by A. C. Bextor
“Vlad,” Abram calls again. “This could be a trap.”
I turn my gaze to Abram’s. “Ciro won’t hesitate to end her life. He’s done this before.”
“Faina,” Abram agrees. “And almost Klara.”
“I’ll help,” Vlad clips. “Let me talk to my men, do some checking of my own, and we’ll be in touch.”
Relieved, I stand. “Thank you.”
My relief doesn’t last.
“If you’re lying to me, about Wren or anything you’ve claimed here today, I can assure you I’ll show no mercy.”
“I understand.”
“Do you have as eerie a feeling about walking into the insane asylum armed but unannounced as I do?” Abram asks, sitting in the chair across from my desk just as he’s done countless times before.
By appearance, my second-in-command’s disposition is casual, relaxed, and confident. However, the tone of his discerning voice is anything but.
The plan Abram and I have relayed to the others is risky, but if we’re successful, it won’t come without great reward. After explaining our intent to Liam, and with his agreement, I’m confident everything is set and we’re ready to move forward.
Come tomorrow, one way or another, this city will have only one family of power left. By no means do I consider mine the more harmless of the two, but I do consider mine less of a threat to this city’s innocent bystanders.
“I’ve lived with an eerie feeling for years, Abram. We all have. Ciro should’ve been taken out years ago.”
Accepting my response, and understanding the reason for it, Abram prods, “Have you spoken to Klara? Does she know what you’re planning?”
My jaw ticks, my teeth grinding together. My beautiful girl, the mother of my just-as-beautiful daughter, will be devastatingly pissed once she catches word of my plan. I could attempt to keep it from her, but if Klara Zalesky is one thing, it’s determined. Determined to keep her family safe, along with keeping me in line.
A person could compare what I’m about to do to a suicide mission. Not only mine but all my men.
Eight years ago, as Klara and all around us grieved over the death of my sister, I made her a promise not to retaliate.
To allow the families to live in peace.
No more threats.
No more looking over our shoulders.
No more death.
For eight years, my beautiful girl had her peace. But the time for that is over, just as I knew it would eventually be.
“I plan to talk to Klara tonight, yes.”
“Shit,” Abram mutters.
“She’ll have no say in this, Abram,” I assure him.
“That won’t stop her from wanting a fucking say in this, Vlad, and you know it.”
He’s right. Klara will likely disagree with all they plan to do, but with Ciro holding Wren, the only choice left to make is the right one.
“And Veni?” Abram questions next. “What do you plan to tell your son?”
Veniamin is another challenge altogether. He’s kept as clean as my dirty life can allow. He works the legitimate businesses and, sooner than later, he’s going to be married with children of his own. It’s for them I risk all of this as well.
“And Vory,” Abram prods. “Tell me he has no idea about any of this.”
I shake my head. “Vory has no idea what we’re really doing.”
My father doesn’t support any of the decisions I’ve made. He never did. To him, I’m an unfit leader who leads men only half-worthy of what he considers himself to be. Still, he’s agreed to attend the meeting.
“Yes.”
“Fuckin hell, I hope we know what we’re doing.”
“I know what I’m doing. All of those responsible for Faina’s death are due. I’ll feel no remorse for however many lives will be lost.”
“Both families are determined to best the other. Putting us all together in one room is not only dangerous but some would say crazy.”
“Don’t question my insanity now, Abram.”
“Oh no. Rest assured, I’m not questioning anything. I’m as anxious as you are to end this clusterfuck.”
“Good.”
“You don’t seem as surprised as I thought you would,” Abram observes lightly and off subject. “That Faina has a child, I mean.”
“I am, but I’m also not. I’m concerned for what this means for Wren. She’s young. Innocent. From all Liam said, she’s never been exposed to this side of life.”
“Faina never made much sense to me when she was alive,” Abram starts.
“What do you mean?”
“I knew she was a strongheaded woman, but I had no idea the kind of courage she kept.”
“She was brought up in this life. Her strength shouldn’t surprise you.”
“Her personal strength, Vlad. That’s what I’m talking about. She left here knowing she was pregnant. It’s possible she had the baby alone, or in the company of mere strangers. That’s bravery at its finest. After, she was strong enough to never tell a soul. I cannot imagine how hard it was for her to leave her new baby behind, free to live its life without her, as Faina was all but being dragged back to this one.”
Truth be told, I’ve always recognized something was off about the way Faina had been taken so quickly with Klara when Klara first came to live with us. I sensed the motherly love she had for the girl was instant. Clearly it wasn’t for only apparent reasons, but a maternal one.
Klara filled a void in my sister’s life. A void I’ve now come to understand as the greatest connection a woman could ever have.
“I wish she had talked to me,” I state, then confess, “I could’ve done more to help.”
Abram sighs. “I’m not sure anyone could’ve helped her, Vlad. Vory would’ve stood in the way of her happiness regardless. He’s never loved her as a father should. Or you. Not with anything that mattered, anyway.”
“He didn’t. But I loved Faina. I wanted to protect her.”
“And you did.”
My heart sinks, remembering what happened to my sister all those years ago.
Brutally raped.
Savagely beaten.
Carelessly left for dead.
“I protected her until I didn’t. Then it was too late.”
“And now is our chance to avenge her death. We’ll do this, Vlad,” Abram assures.
No way to miss Abram’s “our” and “we’ll” declarations. He loved Faina as everyone did. He’s looking forward to this as much as I am, no matter how risky our next move will be.
“Go home, Abram. Kiss your daughter and enjoy your wife tonight. Tomorrow at noon, all of this will begin.”
Standing across from where I sit, Abram contemplates. The small smile he’s trying to hide is pointless; he’s always made his pleasure at my expense so obvious.
“What’s funny?” I question.
“You.”
Abram is the one person in my life who seems to enjoy making a joke of it. For years I’ve put up with his smart comments. And at no time were they ever necessary.
With a grin, Abram’s eyes dance with humor. “You still have no fucking idea what to do with her, do you?”
Klara.
Giving in to Abram is easier than fighting his chastising remarks.
I reply with a simple “No.”
“And now you have two of them.”
He’s right. I do. Emilia Zalesky may have my blood but she shares it with Klara—making my life almost as challenging as her mother does.
“And soon you’ll have three,” he adds.
I’ll accept Wren however she comes, Abram’s God willing.
“Get out of here,” I instruct. “Go home and bother your own family.”
“Take care, Vlad. I’ll see you in the morning.”
The cold, early-morning winter wind cuts sharp against my cheeks as I slowly walk up the hill to visit Faina’s final resting place.
Colorful flowers, both new and old, decorate her grave. No do
ubt Veni, Maag, and Klara have all been here. This week… and last… and the one before.
The chair Abram promised I’d have is positioned at the side of my sister’s overexuberant grave marker. Like her, it appears timeless in age and unweathered in its surroundings.
There are no others visiting their loved ones this morning, just as I prefer it. With the sun and birds as my only company, I take a seat and adjust my coat to keep myself distracted for why I’ve really come.
God, I miss you Faina. Each and every day.
Clutching the flowers Klara and Emilia insisted I bring, I lay them down on the ground next to her and sigh. Sitting up, I wipe my hand along the top of the dark marbled tombstone to remove the dead leaves and blowing bits of earth that have gathered on top of it.
Faina Emilia Zalesky
Beloved Daughter
Loving Aunt
Dearest Sister
Faithful Friend
“You were all those things and more,” I finally speak.
I wasn’t sure I’d be able to talk to her. Abram assured me it comes naturally for others. I trust him, and therefore believe him, but now I feel out of place talking to stone.
My sister was one of the greatest people I’ve ever known. However unfair it’s been to her, years have passed since I’ve gathered enough courage to come here again.
Guilt, regret, and heartache have always kept me away.
“Faina, I’m sorry,” I whisper. “For so many things. I should’ve protected you. I should’ve tried to help you. I should’ve listened closer when you always had so much to say.”
Faina’s reply is lost on me. Part of me hoped, by coming here, I’d hear something from her. Anything that mattered—or even something small and trivial that didn’t.
During Abram’s lectures, he told me those lost to another life are able to send signs to those they left behind in this one. There’s not much I wouldn’t give to be lectured, teased, or tormented by my little sister—if only one more time.
“You’re proud of Veniamin, I know it. He’s grown to be a good man. He’s an accountant. He handles the books for all our businesses.”
The brisk wind blows across the yard much the same as the day our family buried her. Looking up, I survey how barren the trees in the cemetery are. How dark the skies appear. And how excruciatingly painful the burden inside my chest still aches to be freed.
My hope is that, once this is over, I’ll breathe without pain. Think without loss. Move on with my life a better person for knowing Faina, not a lost sibling who continues to mourn her absence.
Not a day has passed when I haven’t thought of Faina lying in this cold ground, dead and alone.
“Veni has a young woman in his life but hasn’t married her. She’s not one of us,” he states. “She’s a good girl, though. You’d like her for him. Being still so young, Emilia still believes I’m the love of her life. I prefer to keep it that way.”
I’m sure you do, I faintly hear on a laugh, but knowing I can’t truly hear her say anything at all. Not anymore. And never again.
But hearing Faina’s voice so clear in my mind pushes me to move to the heart of my visit, just like I’d do if she were alive. The two of us rarely exchanged small talk and when we did, it was only to hide the stress we were under.
“I didn’t avenge your death when I should’ve. You understand why I made that decision. Klara begged me to leave it alone. She believed peace would come at your sacrifice. But the time is here, Faina. I can’t let someone else I love go again. And I loved you deeply. I hope you knew that.”
No words from my sister come, though I still give her a hopeful passing second to reply.
When a small green leaf, floating amidst all the dead, falls from the sky and lands at my feet, my tension fades and I give her a timid smile.
“I ask you for one more thing,” I request. “Watch over us today. Abram has convinced me that you’re able to do that, so I’m hoping what he’s always believed is true.”
As I move to stand, I look down. My eyes burn from the last of the winter chill, but also from the sting of tears I’m fighting to hold back.
“Thank you, Faina, for keeping such an important part of your life safe before your death. I’ll take care of her as you would have. You have my word.”
With that, I turn to leave.
“Get up, Wren. Get dressed,” Pete directs, my bedroom door flying open as he enters.
When I sit up in bed, Pete surveys the room. His eyes dart to each corner as if he’s panicked. Cliff jumps from the bed, heading straight to Pete’s feet. Pete ignores his attention and stalks toward the bed.
“Pete? What’s the matter? Are you okay?”
“Get your things, whatever you think you need, and come with me,” he instructs, walking into my closet for God knows what. When he bends to grab a small gray suitcase I hadn’t known was there, his shirt lifts in the back and I notice his holster loaded with a gun.
Oh shit. I’ve never seen Pete armed.
“Pete?” I address, shocked and surprised. “What are you doing?”
Turning around, he drops the suitcase at my feet and bends to unzip it.
“Pete,” I try again. “Where are we going?”
Walking to me, he grabs my hand and squeezes tightly. “Now, little bird. Right now. We don’t have much time.”
“I don’t understand,” I snap in defiance, but get out of bed and walk to my closet as he insists.
I close the door and change quickly, wondering what’s happened now and to who. When I step back into the bedroom, I wait for more information to spill from Pete, but nothing comes. He only turns in place to see I’m ready, then moves to my dresser, grabbing my watch and some clothes from the floor before tossing them in the bag in one fell swoop.
Pete is panicked, and with every second that passes he’s taking me with him.
“Pete Sandoval!” I shriek. “Please tell me what’s happening!”
Stopping, he sighs and straightens. The terrified expression he had on his face, coupled with the slight tremble of his body, stops.
“We need to get out of here,” he explains. “I can’t tell you what’s happening until we get to where we’re going, so you’ll have to trust me.”
Stalling, I suggest, “I think we should wait for Liam. He’s coming back and—”
His solemn spirit gives way as he bites his bottom lip. Pete’s not worried about where Liam went. He’s worried if Liam will return.
“He’s coming back, right? Has something happened to him? Do you know where he is?”
“I do,” he replies. Leaning down, Pete grabs the handle of the bag at the same time he reaches up to grab my hand. “And that’s precisely the reason we need to go.”
I’ve never been inside this warehouse. Growing up, I’d heard about its quiet and desolate location, along with its sole purpose.
When I was young, I had no way of understanding what need grown men would have to meet in such a dark, dingy, and rundown arena. I wondered what secrets were told within these walls. What life-altering decisions had come to pass.
Now, without any question, I know more than I ever want to remember.
This is where the men of this city agree to disagree. The decisions that are made here are plans for the future. Each head of family gets their say, in one way or another.
And today will be no different.
“What have you called us here for?” Killian questions, entering the room. He stops walking forward when he looks up to find the distinguished audience already in attendance.
Vlad and his men—Abram, Rueon and Gleb—are scattered strategically about the room. They stand in separate corners and near the exits with their leader in the center of the room—seated directly across from Ciro.
Vory Zalesky, an older man I’ve never met but have heard heinous stories about, stands stoically behind his son. Both the Zalesky men are in expensive black suits, dressed for Sunday church, not the attire I’d envisio
ned to end a long-running, methodical war.
Ciro played this meeting as casually as only he would, bringing only Calloy and Xavier to guard his side, with the rest of the men waiting outside. Calloy’s face is still a mangled mess, but after he and I discussed my plan for bringing Ciro down, he pledged his loyalty to Ciro. I helped convince my uncle to accept his submission, naming Calloy as a trusted soldier with a future in our family.
All was a lie.
Calloy has been studying the players carefully, sizing up each and every supposed enemy. Xavier hasn’t left Ciro’s side as the boss remains standing, refusing to take the proffered seat Vlad had waiting when he arrived.
Killian brought only one of his own with him, his second-in-command, Eli. This isn’t surprising—Killian hasn’t been involved in the feud between Vlad and Ciro, only stood by as an arbitrary witness. Coming to a meeting in a neutral place has never meant a threat. Talks of business, not bloodshed, among the families doesn’t warrant more men as backup.
“Liam.” Killian seems surprised to find I’m standing in the back corner. “What in God’s name are you doing here?”
“He has every right to be here, you idiot fool,” Ciro chides. “He’s part of my family, isn’t he?”
Hurt and doubt gravely mark Killian. His eyes fall to the floor. Surely he’s disappointed, but he also doesn’t know what’s about to happen.
But I do.
“Ciro,” Vlad calls, beckoning for his enemy’s attention. Pointing to the chair behind my uncle, he states, “Sit.”
“I have no reason to get comfortable, Vlad. I want to know why you called this meeting or I’m leaving before it starts.”
Vory clears his throat, placing his hand on his son’s shoulder. Vlad doesn’t acknowledge the gesture. Visually irritated, Vlad stands, shrugging off his father’s support.
In the middle of nowhere, in the center of a run-down warehouse, two men from different families and beliefs are standing not five feet from one another. They’re staring one other down, as if willing the other to strike first.
The pulse in the room accelerates, the tension rising to an irrefutable degree.