by Red Phoenix
“That’s very chivalrous of them,” she giggles.
“Once I explained the women were there because they enjoyed it, it didn’t take them long to embrace the BDSM lifestyle.”
She looks at me with adoration. “What a gift you’ve given them.”
I shrug. “It turned out I’ve learned a few things from them as well.”
“Good friends will do that.”
I lean my elbow on the table and smile at her. “I can’t wait for you to meet them.”
She reaches over and squeezes my hand. “I can’t either, Anton.”
I go back to eating my last remaining syrniki while she finishes cooking the final batch. “Do you remember that time when you and Titov staged that fake bratva shootout downtown and almost got yourselves killed?”
I burst out laughing, having forgotten that. “The police thought we really were the bratva and hauled us to jail. Imagine their surprise when our automatic rifles turned out to be painted broomsticks. It was epic!”
She shakes her head. “As funny as it was, it was a terribly dangerous stunt you two pulled.”
I shrug, stating proudly, “We were only thirteen and made the national news!”
“Da, but your father was extremely unhappy about it.”
I remember his punishment like it was yesterday. He beat me to within an inch of my life, but it was the last time I ever let him touch me again…
“I wouldn’t change a thing,” I tell her.
“I’m just glad you survived all your crazy shenanigans with Titov.”
I frown when I hear her mention his name again. My hatred for Titov has grown with each passing month since Tatianna’s death. If he hadn’t gotten involved with the bratva, she would still be alive.
“We don’t speak of his name, remember?” I remind her.
She swirls her dollop of sour cream over her syrniki slowly. “He curses himself every day for what happened.”
I stand up, roaring in anger. “And he should! He killed Tatianna because of his association with those lowlife scum. He may as well have handed her to the slavers himself.”
My head starts to spin and I can feel my blood pounding, so I sit back down and take several deep breaths to calm myself.
My mother walks over and wraps her arms around me, laying her cheek against mine. She is the only one who would dare to come near me in this state, but her touch soothes my soul and my racing heart quickly slows.
“I know her death devastates you.”
A tear runs down my face and I nod.
“But, Titov loved his sister deeply, and the guilt he bears is killing him.”
“Good,” I snort in anger.
“Anton, he did not do this. What happened is purely on Yuri’s shoulders.”
“I don’t want to hear it. I told him the bratva were bad news. I warned him.”
She looks at me with compassion. “What if something had happened when you were playing your childish prank with broomsticks and Titov had died because of it? Would you be to blame for his death?”
“Don’t do this to me,” I warn her. “I have every right to hate Titov. Every right!”
She smiles sadly. “Just know he hurts, too.”
I do not want to feel any compassion toward Titov so I shrug off her advice. “If you have any fault, it’s that you are too kind.”
When I see the hurt in her eyes, I instantly regret saying it. “I didn’t mean that.”
She nods, but goes back to her seat and quietly finishes her breakfast.
My heart aches knowing I’ve hurt her. “I love you, Mamulya. More than you know.”
Looking up at me with tears in her eyes, she smiles. “I love you too, Anton.”
Offering her a figurative olive branch, I tell her, “Someday, I may find myself in a place where I can forgive him.”
“And, I look forward to that day,” she says, gracing me with a genuine smile.
Wanting to lighten her heart, I ask, “If you could do anything—anything at all—what would you want to do today?”
She blushes slightly. “It’s simple.”
“Tell me,” I reply, interested to know her heart’s desire.
“I’d like to look at old family photos with you.”
I smirk. “I would take you anywhere and do anything with you, and that’s what you choose?”
Her smile broadens. “Da.”
“Old photos it is, then.”
We spend the entire day and into the evening pouring over every photo album she can find. Some photographs go back to my great-great-great grandfather’s time. She knows everyone’s name and shares entertaining stories or interesting facts about each person in the photos.
My mother is like a living encyclopedia of the Durovs, and she wasn’t even born into our family. I stare at her in wonder, amazed that she carries so much knowledge about us.
“How do you know all this?”
“I have sought out every living relative within traveling distance and spent time talking about the family for hours.”
“Why?” I ask, stunned to learn this.
“Because the Durovs are part of my boys’ heritage.”
I give her a hug, inspired by her deep love for her children. “You’re amazing, Mamulya.”
She settles against me, smiling. “So are you, my son.”
The phone rings, breaking our intimate moment. My mother gets up to answer it, and smiles as she hands the phone to me. “It’s your friend, Sergei.”
I frown, wondering why he’s calling me here. We haven’t spoken since the day I left for America.
“What’s up, Sergei?” I ask stiffly.
“I just heard you’re back in town and thought you should get drunk with the gang at our favorite bar. We’re all curious to hear what America was like.”
I quickly answer, “Not tonight.”
My mother waves at me to get my attention, whispering, “What does he want?”
I cup my hand over the phone. “He wants me to hang with the guys. Nothing important.”
She smiles. “I think you should go. It’ll be good for you to spend time with your friends.”
“Are you sure?” I ask, uncertain about leaving.
“It would make me happy,” she answers with a twinkle in her eye.
My lips twitch in indecision, but I give into my mother’s wishes and tell Sergei, “I’ll meet you at Kamchatka tonight and, yes, I’ll buy you that drink.”
I snort in amusement as I hang up. “I suspect the only reason he called was to collect on that bet we made before I left.”
“You’re wrong.” She caresses my cheek, looking at me lovingly. “I think you’d be surprised by how many of your friends have missed you. I’m glad to see you reconnect with them.”
I shrug, admitting, “It will be good to see the gang and see what they are up to.”
I throw on a black t-shirt and jeans before I head out to the bar. “I’ll try to get back at a more reasonable hour this time.”
She laughs. “I’m not worried.”
I grab the keys, giving her one last hug before heading downstairs. “I’ll tell Sergei you gave me a curfew.”
Her laughter is the last thing I hear as I lock the front door behind me and walk to the car. I glance back at the house to see my mother standing at the window, waving down at me.
As I raise my hand up to wave back, the hairs on my neck begin to rise. I see the outline of someone approaching her from behind. With lightning speed, he grabs her around the waist and unceremoniously slits my mother’s throat.
The man lets her fall to the floor and then looks out the window at me.
I run back to the door but have to fumble for the keys before I can unlock it. Even as I race up the stairs, I know I’m already too late to save her.
When I reach the room, I find my mother lying in a pool of red.
The assassin is gone and, as much as I want to chase him down to kill him, I go to comfort my mother instead.
Sinking to the floor, I gather her into my arms. The look of surprise on her face as she stares up at me does me in. I hold my hand against her throat but can’t stop the blood that pours from her with each heartbeat.
“I love you, Mamulya,” I tell her as my heart rips in two.
She looks up at me, trying to speak, but chokes on her own blood. The only thing I can think of to comfort her as she dies is to sing the lullaby she used to sing when I was a boy.
My voice catches as I sing to her.
Darkness is falling,
The moon will be rising
The stars will be shining
The sun’s gone to sleep
Close your eyes
And I’ll rock you gently
And wish you sweet dreams
While you sleep
Good night,
Good night
Now it is time to sleep.
Tears stream down my face as the light fades in her eyes and I feel her spirit leave.
Closing her eyelids, I cradle her body against mine, rocking her as I moan with uncontrollable grief.
My sweet mamulya is dead.
Terrifying Truth
I only see red…
I leave my mother, my clothes drenched in her blood, to seek out the man responsible for this. With no thought for myself, I speed toward Koslov headquarters, knowing that is where I will find him.
I am bent on avenging my mother’s death at any cost and break through their security with minimal effort, the sight of me striking terror in the hearts of Koslov’s men.
I demand to see Vladimir Durov.
Seeing I am covered in blood, and not wanting to add his own to the mix, a nervous guard offers to take me directly to him. I follow him down the corridors to a gambling area where I find my father sitting at a poker table with a large stack of chips in front of him.
The sight of him incenses me and I roar like a deranged lion.
He looks up from his cards and freezes when he sees me.
“You did this!” I yell.
He drops his cards and stands up, sputtering as he looks around at the others for help. “What…what…are you doing here?”
I stare him in the eye and say with deadly certainty, “I’m here to kill you.”
My father steps back as several of Koslov’s men move in front of him with their guns drawn, acting as a barrier against my impending fury.
Their effort is pointless—nothing will stop me from killing him.
“Why did you send an assassin for your wife?” I demand, wanting that question answered before I rip out his throat with my own teeth.
“I don’t know what you are talking about…!” he cries in terror, moving further away from me.
The fact that he isn’t surprised or asks about what has happened to her only confirms his guilt.
“She loved you. She was loyal to you! Why the fuck would you kill her?”
Rather than answer my question, he cries out to the Koslov men, “You can’t shoot him.”
If he foolishly thinks that will save his life, he’s mistaken. It only angers me more. “You killed her, and for that, you must die. But I will not be as quick.”
When I step forward, Koslov’s men ready their guns, but my father screams again, “You can’t kill him!”
I laugh like a lunatic, intent on ripping my father to pieces no matter how many men must die in the process.
“Stop!”
I turn to see the Koslov brothers, Gavriil and Stas, standing in the doorway.
“Do not make another move toward him,” Gavriil warns me.
I glare at the fool, having zero respect for him. “You have no say in this.”
“But we do,” his boyish brother sneers.
“How?” I demand of Gavriil, ignoring Stas completely.
“Vladimir has paid his debt in full,” he states with a cold smile.
A chill runs down my spine.
I turn to my father in a rage. “She died for your gambling debt?”
The blood in my veins starts pumping furiously as my vision starts to blur.
The great Vladimir, feared by many, now cowers behind a wall of men. I can smell his fear.
We both know we are going to die tonight.
I only see red as I rush toward Koslov’s men, screaming my battle cry. My lethal fists meet flesh and bone as I let the berserker inside have free reign over me…
I wake up in pain. My body feels as if it’s been put through a meat grinder.
I blink several times before turning my head and am surprised to see Nikolay, the Koslov Pakhan. My brain can’t fathom why the head of the Koslov organization would be sitting across from me, but I know I’m in danger.
Despite the pain, I bolt up from the couch, crouching defensively, my fight instinct kicking in as I glance around the room for possible attackers.
But, we are alone.
I put my fists down and glare at Nikolay, wondering why he has brought me here.
“You are a bull when you lose your mind, Anton. It took eight of my men to finally take you down, and that was after you incapacitated five of them.”
I ask him the only question that matters. “Did I kill him?”
“Who? Your father?”
I say nothing. It is a foolish question.
Nikolay smiles casually. “Thankfully not, because I would not have been able to save you, if you had.” He goes on to explain, “My grandsons are very possessive of your father for some unfathomable reason.”
I suspect that my father is a pawn in some sick, twisted game of theirs, but it was my sweet mother who suffered for it. I feel the unbearable ache return knowing she is gone, and I have to close my eyes to keep the tears from falling in front of the Pakhan.
“Unfortunately, my men paid the price protecting him from you,” Nikolay complains.
It makes no sense to me that the Koslovs would risk their men for Vladimir Durov, and I question him on it.
Nikolay presses his fingers together thoughtfully, taking his time to answer. “My grandsons have an unusual attachment to your father that I do not care for but, once they publicly announced that he was under the protection of the Koslovs, I unwillingly became duty-bound to see that he remains unharmed. To allow Vladimir to die would be a mark against our family. I cannot allow that as Pakhan.”
“You should have let me kill him!”
He meets my gaze and says simply, “I did not want to see you die.”
His answer surprises me and I instantly become suspicious. Am I just another pawn to get back at his unruly grandsons? I refuse to be played and demand, “Why? I am nothing to you.”
Nikolay smiles. “Did your grandfather ever speak of me?”
I do remember my grandfather mentioning Nikolay on several occasions and answer with the truth, even though the Pakhan may find it insulting. “He told me he respected you despite your connection to the bratva.”
Chuckling, Nikolay replies, “He and I have always had a mutual respect for each other, yes. What I admired in him, I see in you. It is the reason I ordered a stay of execution and had them bring you to my chambers.”
My heart starts racing. Does he plan to kill me without allowing me the satisfaction of taking my father out?
“I am your prisoner just waiting for my own death?”
Nikolay stands up. He is an extremely tall man and towers over me, but I am not intimidated by his stature. I could still take him out.
“No, Anton. You are not a prisoner here. You can leave right now, if you wish. However, you should know that my grandsons want you dead and there will come a time when I will not be able to prevent it.”
“Because?” I demanded.
Nikolay looks away, saying in a resigned voice, “I will pass on to the other side and whether I want it or not, they will become the new ruling power over the Koslovs.”
“Those two are worthless. Unworthy of the Koslov name,” I protest.
He nods. “I agree.”
He shrugs. “It’s no different than you and your father. We do not choose our bloodline. Sometimes nature makes a mistake—or, in my case, two.”
I snort, agreeing with his assessment.
When his expression grows serious, I realize I’m about to discover the true reason I’ve been brought here.
“Your grandfather found himself in the same predicament I find myself in now. But, unlike me, who has no one else to choose from, he was able to pass over his son when it came time to grant his inheritance to someone.”
I shake my head. What game is he trying to play? I’m not a fool like his grandsons and growl, “This is utter nonsense!”
He looks at me gravely. “When your grandfather gave you his ring, he passed on everything he had to you.”
I look down at the gold ring with the black dragon and huff, stating sarcastically, “Why was I not made aware of this?”
He raises an eyebrow, telling me, “Being a highly intelligent individual, your grandfather always had a method to his madness.”
He looks at the ring again. “Although your father knows exactly what that ring on your finger represents, few others do. I suspect your grandfather wanted you to live out your youth unencumbered by the responsibility such immense wealth would bring.”
I throw back my head and laugh sarcastically. “That is the reason you spared me? You want his money?”
“I have no interest in your inheritance,” Nikolay replies, clearly insulted.
I fold my arms, snorting in disbelief. “I find it very odd that I was not made aware of this.”
“You’ve been living off a portion of that inheritance since your grandfather died. Have you never questioned the source?”
I shrug. “I assumed it was funded by the inheritance, but the allowance came directly from my father.”
“Sneaky bastard,” Nikolay mutters under his breath, shaking his head.
I uncross my arms, spreading them wide as I laugh. “So, are you trying to claim that all this time, I have been rich but didn’t know it?”
Nikolay gazes at me, thinking for a moment before stating, “There must be an age clause set in his will.”
An age clause? All of this is getting too farfetched, but he has entertained me so far, so I bait him to continue by asking, “What do you mean?”
