Kissing The Enemy

by Helena Newbury

  A foot caught me under the chin and sent me sprawling backwards in the mud. I tasted blood. When I looked up, I saw Yuri, Vasiliy’s personal bodyguard. A flash of lightning lit up the scars on his cheek—someone had really done a number on the guy.

  He was gazing down at me with cold fury. Shit. I could tell immediately that he knew about Irina. How?

  As if in answer, he tapped his ear and I saw the radio earpiece he wore. “I listen,” he grunted. His English wasn’t as good as Vasiliy’s. “Car is bugged. I want to know what is going on. I want to be ready if you cross Vasiliy. But instead, I hear you use Irina. Irina!”

  Shit. This got worse and worse. There are bodyguards and bodyguards. There are the hired guns who don’t give a shit who they protect as long as they get paid and then there are the loyal ones, the guys who stay with one family so long they become part of it. Yuri was the second kind—I could hear in his voice that Irina was like a little sister to him. “No!” I shouted over the rain. “It’s not like that!”

  He growled and grabbed my foot, then spun and heaved me through the air like he was throwing the hammer. I crashed down on my back on the concrete floor of a part-finished building. Pain shot through my spine and I wondered if I’d broken something. Certainly, I wasn’t getting up anytime soon.

  Yuri came over to stand at my feet. The rain was pounding down on my upturned face and I was panting and exhausted by my desperate scramble through the mud. Another time, I could have taken him, but not now. I was done. “I swear,” I croaked. “I love her.”

  It just came out. I didn’t know I was going to say it until I had.

  Yuri stared down at me for a moment, his hulking body outlined by the rain crashing against his shoulders and back. For a moment, his expression seemed to soften and he looked almost sad. “Then you are very stupid,” he said. “And very unlucky.”

  He dropped to one knee and pulled a knife from his belt, then lifted it high to drive it down into my heart.

  There was a crack and a cloud of dust exploded from the half-finished wall behind Yuri. He dived to the floor—he was ex-military, judging by how fast he reacted. A second shot rang out, this one hitting the wall right where he’d been standing. Yuri scrambled behind a waist-high pile of breeze blocks.

  Rico emerged out of the darkness, rifle in his arms, covered in mud up to his knees. “How many times,” he panted, “do I have to save your ass?” He swapped his rifle for a handgun and pointed it at the breeze blocks. “Get up!”

  I clambered to my feet, which took a while. I was exhausted, frozen and my back and ribs were badly bruised—maybe worse. I staggered over to Rico and threw an arm around his shoulders. He supported me and we backed away into the mud, all the time keeping a watchful eye on where Yuri was hiding. Then, when darkness surrounded us, we ran.

  Ten long, exhausting minutes later, we finally reached the edge of the construction site. I wanted to weep at how good the sidewalk felt under my feet. Rico helped me stumble to where he’d parked the car. A streetlight lit us up as we passed under it and I got a look at his face. There was so much anger in his eyes...and so much hurt, too. Hurt that I’d ignored his warnings. Hurt that I’d turned my back on everything he understood. Even, for some reason, hurt that I was with Irina.

  But he didn’t say any of it. He said, “Where to, boss?”

  I tightened the arm I had around his shoulders, pulling him into a half-hug. “Home,” I said. “Take me home.”

  * * *

  A half hour later, I stood in the shower stall in my apartment, scalding water beating down on my head and shoulders. The water turned first brown as the mud rinsed off me, then red as the scrapes and cuts on my back opened up. There was a sharp pain in one side whenever I took a deep breath. When I emerged, Rico felt around and declared that I’d bust a rib, and taped it up as best he could.

  I took a look at my reflection in the mirror. It looked as if I’d been through a war. My face was covered in tiny scratches where the windshield glass had hit me, my torso was bound with medical tape, my back was a mess of purple and black bruises and my normal upright posture was gone—I was slumped, dog-tired and aching.

  None of which bothered me. Even the thought of what Vasiliy and Mikhail would unleash against me didn’t bother me. The only thing on my mind was Irina.

  I’d finally listened to her voicemail on the way to my apartment. I’d been calling her ever since. But she wasn’t picking up.

  33

  Irina

  Lockdown

  I’d been on lockdown before. Everyone in a bratva family has. Whenever the danger from a rival gang gets too high, whenever there’s word of a hit: lockdown. Everyone is moved to the most secure house, armed guards patrol and no one’s allowed to leave.

  When I was a kid, it was almost fun. I’d get to stay home from school and Lizaveta and I would make dens under Vasiliy’s kitchen table. Now, though, it felt very different. This time, I felt like a prisoner.

  A mud-stained Yuri had driven me to Vasiliy’s townhouse. I hadn’t seen Vasiliy, yet. I’d asked to, but Yuri had simply shaken his head sadly. That truly terrified me. How much damage had I done?

  How could I have been so stupid? How could I have thought that Vasiliy wouldn’t find out, especially when I had enemies like Mikhail?

  Worst of all, I had no idea whether Angelo was alive or dead. Yuri had confiscated my phone.

  I sat alone on one of the huge leather couches in the living room, hugging my legs and tipped over to the side so that I could press my cheek against the arm. I wanted to be as small as possible. I wanted to sink into the couch’s depths. I’d caused this. I’d gone against my destiny and tried to start something with an American. I’d pursued it even when I found out he was the enemy, betraying my family. I’d persuaded Angelo to try to make peace and led him straight into a trap that might have cost him his life.

  The door opened and Mikhail shambled in. One side of his head was bandaged and there were drips of blood on his shirt. What the hell had happened at the meet?!

  He eyed me silently for a long time, his gaze raking over my body. The familiar sick feeling started, but this time it was worse, bitter and cold. Having someone leer at you when they like you is one thing. Having someone do it when they hate you, when they’ll do anything in their power to hurt you—that’s unbearable.

  The last thing I wanted to do was speak to him, but I needed to know. “Please,” I said, looking up at him. “Please—what happened to Angelo?”

  He just stared at me for another minute, making me sweat. Then he sank down onto the couch next to me, his hip brushing mine. He leaned in close and put his lips to my ear in a hideous parody of a kiss. I forced myself not to pull away because I needed to know….

  He whispered, “You’re a disloyal whore. And you’ll get what’s coming to you.”

  I jerked away from him as if he’d slapped me. I was still staring at him in horror when the door was flung open. Vasiliy stood there, his face thunderous. He jerked his head in the direction of his study.

  Feeling numb, I got up and followed him out of the room. Behind me, I could feel Mikhail smirking.

  In his study, Vasiliy wouldn’t look at me. He sat down slowly behind his desk. Too slowly. And he picked up a pen and moved it too carefully, too deliberately. I’d been around him enough years that I could tell when he was trying to contain his rage and this was the worst I’d ever seen him. He placed his hands flat on the desktop, flexing his fingers as if he wanted to tear great handfuls out of the wood. “Why?” he asked at last.

  A huge lump rose up in my throat. “Is he alive?” I whispered. “Just tell me that. Is he alive?”

  Vasiliy finally looked up at me and the look he gave me made me wish I hadn’t asked. He looked at me as if he didn’t know me. As if I was an enemy.

  “You lie to me,” he said, his voice a tight little whisper. “You betray me. After all these years. After everything I’ve done for you. You side with my enemy and you
plot against me. Why?”

  I’d been trying to get away from Vasiliy for years. Suddenly, I was. I was no longer a Malakov, not to him. I was free...and it was agony. I’d never wanted this, never wanted to see the man who’d raised me torn apart. People said Vasiliy Malakov was emotionless but right then he was almost trembling, he was so wounded and angry. And it was all thanks to me.

  “I didn’t mean for it to happen,” I croaked. “I fell in love with him.” And there it was. I’d said it.

  He stared at me in silence. “Did you do it to hurt me?” he said at last.

  “No! It...it wasn’t about who he was. I didn’t even know, at first! It was about him. Us.”

  “You told him about our plan with the bikers,” he said. He looked off into the corner, as if he couldn’t bear to look at me anymore.

  I was trying not to cry, now. “I was worried he was going to get killed.”

  “So you turned on your family?”

  “No! I told him to call off the meet!”

  “But he didn’t. And Josef was shot. And you stood there and let me accuse Mikhail’s men. You let him accuse Yuri!”

  “I’m sorry!”

  “Get out.”

  I took a half step forward. “Vasiliy, please—”

  “Get. Out.” And this time, I saw his knuckles whiten as his hands clawed at the desk. He wanted me to go before he lost control.

  I fled. I ran to one of the guest rooms up on the top floor and buried my face in the bed. I’d lost my family. I’d lost Angelo. I cried it out with big, wracking sobs: Malakovs don’t cry, but I wasn’t a Malakov anymore.

  It was hours later when I finally stumbled out onto the balcony. I wanted to be numb again. I wanted to not feel the deep, jagged pain where my family had been torn out of me. But as soon as the freezing air engulfed me, I wanted his hands on me, warming me. Angelo! I was going crazy, not knowing if he was alive or dead.

  Voices below me. Mikhail and Vasiliy, standing on the patio downstairs. It was a still night and their voices carried. “—with her?” Mikhail was saying.

  Vasiliy shook his head and I was glad the shadows hid his expression. “She’s dead to me,” he said.

  I felt as if I’d been punched in the chest.

  “Don’t be too hard on her,” said Mikhail. “Women do stupid things. That bastard seduced her. Told her what she wanted to hear.”

  Vasiliy looked at the ground and shook his head, but this time with sadness. “She must go back to Moscow,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “With someone who can protect her.” Then he nodded towards the house. “Come on. We have a lot to do. That bastard’s turf is going to burn, tonight.”

  They disappeared inside. I retreated into the guest room and quietly closed the doors, then leaned against them.

  I’m dead to him.

  For a long time, I just stood there, my heart breaking.

  One thing finally got me moving again. I’d destroyed everything else: had I killed Angelo, too? I had to know.

  Yuri had taken my cell phone and I didn’t dare use the house phone. But I knew Yuri kept a stash of “burner” phones for when he or Vasiliy needed to make an untraceable call.

  I didn’t want to run into Vasiliy. I wanted to run into Mikhail even less. But I forced myself to creep out of the guest room and down the stairs to the first floor. The door to Vasiliy’s office was open and I could hear him and Mikhail talking inside. I could hear Mikhail’s finger sliding across a map as he outlined where he was going to attack: the restaurants and nightclubs he’d burn, the bars he’d smash…. I’d tried to stop a war and I’d started one instead. And it was worse, much worse, than if things had escalated on their own. I could hear the rage in Vasiliy’s voice as they talked. This was about revenge and it would be bloody and brutal.

  “Don’t do it yourself,” I heard him grunt. “Keep your hands clean.”

  “I will, I will,” said Mikhail airily. He sounded almost happy. Of course he was: he’d gotten exactly what he wanted.

  I took a deep breath and stole past the door and on down the hallway, then down the spiral staircase that led to the old servant quarters in the basement, where Yuri and the other live-in bodyguards had their rooms. I knew which room was Yuri’s because I’d sat on his bed with him a few times while he taught me things: how to shoot a gun, for one, and how to get out of plastic zip ties. Last-resort skills, for if I was ever kidnapped. If Vasiliy was like my father, Yuri had been like an older brother to me. Another person I’ve lost.

  Yuri’s room was empty and, as always, immaculate. It reminded me of an army barracks, the blanket so tight on the bed you could bounce a coin off it. There were some very old books, a tiny closet and a gun rack. Is this really all he has in his life? It seemed so cold, so lonely.

  I knelt, pulled the box of burner phones from under Yuri’s bed and grabbed one. I should take it upstairs. But what if someone saw me with it on the way up? They’d take it off me and then I might never know….

  No. I wasn’t risking it. I had to know now. I dialed Angelo’s number.

  He picked up on the second ring. “Irina?”

  “Angelo!” My eyes closed and I slumped against Yuri’s bed in relief. At the same time, I felt a sudden, deep ache right down the front of my body: the need to press myself against him and the pain of not being able to. He sounded so far away. “Are you okay?”

  “Fine. Where are you?”

  I told him about being on lockdown in Vasiliy’s house. How he wanted to send me back to Moscow. How he was gearing up for all-out war. “How do we turn this off?!” I asked, my voice quavering. “This is our fault!”

  I heard him rub his face with his hands. “I know. Look, stay safe. Let me figure things out. I—”

  My breath caught in my chest. I knew which two words he’d bitten back. Because he wasn’t sure? Or because it was crazy to say them, with everything that was going on?

  “I’ll see you soon,” he said at last. “I’ll find a way.”

  I ended the call. I knew I should get out of there, but all the energy had just drained out of me. I’ll see you soon. How?! We were at war. And I was going to be on a plane back to Moscow within a few days at most.

  I was never going to see him again.

  That was when I heard footsteps in the hallway. Chyort! I shoved the phone into my jeans, pushed the box back where it was, then looked around for an escape route. There wasn’t one. The room was about eight feet square and the footsteps were too close: whoever was approaching would see me coming out….

  I stood up just as Yuri walked in. I tried to come up with an explanation as to why I was there, but the way he looked at me made the excuses die in my throat.

  Yuri had been a constant throughout my life. He’d been around when my parents were alive, then I’d gotten to know him even better when I went to live with Vasiliy. He’d driven me to ballet lessons, he’d kicked the ass of a boyfriend who tried to get too touchy in the back seat, he’d once stopped the car and held my hair while I leaned out of the door and threw up after drinking too much...and he hadn’t told Vasiliy. He was the best.

  And the way he stared at me just killed me. Vasiliy had been mad but Yuri just looked...wounded.

  I threw myself at him and wrapped my arms around him, burying my face in his chest. He let out a long sigh and stroked my hair.

  “I’m s—sorry,” I sobbed.

  He made shh-ing noises, like the ones he used to make when Lizaveta had a nightmare and couldn’t sleep. He’d always been surprisingly good at it.

  “Don’t hate me,” I managed between sobs. “I need someone to not hate me.”

  His arms tightened around me and he let out a long-suffering sigh. “I could never hate you.”

  I squeezed him tight. When I finally got control of my voice again, I asked, “Do you think Vasiliy can ever love me again?”

  “I don’t think he could ever stop loving you,” said Yuri. “But there will be changes. You will have to go back
to Moscow. You must never see this man again.”

  Fresh tears forced their way up from the depths, scalding hot and bitter. “I love him!”

  “Then you too are stupid and unlucky.”

  I frowned. You too?

  Yuri shook his head. “But that does not make this right.”

  “I know,” I said in a tiny voice. He still hadn’t asked what I was doing in his room. He thinks I came to see him, I realized. And that made me feel even worse, because that’s what I should have done.

  He hugged me like that for a few moments, rocking me gently from side to side. “You are not like other Malakovs. Too much fire. Your mother had too much fire, too.”

  “Then...why did she stay?” I blurted. I pushed myself back from his chest so that I could look up at him and sniffed. “She used to tell me that she didn’t want this for me. She didn’t want me to be with a gangster. If she didn’t like it, why did she stay?”

  Yuri thought for a moment. “Because she was stubborn like you are, too. She saw she was good for your father.”

  “She stayed because she loved him?”

  “Yes. And because he needed her.”

  I looked blankly at him.

  He sighed and looked at the ceiling. “I am not right person to explain fucking women,” he muttered to himself. “Your father...he was cold. Very cold. He could be cruel to his enemies.”

  I frowned. My dad had been tough, sure, but I hadn’t thought of him as cold or cruel.

  Yuri read my look. “I knew him in his early days, before he met your mother. She balanced him. Is same way with all Malakov men.”

  I thought of Luka and Arianna. Of Angelo’s mother, supporting his father. Suddenly, it all started to make sense. I thought of Vasiliy: I knew he’d used to be warmer and kinder, when I was growing up. “Vasiliy...when his wife died, is that when he started to turn cruel?”