long moment, blinking slowly and considering my question carefully before deciding, “Both.”

  “Man-to-man, I haven’t given it much thought. She’s happy and that’s all I care about.”

  “As her best friend?” he pushes.

  Smiling, I rest his worry. “As her best friend, I’ll tell you that I’ve thought to marry her, but there’s a lot to go with that.”

  “Vory,” Veni sneers. “He doesn’t like Klara.”

  Yes, my son is not only so much like me in ways of women, but he’s also like me in ways of men—namely my father.

  “Your grandfather refuses to acknowledge Klara as part of this family.”

  “He refuses? Dad, he’s an asshole. Who cares if he refuses? He doesn’t know her. He doesn’t even try to get to know her.”

  “Veni,” I warn. “You know how this family runs and why it continues to run. Vory has vested interest in all of us.”

  “Yeah,” he agrees with a curt nod. “Which is why I never want to be part of how it runs.”

  Vory has been pressuring me to bring Veniamin on board full time in lieu of him seeking a formal college education. Call it fatherly protection, or my instinct in knowing Vory is up to no good, but I fought that battle with Vory, and I would’ve fought it to the death to win.

  Luckily, I did win and without bloodshed. He’s approved Veniamin to attend a college of his choosing. However, he quickly insinuated that over the course of those four years, Veniamin is to decide which profession he’ll be assisting the family with upon graduation.

  Winning one battle with Vory was a momentous success. Two in the same year would be highly unlikely, so I decided to let it go.

  “Don’t worry for Klara. Things happen the way they happen.”

  Nodding, Veni stands. “I need to shower, and then I gotta make a call.”

  “You’re going to ask this girl out over the phone?”

  “Well, yeah.”

  “Son.” I smirk, looking up at him as he heads to the door. “Even I know that’s no way to get a woman to say yes to a date.”

  “Jesus, Dad. How old are you? I’m not asking her to marry me. A phone call is easier.”

  Thinking better than my own advice, I offer, “Klara will be around later. She could help.”

  “Um,” Veni hesitates. “You’re the only guy Klara’s ever dated. How’s she gonna help me?”

  Good point.

  I still suggest, “She’s a woman, and she’s not much older than you are.”

  I laugh when, with wide eyes, my boy utters, “For fuck’s sake, Dad. Don’t remind me.”

  “Just talk to Klara. Go make your call, whatever, just do it out of here. I’m working.”

  “Right,” he replies, turning in place while I cringe in my chair.

  Right.

  “How late are we?” Faina questions, tossing her numerous shopping bags on the black leather couch. She doesn’t care how late we are; if she did, she wouldn’t have insisted she stop for that second gourmet coffee on the way home.

  “Late,” I reply, rushing to set my own bags down in a neat pile on the floor and noting the house is quiet. “Maag must’ve already left.”

  Checking the clock on the wall for the time, and then my phone for messages, I wince.

  Faina and I chatted, shopped, and enjoyed the unseasonably warm weather like two old women who hadn’t seen each other for decades. And we did this much longer than I promised Vlad we would. The fact I called as promised, never once being late to check in, had Steffan never far away, won’t matter. I’m sure he’s already angry.

  Aline’s seventh birthday party is today, and Luci is throwing her one big enough to rival my twenty-first. I smirk at the image of Vlad’s broody face scowling at all the little kids running back and forth through Abram’s yard, screaming for no reason other than they’re allowed.

  Wondering which is driving him crazier, the boys or the girls, I clasp my stomach and smile to myself.

  “Are you going to tell my brother tonight he’s going to be a daddy tonight?” Faina asks, turning in place to sit. “Please tell him before I leave. I want to witness the baby daddy’s reaction for myself.”

  She lands on the comfortable cushion with a dramatic sigh before kicking the shoes off with her feet.

  “Yes, I plan to. Do you think it’s a bad idea to tell him so soon?”

  Laughing, she points to the bag of baby clothes I had Steffan bring inside first before he and another of Vlad’s men went to check the perimeter of the house.

  “I think if you don’t, you’ll have some serious explaining to do. No one buys that much stuff at a baby store. Did you see the look on the cashier’s face?”

  I’m pregnant. At fourteen, Faina took me to the doctor and I was given birth control to regulate my periods. With everything that’s happened since Vlad and I began, I hadn’t been as faithful in taking them as I should have. This is on me and I plan to explain this to Vlad… when the time is right.

  After I’d taken the third pregnancy test yesterday, I was so thrilled all I could do was look in the mirror, lift my shirt, touch my belly, and watch the tears of happiness stream down my face. I never thought my life would lead to where it’s at and, married or not, whether he’s warm to the idea or not, Vlad and I are going to be parents.

  “I’ll tell him tonight after he sees me wearing this.” I lift the new gown I
bought to my chest. It’s a see-through, black lace short piece I secretly purchased while Faina was busy browsing the others.

  In mock disgust, Faina raises her hand to cover her eyes.

  “Please, Klara. If you love me, you’ll put that thing away. No sister wants to imagine what her brother will be stripping off his woman, who also happens to be her best friend.”

  Laughing, I do as she asks and quickly shove it back in the bag.

  “I need to shower.” Faina rises from the couch, looking at all she bought.

  She purchased things for nearly every member of our family and nothing for her own family in Russia—including her newly named fiancé.

  Walking to me, Faina’s eyes dance in excitement. Her hand moves to my still-flat stomach and she smiles.

  “I’m happy for you, Klara. This baby will be beautiful. Even if it’s half Vlad.”

  Faina was the first person I told. When I did, she hugged me so tightly I could hardly breathe. Her excitement reassured me that everything was going to be okay and Vlad would be just as happy as she was.

  My eyes mist with happy tears. “Faina….”

  Leaning toward me, she wraps her arms around my shoulders and pulls me in for a tight hug. I close my eyes, accepting her comfort.

  “You’re going to make a great mother. I know it,” she whispers. “Congratulations.”

  That’s when we hear the vast array of bullets coming from the side of the house.

  “You don’t know that anything has happened yet, Vlad,” Abram clips, walking two steps in sync behind each one of mine. “You know Klara and you know Faina. Both can test the restraint of even the most patient man.”

  When Klara didn’t arrive at the party by the time she said she would, I imminently sensed something was wrong.

  When I called her phone, she didn’t answer.

  When I called Faina’s, she didn’t answer, either.

  My orders were specific and clear. Even with Faina as her guide throughout the day, Klara wouldn’t have left me waiting and concerned about her safety.

  Dismissing Abram’s attempts to calm me, I walk into the house to find the lights are all on. Nothing appears misplaced or even out of the ordinary. Several bags from their shopping trip are piled on the couch, also lining the floor next to it.