Andrei: A Dark Mafia Romance (Bakhtin Bratva)

by Nicole Fox

  Finally, he picks up.

  “Yes? I’m busy, Jamie.”

  “I need to visit the prisoner,” I say, phrasing this very carefully. Not, I need to see Andrei. That would sound too romantic, too hungry. “I’m having the mask resized so that it restricts his breathing for the exhibition, and I need to take the measurements.”

  “Have Jerry do it,” Dad says dismissively. “Anything else?”

  Damn, I didn’t consider that. Of course somebody else can do it. I’m finding I’m good at thinking on my feet, though, and I quickly improvise. “It has to be me, though.”

  “Why?” Dad snaps.

  “Because he has to know that I’m the one who’s behind his torture, his execution. I need to look him in the eye and tell him his days of tricking me are over.”

  Dad draws in a breath. I can hear him smiling and imagine him thinking that, finally, I’m starting to sound like a Family girl, loyal and violent.

  “Fine, fine,” he huffs. “I get it, Jamie. But don’t hang around for too long, okay? I’m making the arrangements for the executions as we speak. It’s going to be a big affair. The Bostonians are coming, as well as a few proper Irishmen from Dublin, Belfast, and Cork.”

  “So, it’s set in stone, then,” I say. “June 12 is the day.”

  “Yes,” Dad says, and I can hear his grin getting wider. “I know, sweetie. I wish it was sooner, too, but this works out quite well. There is some business with the Bostonians and the Dubliners that I’ve needed to handle for a while. The date is perfect, in fact.”

  “Perfect,” I repeat hollowly. “Yes, it is. You need to tell Ronan to let me go down.”

  “Yeah, all right. Put me on speakerphone, then.”

  I do as he asks, and Dad orders, “Let her down, boy.”

  “Yes, sir,” Ronan says at once, pressing the intercom button to talk to the guard downstairs. “Miss O’Gallagher and Garret are coming down, Jerry. Type in the code, please. I’ve already got permission from the boss.”

  “Okay,” Jerry grumbles, sounding unhappy about it. But he does as Dad says, and soon, Garret and I are riding down to the cell.

  I’ve done this so many times before, but it feels different now, foreboding. I cover my belly with my hands. It’s still hard to believe there’s a life in there. Is this what all pregnant women feel like, I wonder, this complete disbelief?

  It’s an everyday thing, being pregnant. Literally millions of people are pregnant right this second. But to me, it feels like magic. Especially since I’m the only one who knows. Not even Molly or Garret. My little secret.

  For now.

  Jerry arches his eyebrow at Garret as the elevator doors open. “Surprised you’re still around, old man.”

  Garret’s eyes narrow, the fresh worry lines pinching. “The boss knows I’m loyal, Jerry. That’s more than I can say for you.”

  Jerry blinks. “How’s that?”

  “Selling out the boss’s daughter to Declan Walsh. That’s weakness, boy. That’s pathetic. Declan is not your don, the last time I checked.”

  “Don’t question my loyalty,” Jerry hisses, stepping forward. “Not you, of all people. You let that Russian pig do what he wanted with the Irish princess—”

  I step forward, seriously pissed at this habit Family men have of talking about me like I’m not standing right here. “Enough of this crap!” I bark. “We’re here to see the prisoner.”

  Jerry looks immediately suspicious. “Why?”

  “Who cares why?” I almost yell. “Dad’s given us permission. So back off.”

  There isn’t much he can say to that. He leads us to the end of the hallway, making sure to cup his hand over the keypad as he types in the code, hiding it from us, the supposedly disloyal. The heavy metal door swings open.

  I gasp when I see Andrei strung up like a slab of beef, his face crusty with blood. He looks awful. I’m supposed to hate him, so the gasp is clearly a mistake. But it’s just too horrible.

  “Andrei,” I whisper under my breath, walking deeper into the room.

  He lifts his head slowly, painfully. But the spark in his eyes is just as bright. He looks fierce and strong despite his surroundings. I’ll never get over that, just how in control he looks at the unlikeliest of times.

  “Did you know?” he snarls.

  “Know what?” I whisper, caught off-guard. I’m pretty sure I’m the one with the revelation here, not him.

  “Your dad killed my parents,” he growls. “That fire, it wasn’t an accident—”

  I listen, rapt, as he quickly tells me. But he’s barely got halfway through the story when Jerry is rushing into the room, putting himself between us. But Andrei has said enough.

  Dad ordered the house burned down, ordered Andrei killed, executed the man when he didn’t go through with it.

  Oh.

  My.

  God.

  “Enough!” Jerry roars. “Shut your mouth. Who the fuck do you think you are, spitting these vicious lies? I’ll beat you until you can’t walk!”

  Andrei just smiles. “You tried when I was cuffed and blindfolded, big man,” he growls. “What makes you think you’ll fare better now? Come on, try it.”

  Even with his hands and legs bound, he looks dangerous. Energy thrums from him. I’m still reeling from the revelation. I never knew we were so inextricably connected. It’s such a mess. I’m pregnant by the man whose parents my dad killed … I mean, that even sounds confusing. Like a verbal knot.

  “We’re done here,” Andrei says, looking at me now. His expression is cold. It knocks me off balance. He’s never looked at me like that before. It’s more than disdain, but less than hate. It’s like he’s already seeing me in the past tense. “Whatever you came here to say, it doesn’t matter anymore.”

  I feel like I’ve just been shoved in the chest, hard. Anger flares, making the role I play all the easier. I lock eyes with him meaningfully.

  “Quiet,” I hiss. “I’m here to tell you that I’m going to parade you around like a fucking show pony on June 12 for all the Family to see. You’re going to be humiliated. Just don’t whine too much when you die. I don’t want to hear that shit. Deal?”

  His gaze flickers in recognition, both at the date and the inside joke. Deal? His smile twitches, and I wonder if, just maybe, we can bridge this gap between us. Otherwise, he stays cold and calm.

  “June 12,” he echoes. “Yes, you have a deal.”

  I don’t really have much choice other than to leave the room, because Jerry is standing intimidatingly between us and even Garret is touching my shoulder lightly. The revelation has changed everything. Clearly, they don’t want Andrei to be able to reveal any more Family secrets.

  I feel really messed up as I walk out, sort of like I’ve been emptied from the inside. My chest is pounding and my hands are shaking.

  Dad killed Andrei’s parents. I’m pregnant with Andrei’s baby. They’re going to kill Andrei.

  If only one of those statements was true, it’d be messed up enough.

  But all three? That’s nuclear levels of crazy.

  22

  Jamie

  I spend the rest of the day doing what could fairly be called moping. Basically, I just shuffle around my downtown studio, trying not to look at the photos of Andrei. But, of course, I do. As I stare at our relationship laid bare in front of me—if you can even call it a relationship—I can’t help but think about this giant mess.

  The first emotion I felt was shock. But now, after hours of letting it bounce around and around in my head, I’m angry. Furious, really, that Dad killed Andrei’s parents.

  Oh, he didn’t do it himself, but he gave the order, so he might as well have. Garret point-blank told me it was true when we left the elevator. “I didn’t tell you because I didn’t think you needed to know,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

  I leave the studio with a fire in my belly, searing through my whole body. I’m not just angry. I’m not just furious.

  I’m
fucking enraged.

  I feel the sort of rage I never have before. Because, despite everything, I was almost able to trick myself into believing Dad was at least half good. But ordering a house burned down with a child inside? Not to mention Andrei’s dad, his mom?

  Fuck.

  By the time I reach the mansion, I know I need to speak with Dad. I need to get his side of the story, if there is one … No, that’s not true. That’s just an excuse. Really, I need to vent. I need to scream.

  Because he’s put a rift between me and Andrei. This is his fault. It’s a sign of how far we’ve come that I care way more about that—this rift—than I do about the fire itself. Selfish, I know.

  When I walk into the mansion, though, it’s not Dad who comes wandering out of the living room. It’s Declan. He’s got the biggest shit-eating grin on his face I’ve ever seen, standing there with a glass of whiskey in one hand and a cigar in the other.

  “Where’s Dad?” I demand, having no desire to speak with my onetime abuser. I remember the way he marched in when he caught me and Andrei together, how satisfied he looked. The prick.

  When he doesn’t answer, I ask, “Don’t you have a house of your own, Declan? Hanging around here like a bad smell really doesn’t suit you.”

  He smirks, puffing his cigar. “I’m here to see my friend, Jerry,” he says. “But what business is that of yours? I’d think you’d have bigger concerns, Jamie, like asking yourself if our relationship really fucked you up so badly that you had to go and screw a Russian!”

  “It wasn’t a relationship,” I reply. “It was a fucking nightmare.” For the first time in a long time, maybe ever, I walk right up to him to say what I truly think about this violent motherfucker. I don’t feel the usual fear. In comparison to Andrei, this man is a worm. My baby gives me strength. I’m not going to live in terror anymore. “It was a fucking hostage situation, and we both know it. You’re a pathetic little man. The only way you can make yourself feel big is by bullying people.”

  He gawps at me, cringing away at the intensity in my voice. I’ve never spoken to him like this before. I feel powerful.

  “But your days of bullying me are over. Do you understand? If you ever try and belittle me again, I will find a way to make you suffer. I’m not saying how. I’m not saying when. But I will make you pay. I’ll tell the whole fucking world about what you did to me.”

  His jaw hangs open. “You wouldn’t dare.”

  “Why not?”

  And, really, right now it seems stupid that I never have before. I should’ve screamed it from the rooftops, but I was scared of being judged. I was scared of causing a scene. Essentially, it comes down to a cliché. Partly, I blamed myself. Partly, I thought I was in the wrong.

  But not anymore.

  I thought Declan’s abuse ruined me. But that’s not true.

  Thinking that is what threatened to ruin me.

  Never again.

  I go on when he just stands there, dumbstruck. “How forgiving do you think he’d be then? So back the fuck off and get out of my face.”

  “Hiding behind shame,” he teases weakly. “What a brave fierce warrior you are.”

  I lean close, voice bitter. I like how scared he looks. “Or maybe I’ll just tell Garret. I wonder what he would say? Andrei already knows, so you better pray he doesn’t escape. Or else, Declan, I might just do it myself. I could, you know. I’ve thought about this a lot. I definitely have it in me to put a bullet in your head.”

  He’s trembling slightly now. “You’re insane,” he whispers after a long, long pause. “There’s something wrong with you!”

  “Get out of my way.”

  Before, he never would’ve moved at a direct instruction like that. His pride, his up-his-own-ass superiority, would have made him stand in my way on principle. But, now, he drifts out of the way like a ghost of his former self. I’ve never threatened him with exposing the full extent of his abuse before.

  As I walk through the mansion, adrenaline is coursing through me like electricity. Anger, not just at Andrei’s revelation, but also at my former self, writhes in my belly like a nest of vipers. Hissing, spitting, they let me know that I should’ve taken this stand a long time ago.

  As I knock on Dad’s office door, I decide that, after the exhibition, I’m going to make Declan pay. Either through the police or other means, he’s not going to get away with what he did to me. He’s not going to have the chance to do it to somebody else again. But I just don’t have it in me to pursue this before the situation with Andrei is dealt with.

  Two hells are enough to deal with.

  When Dad doesn’t answer right away, I wonder what the hell I’m even doing here. What good can come from confronting Dad about this? I’m just letting my anger rule me. That’s not good.

  But, as I’m turning gratefully away, the door swings open and Dad is standing there. He looks the way he does when work is busy. His eyes are red with how little he’s clearly slept. I guess arranging the exhibition-slash-execution is a big deal for him.

  “Yes?” he says impatiently.

  I don’t mean to say it. I know it’s a bad idea even as I do. But I can’t stop myself, not when he’s standing right there. “You killed Andrei’s parents.”

  He winces, and then huffs angrily. Waving a hand, he barks, “So? Is that really why you’re here, to talk about ancient history? Who cares what orders I gave or didn’t give? That was a long time ago. And, in case you’ve forgotten, Andrei is a dog neither of us gives a damn about.”

  “So you don’t deny it,” I press on, even as alarm sirens blare in my mind. It’s like I’m seeing my dad for the first time. I can’t stop. He talks so casually about ordering children and women killed. “You killed a woman. You tried to kill a child.”

  He growls out a sigh and spins around, walking into the office. “I don’t have time for whatever the hell this is, Jamie. I’ve got the Bostonians jockeying for position around the dining table—the fucking dining table—with the Dubliners telling me they should get pride of place, since they’re traveling the furthest. If I knew this was going to turn into such a goddamn headache, I would’ve executed him on the spot.”

  That’s all he cares about, I realize. He’s not angry because I know. He’s not even angry that my opinion of him might have changed. He’s just annoyed that I’m interrupting him.

  I slam my hand on his desk. “A fucking kid!” I scream. “What sort of a monster are you?”

  He jumps, as though completely taken aback by this outburst. As though I’m in the wrong for objecting to him ordering children killed.

  “Calm down, Jamie. What the hell has gotten into you? They were Russians. They were a threat to our Family. I thought you were over this, your little soft spot?”

  I lean forward, right across the table. “Are you seriously telling me you don’t see anything wrong with having children killed? Seriously?”

  “Change your tone,” he glowers. “I mean it. I don’t have the patience for this.”

  “Mom would be disgusted,” I hiss. “Imagine what she’d say if she knew about this—”

  Whack.

  His knuckles dart out, catching me just under the eye. I stumble, feet almost tripping over each other.

  My face numbs. My eyes fill with traitorous tears.

  Standing, his chest heaves. He won’t look at me. Instead, he gazes at his hand as though in disbelief. “Don’t talk about your mother. She knew how to conduct herself like a Family woman should. You need to learn from her lesson.”

  “She knew to look the other way, you mean,” I reply with venom, letting my hand drop. I stand up tall, proudly displaying the raw red mark. “Did you hit her, too?”

  “Enough,” Dad mumbles, but all the strength has left his voice. He finally lifts his gaze. “They were a threat. I dealt with it. I didn’t hear you complaining when you were going to college debt-free, when you were having cocktails with Cillian’s niece.”

  “Back then I didn
’t know you killed kids,” I tell him.

  He snorts. “You didn’t want to know about the business side. That’s the truth and we both know it. But don’t pretend this is about kids, Jamie.”

  But it is, at least partly. Because I’m pregnant now. I’m a mother.

  “This is about that Russian,” he goes on, shaking his head at me, smirking meanly. His looks so much like Declan, I almost keel over and vomit right there. “I was willing to go along with your little play, telling me he tricked you, playing up the naïve daughter angle. I was good with that, Jamie. But it’s clear you still have feelings for the man.”

  My mouth falls open. Naïve daughter routine. How long has he known it’s an act? Hours? Days? Years?

  “You obviously don’t care enough to keep up your side of the bargain.”

  “My side of the … what?”

  He grimaces. “We both know what you really are. You’re disobedient. You misbehave. You care far more about your little photography hobby than you do about what you should care about: the Family, finding the right husband, being a good daughter and hostess. But I was willing to look the other way as long as you were willing to play the role when I needed you to.” He sighs and rubs his temples, like I’m giving him a headache.

  “But now? Now, I think you’ve gone too far. I think your true colors are shining through. You say your mother would be ashamed of me? No, Jamie, I truly think she would be disgusted with you.”

  I’m blindsided. It takes every ounce of restraint not to grab the scissors off his desk and dive at him.

  “I hate you,” I spit. “What sort of a monster are you? Do you really expect me to believe that Mom would care more about me not being your personal slave than you killing kids? Are you really that fucked up?”

  “Just leave,” he growls. “If it wasn’t for all these fucking arrangements, I’d go down there and beat Andrei to death myself. You make me sick. After June 12, we’re going to change a few things around here.