by Nicole Fox
The dons are all seated around a table in the center of the suite. I count each one, ticking their names off the list in my head.
Maggadino.
Ambrosino.
Guzik.
Juarez.
Ruwindu.
Bufalino.
That sadistic motherfucker, Kovar.
And lastly, Budimir.
My men circle the room, but no one pays them any attention. That is the beauty of posing as the staff—you become virtually invisible.
Even my uncle’s eyes slide right off my face as if he’s never seen me before.
I can see a visible fault line between the dons. Budimir sits in the center of the lavish meeting hall, his feeble attempt to conquer the room off to a poor start by the look of things.
On his right sit Maggadino, Ambrosino, Guzik, Juarez and Ruwindu. The legitimate dons. Battle-tested, diplomatic, wise. They look displeased.
On his left sit Bufalino and Kovar. The sewer rats of the underworld. Grinning like rats in a slaughterhouse.
The tension is palpable, but Budimir is projecting an air of calm. I know him well enough to know that it’s all a fucking façade.
He’s treading on thin ice. He may control the Western coast, but his hold is tenuous at best. He’s one turf war away from extinction.
It isn’t enough to have power.
You need to hold it, too.
I notice Ruwindu’s gaze flicker to Kovar with distaste. He is the youngest of the reigning dons, only a few years older than I am.
The snake tattoo snaking up his arm disappears into his sleeve and reappears at the nape of his neck.
It appears to move as he adjusts in his seat. Like it too is pissed at Kovar’s unwelcome presence at a council meeting.
“I’ll have some of that champagne,” Kovar says, clicking his fingers towards Maxim, completely unaware of who he is.
I’ve only ever seen pictures of the asshole, but he’s bigger and more disgusting in real life. His tattoos are just as ugly, a multitude of unintelligible etchings, heavy on the blood-red.
Maxim comes forward, eyes downcast, and offers him a tray of champagne. Kovar snatches one with a flourish and downs half the glass in seconds.
“What a party!” he crows, clearly aware of the open hostility in the room that’s directed at him. “I hated to miss it these last several years.”
“You were exiled for a fucking reason,” Maggadino intones harshly.
“Not a good reason,” Budimir interjects, before Kovar can get a word in. “Kovar should have been included in the council meetings from the beginning.”
“Stanislav was threatened by my presence,” Kovar replies. “Which is the only reason he convinced you all that I was a menace. Why, I wouldn’t hurt a butterfly!”
I grit my teeth, trying to control the rage that roils through me at his words.
“My brothers,” Budimir says, standing up. “I invited you all here today to usher in a new era. My brother was a good don, but he was short-sighted. His ambitions were painfully… limited.”
Motherfucker.
As Budimir continues to parrot his agenda for a bigger and brighter future, I notice Guzik scanning the room.
He’s the most still of all the dons, and yet, his eyes are never stationary. They land on Adrik—and I see recognition pass across his face.
Then his eyes dart to Maxim, and the same thing happens.
Again with Alexei, and with Vasily, until they’ve crossed over all the waiters. All my men.
Then he looks at me.
Fuck. He knows something is up.
The question now is: what will he do about it?
My next move will depend on his.
“I have bigger aspirations—”
“Budimir,” Guzik interrupts, raising his hand slightly. He has at least four jeweled rings adorning his fingers.
My heart is pounding.
If he gives us away, it could all end here, as quickly as it started. I’ll be tortured and dumped in the Pacific. Esme will never know what happened to me. My son will never know his father.
All I can do is wait.
“Yes, Guzik?” Budimir says, frowning with annoyance. Clearly, he’s not happy about being interrupted.
“Your nephew…” he croons.
I tense. Every muscle on high alert. Watching, watching, watching...
“What about him?”
“You claimed he was dead,” Guzik continues. “But we never saw a body.”
“Is my word not enough?” Budimir asks.
Guzik shrugs. “I think it’s an important symbol,” he says. “There are still many among your faction that are loyal to him, no doubt.”
Budimir’s eyes narrow. “There are none who would follow him over me,” he claims. “He’s only a boy.”
“Some would argue he’s the rightful don of the Bratva,” Maggadino chimes in.
“I am the rightful fucking don of the Bratva,” Budimir roars, raising his voice with venom. “You know why: because I took what I wanted, the way all great dons do. As for Artem… my nephew is dead. And if he isn’t, then I will hunt him down and put a bullet in his brain myself.”
“So he’s not actually dead then?” Guzik presses.
Budimir grits his teeth, realizing he’s slipped. “There are reports that claim he might still be at large,” he admits. “But it’s a small problem. He doesn’t have the men or the strength to come against me. The Bratva made a choice after my brother’s death. They chose me.”
“Did they, though?” I ask loudly.
I step out from the shadows.
A ripple of shock runs through the room, though no one actually speaks. My men part like the Red Sea and I walk between them, approaching the small circle of dons.
Some of them are staring at me with dumbfounded expressions on their faces.
Others look mildly impressed.
But only Budimir looks furious.
“Hello, uncle,” I say. “Congratulations on your first dons’ council meeting. But you forgot one very important invitation.”
He scowls. “I should have made sure you were dead in that forest.”
I grin. “But you wanted to make me suffer, remember?” I remind him.
“It’s not a mistake I’ll make again.”
“You won’t get the chance to correct it.”
Budimir stares at me for a moment and then he laughs coldly. “You think you can take on the might of the Bratva alone?”
“The might of the Bratva?” I echo.
I don’t glance at my men—I don’t want to risk it—but I can see from my peripheral vision that they’re converging around Budimir, positioning themselves so that they can take him down if they have to.
“The Bratva has splintered, whether you realize it or not,” I tell him. “You stole their loyalty; you never earned it.”
Budimir glares at me, the loathing evident in his filmy eyes. “You sound like your father.”
“My father valued his men,” I tell him. “He protected them. What he didn’t do was threaten them.”
I see the flicker of uncertainty pass across his eyes. He’s wondering where I’ve gotten my information and how. He’s wondering who he needs to kill.
“I am the rightful don of the Bratva,” I announce to the whole room. “And I am claiming what is mine.”
“You are a fool,” Budimir barks. “Every man in this room answers to me!”
He practically screams the last word and I can start to see my uncle unravel. This is not how he had imagined this meeting going. The disappointment is making him sloppy.
“Each man here is an ally, not a lackey,” I reply. “And each man who gives you their loyalty will expect loyalty in return.”
“Don’t preach to me, you little shit,” Budimir snarls. “I command more men than every other man in this room combined, and if asking nicely won’t do it, then sheer force will have to suffice.”
Maggadino rises ponderously to
his feet. He glances towards Budimir and then towards me.
Slowly, one by one, every other don does the same.
“This is not our fight,” Maggadino says. “I will not concern myself with this.”
He turns and makes for the door. The two guards he had with him follow behind.
The remaining dons seem to realize that they have a decision to make, too.
“Maggadino is right,” Ruwindu booms. “This is not my fight.”
He makes his exit. Behind him follow Juarez, Guzik, and Ambrosino, and each take their men with them.
Budimir glances towards the two underworld mob bosses to his left.
Kovar and Bufalino.
I know instantly what the two of them will choose. They know that I will be the death of their ambitions, whereas Budimir will grant them free rein and a third of the profits.
They’re with him.
That leaves ten men remaining against the five of us. Two against one.
Every man in the room is doing the math in his head. Calculating angles and odds, figuring out which narrow path leads to survival—and to victory.
But not me.
I did all that months ago, up on that frigid mountaintop. Every time I ran until my lungs bled or heaved boulders until I couldn’t lift a finger more, I was practicing for this. Preparing for this.
And the answer has not changed.
Everyone moves at once. My men hurl the trolley carts towards the remaining bodyguards and unsheathe their weapons.
Gunfire blasts through the air as Budimir’s guards, as well as Kovar’s and Bufalino’s, jump into the fray.
I hear someone grunt in pain and then I hear a yell, but I don’t take my eyes off my uncle, who is standing behind his largest bodyguard.
The fucker hasn’t been in a real fight for a long while now. He always shied away from the actual battles. Considered himself above them, like the king who sends his army in while he sits comfortably up in his castle watching the whole thing unfold.
I can sense his panic from here.
Fucking coward.
My only goal is to get as close to him as possible. I want to see the life drain from his fucking face when I do what I came here to do.
I feel the screaming brush of wind next to my ear. I’ve narrowly missed a bullet aimed at my head, but I don’t feel panic or fear.
I never have.
This is what I was born to do.
And if I die, it will be a glorious fucking death.
Except the moment the thought enters my head, I chase it right back out again. This isn’t like any other fight I’ve ever been in.
I can’t die. Not this time.
Esme needs me. My son does, too.
So it’s not fear that I feel.
It’s duty.
I duck low and vault over the sofa that stands between me and the towering bodyguard protecting Budimir.
I fire at him, but he’s pushes Budimir to the side and jumps in the opposite direction.
My path towards my uncle is clear, but the bodyguard decides to be a fucking hero. He starts firing, forcing me to take cover.
I’m aware of the sounds of gunfire and fighting behind me, but I can’t concentrate on anything other than finishing Budimir once and for all.
If I lose now, my men will certainly die. But if I can just get my hands around his throat, that will end it for everyone. Kovar and Bufalino will scatter to the wind. The Bratva will be back where it belongs.
All I have to do is…
“Fuck!”
I turn around to see Maxim collapse to the ground, blood spurting out of his stomach.
“No!” I yell. I abandon my position and run towards him.
I shoot at the fucker who’s standing over him, and he drops before he can finish the job.
The moment I see Maxim, however, I know that it’s too late. He’s bleeding out too fast, the color already draining from his face.
I get down on my knees beside him anyway. Above us, the gunfire continues in every direction.
“Hold on, brother,” I say. “Help’s on the way.”
He smiles hopelessly, and blood drips from his mouth. “I thought you could lie better than that…”
“Surround them!” I hear Budimir order.
When I look up, I realize that my distraction has given Budimir and his men the upper hand. They’ve got us surrounded now, and I realize that Alexei is being held at gunpoint and both Adrik and Vasyl are injured, though their injuries look only surface-deep.
When I turn back, Maxim is staring unseeing up at the ceiling.
Rage curdles in my chest like poison.
But it has nowhere to go.
We’re pinned. Surrounded. Outgunned, outnumbered, outmaneuvered.
I lose.
Budimir steps out from behind his bodyguard, a cold sneer on his face. His two lackeys, Kovar and Bufalino, flank him.
“Did you really think you could storm the meeting with four men and live to tell the tale?” he demands. “I’m going to make an ornament of your fucking—”
The rest of his threat is drowned by the sound of the main entrance being blown into smithereens.
Everyone ducks down, including Budimir, who seems as stunned as I am at the sudden intrusion.
“Who the—”
Within seconds, the huge space is filled with armed men pouring in, their guns pointing towards all of us.
“Guns down!” the masked man at the head of the pack barks.
Is that a fucking Irish accent?
“Artem Kovalyov,” the masked man continues. “Ronan O’Sullivan sends his greetings.”
40
Esme
The Parisian Café At The Citadel Outlets
Oh, God.
I can survive anything.
But my baby… someone please protect my baby.
Fear has me paralyzed. My body is hunched over Phoenix as he screams in my ear. Chaos breaks all around me, but the only thing I can hear, apart from my son’s panicked screams, is my own heartbeat.
Is my body trembling? It feels that way. But I don’t feel connected to my physical self any longer. I feel as though I’m floating.
Floating away from my body.
Away from my son.
“Phoenix,” I whisper to him, but my own voice is drowned out by his wailing.
I know that Tamara is close by, but I can’t bring myself to look up. I can’t bring myself to look up and see the men storming the café.
Once I see them, I’ll no longer be able to convince myself that this is just a horrible nightmare.
“Esme…!”
I hear my name. I think Tamara is the one calling to me. I can hear her fear, her uncertainty, but I don’t look up. I don’t answer back.
Phoenix.
That’s the only thought running through my head.
Even if they let me live, they will never spare my son.
He is the heir to the Bratva after Artem. He is as much a threat as his father.
The old uncertainties come roaring back.
Oh, God—why didn’t I just stay away?
Why did I come back to L.A.?
My thoughts falter for a moment. And suddenly, a memory comes into high relief.
It’s the moment, almost a year ago when I first saw Artem.
Did I know then that he was going to be an important part of my life?
Sometimes, it feels like I did know.
I remember that strange sensation in your gut that stirs anytime you meet someone who leaves a lasting impression.
It was more than just the fact that he was beautiful, handsome, dangerous.
It was the way he looked at me, claiming me with his eyes in a way that made me want to give him everything I had.
I came back to L.A. for him.
For Artem.
Because I love him.
And that’s when it hits me. I always assumed freedom and independence was what I craved most in the world.
/> But I was wrong.
I wanted family.
I wanted a real family, after all those years of living in a broken one.
I came back to L.A. because Artem is my family. Phoenix, Artem and I were a real family. Nothing like the broken shell Cesar and I had been born into.
I have the chance to break the cycle that made me and I took it, knowing all the risks.
There is no turning back now.
“Esme!”
Tamara’s anguished scream forces me upright.
She has her hand on my arm, and she’s squeezing so hard that I can already feel her fingerprints bruise my skin.
Phoenix is still crying in my arms. We’re both speckled with tiny cuts from the explosion of the window.
But we got off easy.
The seats closer to the window took the brunt of the damage. At least a dozen people are slumped over, sliced to ribbons and very much dead.
The men stepping into the café through the glass window they’d just blown apart don’t seem the least bit bothered, though.
I clutch my son close to my chest as the soldiers approach, trying desperately to calm him.
“Shut the kid up,” someone barks at me.
“He’s not a kid,” I growl back, surprisingly even myself with my tone. “He’s a baby!”
“I know one way to shut him up,” someone else suggests acidly.
I feel my body go cold. “Don’t you dare come near my son,” I snarl.
I look around, trying to catch sight of Gennadi or Alik. They were sitting in the table right next to us… weren’t they?
“I suppose you’re wondering where your bodyguards are?” one masked man asks, stepping forward.
He’s decked out in full blown riot gear, and I can only see his eyes through the black mask that obscures his features.
An uncomfortable itching feeling stirs in my head and I wonder why it’s making me feel so… uneasy. More uneasy than I currently was at least.
Why does his voice feel familiar to me?
Like I’ve heard it before… a lifetime ago?
“Boys,” the man calls out mockingly. “Where are the bodyguards?”
The men behind him part to reveal two bodies, stacked one on top of the other. Lifeless limbs thrown carelessly as though they were cargo and nothing more.
The tears that prick at my eyes are immediate. I hadn’t known either man long, but they’d been protecting me. They didn’t deserve to die this way.