by Amo Jones
On our way back to my house, I hit call on his name.
He answers. “Syn, give me some good news. I saw you canceled your shows, I’m gathering this means everything is going well.”
“We need to talk,” is all I say, my tone flat. “Call a meeting within the family.”
There’s a long pause. “You don’t want to test me on this, Syn…”
“I’m not. Call me with a time.” Then I hang up and dial Kat.
She picks up instantly. “Ae? What’s going on? I saw you canceled your trips. By the way, Lenny needs a punch in the dick for manhandling our girl like that and in front of paparazzo, nonetheless.”
My girl…
“Yeah, we need to talk. How soon can you be over?”
Silence. “Give me twenty minutes.”
I massage my temples, the jetlag means jack shit when I have the stress of Cub’s safety in my head.
Fuck. And she’s not even mine anymore because I fucking let her go.
Fuck that, she’ll always be mine.
“Penny for your thoughts?” Lenny says, an eyebrow arched.
I flip him off.
Buttoning up my jacket, I rest my head on the headrest as Jason drives us toward Severyane restaurant, where Dad has called the meet. Not sure why he chose this place, aside from the fact that it is now, and has been, under our protection since it was built twenty-or-so years ago, but we usually have vstrecha at his house. Not here.
I crane my neck as the limo pulls into the parking lot. Seeing the Bratva always brings back memories for me—not so much bad. But, one that I haven’t touched on for some time is the night of my initiation when I became a Vor. There were three of us, and the room we entered was dark. It was at an underground club and the only beam of light was the candles lining a large round table.
There laid an old dagger and .50 pistol. You live by the dagger and pistol and you die by the dagger and pistol. It was made vehemently clear that you don’t quit the mafia.
Beside my dagger and pistol, items that I would now own, that were once my fathers, laid a card. On the card was a saint. Mine had the sacred heart of Jesus on it. My eyes flew up to my father, who sat at the head of the table, his hat shading his eyes so only his jaw was on display.
He smirked.
I knew the meaning of this, because he was a god. He was the boss. To his left was the consigliere, then to his right was the Underboss, who is also my uncle (not by blood) Aslan Ivankov. He was my father’s best friend since they were young kids. Then beside both of them were the three capos and their favorite soldier.
I ignored everyone else in the room, including the two who were getting initiated in with me. Rolling up my sleeve, I gave the dagger, handle side, to my father, who raised it to my lip and sliced it across lightly, enough to draw blood. I then squeezed the blood onto the saint card and handed it to my father, who then set it alight. As he passed it around the table, I pledged my loyalty to the Bratva until the end of my time. When the card finally got back to me, I quickly said the final script of my pledge and blew the flame out.
Herein lies my problem, no one leaves the mafia without a bullet. There has been a couple of exceptions, but none of those who did were the son of a boss. I had big boots to fill, and letting go of the family would mean letting my father down. I know without a shadow of a doubt that my dad would put a bullet between my eyes if I ever thought of leaving the Bratva. He loves me, but he loves his pride more. Which is why I needed to step around this very carefully if I still wanted to be able to hold my balls in my hand by the end of it.
Getting out of the car, I make my way through the front entrance and head straight for the back, staff area, not paying anyone any attention. Pushing the doors open, my eyes go straight to Dad who’s sitting at the head of the table, a cigar in his mouth.
I lick my lips, bobbing my head at him because as much as I’m a king out there to most of the world, in here, in the Bratva, I’m just a fucking prince and Vladimir is the king. Respect is the only way you get anywhere in life, and I know when to give it and when I should be getting it.
“Syn,” Dad says, gesturing to the seat on the opposite side of the table.
I pull the chair back, unbuttoning my jacket and flicking it out.
“We’re all here for your news on the Corvo girl. Update me, Syn, because I’m not feeling very confident in your decisions as of late.”
I pull my cigarettes out and bite one into my mouth, sparking the end. I blow out a thick cloud of smoke. “The Corvo family was my hit. My job, correct?”
Dad leans back in his chair, his face is relaxed and calm, but his eyes are like hot lasers shooting right through me. There’s a silent conversation going on there that only he and I can get on level with.
“Syn, say what you’re going to say, and if it has the words Amaya and staying alive in the same context then I’d tread very carefully on the reasoning behind it.”
This would all be better if the old man dropped dead. I’m not the underboss, but Aslan has always been on my side one way or another. I’m hoping that’s still the case.
“That’s exactly what I’m sayin’. I’m going to say the next words to you as a son, and not as your Syn…” I pause, waiting for him to nod.
He does.
I carry on. “Word has it you were in The Pen when Jesse raped her—you know, right before I slit his fucking throat open.”
I grin.
Dad’s jaw clenches a few times. “Yes. I was. Even though she’s the enemy, that’s not why I was there. I was there searching for one of our other subjects and just so happened to see it go down. I stopped it and left, but, son, I think you’re forgetting, that she’s the enemy and what her family has done.”
“You didn’t stop it. He only stopped until you left and then he continued.”
Pause. “Why are you telling me this? Again, she’s the enemy.”
I flick the ash off my smoke. “And what if I claim her.”
Dad exhales, shaking his head as his eyes come to mine. “You’re seriously fucking asking me this?”
It’s the first time I’ve heard my dad cuss under a slightly emotional strain.
“Yes,” I answer instantly, my eyes not wavering from his. “She’s suffered enough. Hell, she didn’t even know her damn parents. I’m sick of punishing this girl for shit that she didn’t do. I get loyalty, and I know what is asked of me from the Bratva—”
“—Do you?” Joseph, the consigliere mutters, but I don’t look toward him. I can’t fucking stand Joseph, never could. He’s an old fucker who needs a bullet. I’d gladly be the one to do the honors too.
I bare my teeth, turning my head toward Joseph. “Yeah, I fucking do. What have you done lately other than scratch those sag bags between your legs, fucker?”
“Syn!” Dad snaps, and I slowly drag my eyes away from an angry looking Joseph and back to Dad.
There’s a chuckle coming from Aslan and I have to fight the grin kicking up in the corner of my mouth.
“Where is she right now?” Dad asks, running his index finger over his upper lip. It’s a trait we both have, pretty sure I picked it up when I was a young pup.
“Safe,” is all I say, tilting my head.
“No can do, young one,” Joseph says, leaning back in his chair, his eyes going toward me and Dad. “This isn’t just a simple someone not paying money.”
Dad is still watching me, and I him. Neither one of us are paying Joseph any attention and I think old Joseph knows this, which is why he stands from his seat, his arms going up over his head. “Don’t tell me you’re actually thinking of granting this brat what he wants…”
“That brat is my son,” Dad murmurs, not even giving Joseph a glance.
“—And my nephew,” Aslan adds, cutting Joseph a glare.
I chuckle, because why not work the old man up. Besides, I kind of always liked rubbing this shit in Joseph’s face when they’d all side with me.
“What exactly are you p
roposing, Aeron?” Benny, one of the capos asks. I like Benny, he seems to always sit on the fence with decisions because he has no bias view on anything. Aside from the loyalty, he always sees right through what everyone wants.
“I’m talking a truce, now hear me out,” I snap at Joseph, blazing up another smoke. Being in here stresses me out. I used to love it, but somewhere along the line of finding my passion I’ve started to lose my way within the family, and Joseph has probably picked that up. That’s not to say that I’m not loyal or don’t do my bit, because obviously, I do and I have, but it’s just my loss of interest in it. Having most of the police in our pocket can be complicated at times too because they know me as an artist and as a Vor.
They just don’t really know what happens. I mean sure, they have their suspicions, but for generations now we have hidden behind the fact that we’re not as bad as everyone thinks. If you take away the Castellammarese war, the Second Mafia war, and then there’s the constant war that’s been brewing between the Italians and the MS-13 and us and the Yakuza. Everyone seems to assume that we have the most beef with the Cosa Nostra, but that’s just not true. Before the shit blew up between my old man and Beat’s parents, we were civil—allies even. The MS-13, on the other hand, have a beef with almost everyone. They tend to back up from us, mainly because we know where to shit and where not to. The Yakuza, though? Yeah, I’d blow those fuckers up courtside and not blink. We’ve been at war with the little fuckers since as long as I can remember, no thanks to their lack of respect where turf is concerned, and then there’s the issue of them trying to hijack one of our biggest weapon shipments circa 2011. However, this beef with the Costa Nostra is more on the personal side with my old man, so Joseph’s outrage is really not warranted.
“We’re waiting, Syn…” Dad urges.
I flick a bit of nicotine out of my mouth. “Beatrice doesn’t know any of her family. Her crime family, as you know is the Corvo family that are based in New York. They don’t know anything about her, probably think she’s dead. They didn’t send retaliation for Garth and Lauren because they both chose to walk away, they knew the risk in doing that. But there is her pop…”
“Ah…” Dad grins, rolling his cigar around in his mouth. “Now here’s where we’re going to hit a rough patch.”
“What?” I answer, eyebrows creased. “How? This will be a good thing to finally have some peace between the two families so we can go back to being allies. How could that be a rough patch? Her pop is the Godfather.”
Dad leans forward, grinning at me. “There’s something I didn’t tell you.”
“Girls”—D12
I’m back in New York, in the same hotel that Manik put us in when we were on tour and the sun is shining through the large floor to ceiling windows. I’ve not been told much since leaving the jet, only been driven to places by one of Manik’s men. I thought that when he had said goodbye, that it meant he was letting me go—freely. But it’s not like that at all, it’s more a string that has been given more slack.
There’s a knock on the door and I launch myself toward it. My fingers wrap around the knob, as I inch up on tippy toes to see who it is.
“Holy crap!” I gasp, yanking it open to Katiya and Kyle. I fling my arms around both of them, throwing my full body weight into them.
They catch me, laughing. “Woah, little Cubby, how about we get you back inside.”
I nod, stepping out of the way to let them through, closing the door. “I’m surprised to see you both here, and a little confused as to what’s happening right now.”
Kat takes a seat on the couch with Kyle beside her. They look cozy so I take it they must be a couple now. “That’s my brother for you. No one knows what he’s doing until it’s done and we’re praising the royal ground he walks on for his brilliance.”
Kyle scoffs.
I take a seat on the single La-Z-Boy that’s opposite the corner lounger. “So, you don’t know what’s happening either?”
Kat shakes her head. “I don’t. All I know is that he called me to tell me there’s a jet waiting to bring me and Kyle here. Said you might need us.”
I clear my throat. “I’m confused because I thought we had said our goodbyes.”
“Wait.” Kat waves her hand around the front of herself, a smile on her mouth. “You thought that my brother was going to let you go? Girl, you’re crazy.”
Kyle grins, leaning back on the sofa. “I love you, Beat, but I’m with her on this one. There was no way Manik was going to let you go. The psychopath has kidnapped you twice, and yes, I know about the first time.” Cue dramatic pause. “Pretty sure that’s more proof than you need that you’re not going anywhere.”
I sigh, burying my face in my hands. “I’m so sorry, Kyle. I wanted to tell you. I hope you don’t think any less of me.” He glares at me as if I’m stupid, and I carry on. ”There’s also so much about me that you don’t know. What you heard that day is just a snippet into the crazy.”
Kat must have gotten up because her hand lands on mine. “Honey, nothing can change the way Kyle and I think of you. We may not know much, and it’s up to you if you want to tell us, but you have to know that I will never, ever think any less of you.”
I split my fingers so my eyes peer out at her. “Okay,” I exhale. Am I doing this? I’m doing this. “This is going to sound really, very bad, and I don’t know if telling Kyle is a very good idea right now.” I shoot a quick glance at Kyle. His attitude toward Manik is already a little on the edge, and even though everything that has happened is in the past and was justified—in a way, though murder is still never okay—I believe he will still flip out and won’t see the truth through the anger that he will feel.
Kat leans over her shoulder. “Out big boy. She will tell you when she’s ready.”
He throws his hands up in defeat. “No problem at all.” Then disappears out the front door.
“Okay,” I exhale. “There are still some things that I don’t know, like who my parents’ family are and all that because I only ever knew my pop and nona, but, here goes…”
“Trapped”—Proof, Eminem
“Jesus fucking Christ.” I shake my head, launching out of my chair and pacing back and forth like a caged lion. “She’s going to lose her shit when she finds out.”
“Oh, I know,” Dad says, putting out his cigar. “But I also don’t care, Syn. That’s not my issue. So, as I said, if you want to keep her, I guess I can warm to it with time. You pose a good point and a position that’s hard to argue. By keeping her alive, we can rebuild the lines between us and the Corvos, but obviously, she is going to have to come to know about this truth.”
“Yeah,” I murmur. “I think I can work with it, though.”
“This is bullshit,” Joseph spurts out, launching from the chair he’s in.
I stop, shoving my hands in my pocket to stop my fists from accidentally flying and hitting him in the face.
“Exactly what is bullshit, Smirnov?” I call him by his last name because I know he hates it.
“The fact that we are even considering throwing up flags for Corvo when they have caused you and your father so much pain, as well as the tension between both families since that happened.” He looks back to Dad, pleadingly. “I have a better idea. We could align with the MS-13 and take them down once and for all, and you get your revenge.”
Dad laughs.
I snort.
Uncle Az roars out a laugh.
I end up putting Joseph out of his misery because, well, I’m an asshole and I like to be the bearer of bad news. “Who the fuck let you into the Bratva?” I shake my head, blazing my smoke again. “First of all, fuckface, can I call you fuckface? Too bad, I’m calling you fuckface. First of all, your suggestion we align with the MS-13 is so humorous because of your lack of knowledge. Who are the mafia, fuckface?”
He sits back down, his eyes going between my dad and I. “We are a family.”
“Ehh, wrong, I mean, yes, we are.” I make my w
ay toward his chair because I can see his submission. “We are the motherfucking Bratva, we have alliances with politicians, the government, the goddamn President of the United States, motherfucking CIA agents. We also have alliances with Putin, I mean, I’m not saying that he’s in the mafia…” I look up at Dad and grin. “But I’m not saying that he isn’t.”
“What’s your point, boy,” Joseph seethes.
My hand flies to the back of his neck and I squeeze tightly. “My point,” I whisper, dropping right down to his ear. “Is that we don’t meddle with street thugs and people who are, for lack of a better word, inferior to us. Because that’s what the MS-13 are, Smirnov, they’re street thugs. For you to have the audacity to even suggest we lower ourselves to such an alliance has my trigger finger itchy to dance over my Desert Eagle, you feel me?”
Joseph freezes, I can feel his goosebumps dance over my fingertips. “Not really.”
I chuckle, shoving him forward and swiping my hands of his filthy stench. I look to Dad and then back down to Joseph. “Are you going to make this an issue, Joseph? Because if you are, speak now or forever hold your peace.”
There’s a long pause that drags out between all of us, and my eyes lock with Uncle Az. He grins up at me, massaging his goatee. I see the flash of pride from him and I wink at him.
Uncle Az played a major role in my upbringing, and Kat’s.
Joseph slaps back. “No, Aeron, I don’t.”
“Good!” I button up my jacket and nod at Dad. “I’ll do what I need to do, as long as you have my back and I can trust that I have your word?”
Dad nods. “Yeah, Syn, just make sure she knows about her pops.”
“Seriously!” Kat says, running her hands through her hair, standing from the coffee table and pacing up and down. “Gosh. Okay. It’s fine, we can do this.”