by K. Marie
Also, the sound of quiet sniffling.
My ex-mother-in-law, Talia Petroff, walked closely behind us; red, puffy eyes leaking tears of grief while no doubt shooting daggers in my back. She was burying yet another child because of me. At least, that’s the way she probably saw it.
Forget the fact that Vlad’s track-record of irresponsible and risky behavior had always served as a portent for his death. That I’d been in any way connected made it automatically my fault. And maybe it was.
I still had no idea why or how Vlad ended up at the marina. Though hopefully, it would become more apparent to me after today.
When we arrived at the black canopy that had been erected above the burial site, Stack, Greg, Marcel and I, slowly lowered the casket in sync and placed it atop the stand in which it would sit. After we’d all filed over to take our places where everyone else was standing, the priest began the seeing-off ceremony.
It’s said, the way a man lives will be reflected in his death at the number of funeral attendees. As I glanced around, I concluded that Vlad hadn’t lived very well. There were only seventeen of us in attendance, three of which were bodyguards. Though Vlad’s outgoing and adventurous personality always served to attract people to him, his unthoughtful and borderline narcissistic ways eventually ran them away.
As the priest eulogized, I wondered; what does one say about a man who’d lived the way Vlad had? I guess it could be said that he was a loved son. Though, I wasn’t so sure it could be said he was a loving son. Vlad often showed no regard for the heartache and hell he put his mother through. That’s not to say he didn’t love his mother; only, that it was merely always all about him. However, I guess even self-centered assholes deserved to be loved, there were at least a few of us here who’d cared.
After the priest had said a few remarks and a couple of prayers, each of us took turns laying flowers across the casket and said our final goodbyes.
As the casket was lowered into the ground, I tried not to be affected by the heartbreaking sobbing coming from a grief-stricken mother. Which was nearly impossible. I knew an attempt at consolation on my part wouldn’t be welcomed, so I kept my distance and watched as Romanovich undertook the task instead.
Once the ceremonial dirt had been shoveled onto the casket and everyone turned sadly away to make their way back to the cars, I turned in a different direction.
Plodding through the grass, I weaved between the many rows of headstones until I was standing in front of the ones I sought. I hadn’t been here in years, but everything looked to have remained the same. The guardian angel carved of light-gray marble still stood regal and tall next to the smaller matching cherub; a mother watching over her child.
I stopped coming long ago. I know some people liked to visit the graves of their loved ones, to perhaps talk to them or just to show that they hadn’t been forgotten. Not me. I found that particular exercise to be torturous and unbearable, the constant reminder of my failings had only served to sink me deeper into despair.
As my eyes fell closed, I breathed in the crisp, late spring air that was perfumed by freshly blooming flowers and newly greened grass; allowing the memories to siege me. I allowed myself to become submerged in the raw emotions of each memory as I fast forwarded through the good ones, and ended with the bad ones. Joy, laughter, hope, pain, and sorrow. Each of them served as a bookmark in chapters of a previously lived life.
When my eyes once again opened, I stared down at the angels to which those chapters belonged and said a familiar prayer and a final goodbye.
Walking away, I felt a lightness wash over me that I’d not felt in quite some time. It was as if I had finally turned the last page and had alas finished the book.
But, I’d started a new book. Those chapters were newly written, and I was eager to get back to writing them.
First, though, I still had work to do.
As I waited impatiently for the all-clear, two days in Russia was rapidly beginning to feel like a lifetime. It took time to put plans together, but I had no patience for the bureaucratic and diplomatic hoopla that Romanovich had to maneuver around at the Kremlin.
“Vse khorosho?” asked my father, as soon as I’d gotten off the phone with Viktor.
“He’s cantankerous and surly about being sidelined, but yes, all is well,” I reported.
Seeing Viktor’s name flash across the screen of my phone for the first time in almost two weeks felt practically cathartic. He had been making significant progress since regaining consciousness five days ago. After a rough start of barely being able to speak the first two days after having the ventilator tube removed; and of having difficulty remembering things, he’d bounced back fairly quickly. The physical part would be where the challenge lies. He’d have to do extensive rehabilitation for both his leg and shoulder.
My father nodded his head approvingly. “He’s a Vidov, as long as he’s got pozhar—the fire in his belly, he’ll be just fine.”
Despite Viktor’s condition, I had no choice but to entrust him with the guards and some of his men from the security firm while I tended Vlad. I had shared with him a lot of what happened but didn’t tell him everything. I knew it would only piss him off, and I couldn’t have him attempting to jump out of bed to go on a murderous rampage.
“How are dinner plans looking for tonight? No changes?” Romanovich quizzed.
“Nothing’s changed, dinner is still at seven.”
He gave another approving nod.
“You should know, I offered Talia a settlement,” he said after a moment of silence.
Abandoning the attention that I’d been giving my phone, I lifted my eyes and stared at him across the kitchen table. “Why?”
“Because it’s time, syn, time to move on. I believe you’ve paid your penance.”
We regarded each other long seconds before I lowered my gaze to the table. “I could have done that years ago if I’d wanted.”
“No, you couldn’t have; you weren’t ready. However, it’s time to wash away the past completely once and for all. You’ll never forget, but it’s okay to lift the burden and move on.”
I sat quietly absorbing his words; slowly coming to terms with them, before eventually accepting it. I knew he was right.
I had been financially supporting my ex-mother-in-law for the past nine years. Talia Petroff was already a widow when her daughter and grandson died, and the small monthly pension she received from her late husband was meager and barely covered the bills. So, I’d offered financial support; after all, I felt it was the least I could do in the face of her grief. I admit part of it might have been motivated by guilt. But I could afford to do it—it wasn’t exactly a burden in the financial sense. Nevertheless, it was just one more of those last little threads.
First Vlad, now his mother. Those last two threads connecting me to the past were being forever clipped away.
Lifting my eyes back to my father’s, I gave a nod of approval and acceptance. Perhaps after all of this was over…I’d finally be able to have a peaceful night’s sleep after nine years.
At seven o’ clock that evening, my father and I—along with several of our guards, arrived at Sergei’s house for dinner as scheduled.
My Godfather; and Romanovich’s longtime friend, was known for his elaborate dinner parties and love of entertaining. At my father’s suggestion, he’d thrown one tonight in tribute to Vlad.
“Seven o’ clock seems a bit late for you, old man, I thought you’d have retired for bed a few hours ago,” I joked in insult.
“You molodyye panki think you’re such tough-shit with your big muscles and boundless energy—it’s us old guys who are living the life. We don’t give a shit what others think, we get to eat, drink, shit and sleep whenever we please and how we please,” Sergei said with a look of superiority.
I gave a snort of laughter. “Us young punks can do the same—and with a lot less work, we don’t have to change our Depends diapers after we shit.”
Everyone la
ughed as we made our way to the dining room and took our seats at the table. I had been coming to this same house for various functions since I was a boy. My parents and I had attended Christmases, birthday parties, dinner parties and even a couple of weddings. The house was large, but not overly so, and had always felt inviting.
“Tell me, how is Viktor doing? I hear he’s made it out of the woods,” asked Sergei.
“All is well, he’s recovering,” I answered shortly, not in the mood to go into detail.
“Sounds like the big-man’s losing his touch, I thought he was bulletproof,” said dumbass Anatoly, a stupid smirk on his face.
“Anatoly, you will hold your tongue!” Sergei snapped, scowling at his son.
I gave him a death-glare. Asshole never knew when to shut the fuck up.
Stack—who was seated next to me, mumbled ‘such a dick’ underneath his breath.
After a couple of tense seconds of silence, Sergei lifted his glass in the air. “A pre-dinner toast is in order,” he said, then waited for everyone else to lift their glasses as well. “To Vlad, a young man who was known to be a hellion, but also one who will be missed. May God rest his soul.”
The tense mood was promptly broken, and the party commenced. It was just the boy’s tonight—as my mother had been sent to Greece, Sergei excluded his wife, Katerina, and all daughters and daughters-in-law. Us men could be as boisterous and drink as much vodka and scotch as we wanted. But I would be sustaining. Consuming alcohol wasn’t really my thing—not that I didn’t, I enjoyed a glass of scotch every now and then. Just not today.
I hadn’t spoken to Camry in three days. So, not only was I feeling like a shitty husband, but I was also in a shitty mood. Putting some distance between us was the hardest thing to do, but I did it for her and the kid's safety. She must have been pissed because she’d stopped calling and texting me as well. So, when I received a text—I instinctively grabbed my phone kind of hoping it was her. It wasn’t.
Excusing myself from the table, I walked a short distance away into the hallway to return the text. It was Igor; letting me know that everything outside was a go.
I hesitated before stepping back into the clamorous room; loathed to be doing so.
Heaving a resigned sigh, I pulled one of my Sig’s from its holster as I trekked through the room determinedly—reaching the end of the long table in a flash and aiming it directly at Anatoly’s head.
Everyone in the room collectively froze—their brains likely taking a moment to catch-up with their eyes as a crew of armed men came storming into the room.
Two shots rang-out instantly, taking down two of Sergei’s men.
“One fucking move and your brains will be decorating the table,” I promised coldly, eyes on Anatoly’s hand as it reached for his gun.
At my nod, Stack swooped in and disarmed him.
“What is the meaning of this—what in the hell is wrong with you!” Sergei demanded angrily, eyes on me.
I waited until the remaining three men had been subdued and unarmed before moving my eyes to Romanovich.
“It is the same question I would pose to you, ty kusok der'ma, but I already know the answer,” my father spoke tiredly, rising from his chair.
Sergei was more than just a piece of shit, he was the worst kind of shit.
“Wh-what are you talking about, I know nothing of what’s going on here!”
“Thirty-six years—thirty-six goddamn years!” my father roared in anger, eyes full of rage and betrayal as he moved to where Sergei sat.
Romanovich slowly raised the gun that he had been holding in his hand and fired; hitting Sergei in the left arm.
“Papa!!” Anatoly screamed, attempting to rise from his chair in aid of his father.
A quick crack to the head from my gun had him immediately stilling.
“You would betray me after thirty-six years; attack my son—your godson, why?!” Romanovich shouted, retaking aim.
“It was me—he had nothing to do with it!” Anatoly yelled, panic in his voice.
“We know it was you, asshole; but you’re too damn stupid to have done it alone!” I snarled, pressing the gun closer to his scalp and itching to pull the trigger.
“You wanted to be in charge—to take over my empire?” Romanovich asked incredulously, eyes going wide, “You felt you were entitled to what I took years to build?!”
Pop! Sergei took another bullet to the shoulder.
As Sergei bellowed and Anatoly attempted lunging once again for his father, I signaled two of the men over to restrain him. It was a devastating blow to both my father and me—but especially him. He had been best friends with Sergei for over three decades—worked side-by-side with him nearly every day of those years. He’d named him godfather to his son—was his most trusted confidant.
Neither of us wanted to believe it, yet, all the breadcrumbs had led us here.
Koshnikov—the name that Broggs had given, sounded a lot like Novikov. He’d been in excruciating pain, so I guess I could forgive Broggs for mispronouncing it.
Standing in front of Anatoly, I experienced a lust unlike any other for killing; one that quickly consumed me. I always knew he couldn’t be trusted—knew that he wanted power and didn’t deserve to have it. However, I never imagined in a million years, he’d convince his father to help him take it.
“For every question I ask and don’t receive an immediate answer to, will result in a hole being placed in your body,” I warned Anatoly, already aiming for his leg.
Sergei moaned and whimpered, pleading for his son. “No, please…I-I, I’ll tell you what want to know.”
I stared at him; the man that I’d been fond of for so many years, and slowly shook my head in disgust. “And to think, you dared to pay tribute to Vlad when you were the one to kill him.”
He might not have done it directly, but it was done on his order.
“Why…why Vlad?” I asked, slowly raising my Sig to Anatoly’s head as a threat.
“Because he was a worthless coward!” Anatoly spat, “He remained loyal to you when you’d all but disowned him!”
Pop! Anatoly howled like a bitch as the bullet penetrated his thigh.
“Arrgghh! Son of a bitch…” Sergei bawled, eyes tearing up as he stared at his son.
Once again, I raised the gun to Anatoly’s head. “The Ostrovsky’s, did they come to you, or you to them?”
“I-I, umm, there was a r-rumor, we went to them…” Anatoly grunted out, hands attempting to staunch the flow of blood spilling from his leg.
“Rumor?” I questioned.
“Th-that you’d k-killed a family member…that they wanted revenge.”
I stayed silent a moment, the puzzle finally coming together in my head to make sense. “Oleg, Mance, the Ostrovsky’s…all of it started with you and Sergei,” I concluded, all of the pieces locking perfectly.
The Novikov’s had put everything into motion, Vlad had little to do with it.
Pop! Anatoly’s howl was loud enough to shatter windows.
Asshole. Now both his legs could match.
When I craned my head in his direction, it didn’t take words for my father and me to communicate. Both of us had suffered the ultimate betrayal; there were really no words left to be said. Sergei and Anatoly had decided at some point they wanted what my father built—that they somehow deserved it. Were entitled to it. The power, wealth, and the connections; all of it trumped thirty-six years of friendship.
Still, they couldn’t take him down without first taking down Viktor and me. We were his heirs; if something happened to Romanovich, everything automatically became ours.
“I never saw it coming…” my father whispered almost to himself, the look in his eyes one of disbelief. Raising his gun, he growled, “But, you will see this coming you traitorous bastard!”
Deafening. That’s the only word to describe the noise that rang throughout the room.
Blood sprayed everywhere.
“Nooooo…!!!” Anatoly
shrieked, seeming to leap-up from his chair with super-human strength.
As though in slow motion, I watched as both guards dove for Anatoly—all three of them crashing to the floor in a heap.
They tussled.
A shot rang out.
It all happened in seconds.
Once everything sped-back-up in real time, Stack leaped suddenly out the corner of my eye.
When I turned my head, I saw him crouching on the floor over my father.
My heart stopped beating.
Rushing forward, my knees came down to rest in a puddle of rapidly pooling blood as I crouched opposite Stack.
Romanovich was bleeding from a chest wound, and bleeding badly.
Two of the men rushed over and carried my father out. Before leaving, I walked over to Anatoly and put two bullets in his head.
By the time we made it to the hospital…Romanovich was already dead.
Epilogue
C A M R Y
“Are you ready?” I asked, walking up to wrap my arms around Garland’s waist as he stared out at the pitch-black ocean.
It was something he did a lot of lately. At home, he was back to spending most of his nights out on the balcony again instead of sleeping. He still grieved, and it ripped at my heart, but there was nothing I could do to help except be here for him.
So much had changed since returning from Greece six months ago. We’d buried my father-in-law, my mother-in-law had come to live with us, Roman was growing bigger every day, Autumn was growing up too fast, Marie was annoying the hell out of Viktor at the security firm, and I was back to editing.
The good news is, we were all safe.
Turning to face me, Garland gave an appreciative glance before pulling me closer and anchoring his arms around my waist. “Is that a trick question?” he asked, dark brow arching in humor.
Tonight was date-night. That’s how you knew you were blissfully married with children and had a live-in grandma; when you had to schedule alone time.