by Coco Miller
“Good. And the card? You gave it to her?”
“Da,” he answers. “Shame her father owes us money. I’d hate for it to fall on her shoulders.”
I do too, but honestly it’s something I hope happens. I hope her father never pays up so I have leverage over him. I have a plan and I need an excuse to execute it. I want Alegra for myself and I know the way to get her.
My father would strongly disapprove. A man like me, a man who’s entire life is the Bratva, has no business with a woman like her– a woman so pure, so innocent, so clean. I’d dirty her up with all the blood I have on my hands, but a part of me is okay with that, because it is these hands that will always protect her.
Regardless of my damned soul, I find myself yearning for Alegra to save it from being engulfed in complete damnation. Even if it is just a sliver that escapes from hell, I’ll be eternally grateful.
I stack the photos up neatly, brushing my thumb over her cheek before I place them in the drawer to my right. I admire them every day and even when I finally have her in my arms, because I will have her, I’ll still stare at the photos every morning.
With a soft thud, I lock the drawer and open the one on my left and pull out a gold leafed cigar. I run it under my nose and inhale, sighing when the rich smell of maple marinated tobacco awakens my senses.
And makes me a little hungry for pancakes.
“You want one?” I stretch out a cigar for my dear friend.
Vlad takes two large steps toward the desk and takes it from my fingers. “Da. Thank you,” he says with appreciation.
As soon as he sits down in the large leather chair, my father opens the door to my office without knocking. “We are leaving. Let’s go.” He snaps his fingers and just like that, Vlad and I stand from our chairs, placing the cigars on the desk.
“I guess we are savings these for later.”
Vlad lets out a dreamy sigh. “I was really looking forward to it.”
I slap his thick shoulder. “It will only taste better later, my friend.”
I take one longing glance at the locked drawer, almost feeling as if I am leaving Alegra behind. I wish I had time to take a photo with me, but when my father says we are leaving, there is no time to waste.
My father’s leather shoes echo down the hallway as he hurries to the main foyer of the warehouse where we all live. It’s a fortress here and a very impressive home. Most of the Bratva lives here in their own separate wings. It’s safer for all of us to be together because we never know when we will be at war. Especially with the Italians on the other side of the city. Things have been stressed between us to say the least.
It’s why my father is wearing Italian shoes. They are the previous shoes of the last capo he killed from one of the families of the local Italian mob.
My father is a bit twisted like that.
The redwood floors shine as we hurry behind him from the crystal chandeliers hanging above us.
“Where do you think we are going?” Vlad asks me.
I unbutton the suit as we walk and place my hands in my pockets after. As we walk the long mile, painted portraits of the previous Bratva bosses hang along the wall and none of them were married. They always had children out of wedlock.
They never wanted to love a woman, but they always wanted an heir to the throne. Somehow, they were always boys. But I look forward to the day a woman is born into the family business. I hope that honor falls on me, only I want a wife also. I don’t think the men in my family give women enough credit or respect, or maybe it’s because they don’t want the pain of losing someone they love.
Either way, none of those excuses are not good enough for me.
When we get to the door that leads to the garage, I expect my father to say something, anything about where we are going but he doesn’t. Vlad opens the door and my father goes straight for the SUV. Vlad also opens the passenger door for my father while I climb in the backseat.
“Where are we going?” I question my father as Vlad runs around the car to get into the driver’s seat.
“We are paying Mark a visit. I want my money.”
Shit.
“Vlad saw his daughter today. He gave her the message to give to her father. We should wait.”
The Bratva isn’t known for waiting, but I’ve somehow persuaded my father to go easy on Mark Wilson because of Alegra. My father isn’t a patient man though, and when his money is late, he always wants to collect.
He turns in his seat, the black leather rubs against his five−thousand dollar black suit, and his cold blue eyes land on me. “I don’t like to wait. The card is not enough. I’m done playing nice. We have a reputation to uphold.”
I know better than to question my father when he has made up his mind on something.
“Yes, Papasha.”
I lean my elbow on the side of the door as we reverse out of the garage. We pass a few armed guards as we pull out of the eight−foot tall iron gate. I know once we are a safe distance away, they will close it and keep the grounds safe.
Security wouldn’t have to be so large if so many people didn’t want our heads on spears. It’s a dangerous life being a wanted man, not just by enemies but by the cops. They never have anything to pin on us, just speculation, but I know they always watch us, waiting to take us down.
They never will.
We are smarter than those pigs.
The driveway is long, a few miles of black pavement and tall pine trees line either side, casting a shadow created by a natural canopy. Many bodies are buried by these trees, giving them plenty of nutrition to grow tall and green. No one knows that.
It’s a family secret.
Vlad finally turns on the main road and the drive to the clinic is short. We pass a few businesses that I know run drugs out of their establishments. Drugs we provide. It’s our highest form of consistent income, along with people hiring us to take hits out on others. Our small business ventures include giving out loans to people like Mark.
Loans are risky endeavors for the borrowers as well as for us. A lot of the times we never get our money back. It’s why so many bodies are buried by the trees, so they lay in our debt forever.
We pull up to the front of the clinic and get out of the car. Three doors slam and all three of us begin re-buttoning our suits. We get a few stares as people walk by us, whispering to one another in their ears about what we are doing in front of such a cozy clinic. We don’t look the type to be on this side of town, but what the average Joe doesn’t realize is that the Bratva runs this city.
Local businesses are rich because of us keeping their streets safe. Scum businesses stay afloat because they traffic our drugs. Everyone somehow in some way reports to us or benefits from our presence. People know of us, whisper that we are a gang or a cult, but the Bratva lifestyle is a little different. We are more blood thirsty than a gang and we are smarter than a cult.
It’s why we are billionaires.
We may be killers, but we do it for a purpose; we don’t just kill to make a statement.
The clinic is cute. It has two sets of three steps to get to the front door. It’s lined with holly bushes and daisies planted along the walkway. Bees swarm to the flowers, pollenating our beloved environment. Delicate creatures but sorely needed for our survival.
Just like Alegra.
I know what we look like as we walk up the steps. We are always dressed in black, in the finest suits, and wearing the meanest expressions. When we open the painted red door, the bell dings above and the people in the waiting room turn to us, their smiles fading as they pet their dogs as they sense the danger standing before them.
“Get out,” my father says to the room calmly, tugging on the lapels of his suit as if it itches his skin to be in a place so beneath him. He probably thinks he has fleas.
Vlad holds the door open and the patients rush out, either carrying their pets or having them on a leash running beside their owner.
“You too, sweets.”
; My father points to the few ladies behind the front desk and the younger one swallows and nods. The small group of women stare down at their feet, their hair blonde and fake.
Nothing like my Alegra. She’s a hundred percent real.
“Ledi,” Vlad greets them as they rush out the door in Russian. He definitely does have a soft spot for the ladies, which is what the word he said means.
When they are gone, Vlad shuts the door and locks the deadbolt and then drops the blinds to the windows. There isn’t a curtain on the door, so he uses his massive body to stand in front of it.
My father almost looks like he is floating as he walks, his chest out, back straight, and chin held high. He looks great for his age. He is pushing seventy, but you wouldn’t be able to tell since he hardly has any wrinkles on his face and his blonde hair barely has grey in it. He stops at the cheap looking front desk and my father runs his finger over it, curling his lip.
“Linoleum.”
The disgust in his voice is clear. My father has high standards and very expensive taste. He rings the silver bell on the counter over and over again until Mark comes out from the back. He hasn’t seen us yet since his head is down, staring at a medical chart. My father keeps ringing it until he has Mark’s attention.
Mark nods. “Yes, I’m sorry. I do not know where my techs went. What can I help you—” He stops dead in his tracks when he sees the three of us. “With.”
He stays a safe distance from us and takes off his glasses, tucking them in the pocket of his coat. “Mr. Viktor Volkov. How can I help you today?”
“Mark, it’s good see you. I was wondering if your daughter received my message? Did she give it to you?”
Mark has darker skin than his daughter, but his face pales at the sound of hearing my father say her name.
“She did. Please, don’t involve her in this. I’ll do anything.”
“I want my money, Mark. I want it really badly, you understand?”
“I do. I know. I just…I need a little time, Mr. Volkov. I swear, I’ll get your money to you.”
My father purses his lips and drags his eyes across the desk to see a photo of Alegra. He grabs it and his face softens.
“She is beautiful. I’d hate for anything to happen to her because of your misgivings, Mark.”
“Don’t hurt her. I’ll do anything. Anything you want.”
“You have a week to give me my money or we will come to collect.”
“Collect? Collect what?”
Vlad unlocks the door, allowing my father to walk out, and opens the blinds again, letting the people know business is open again.
My father leaves Mark in silence, never answering his question, which should really be all the answer he needs.
3
Alegra
It’s been a week since that man stopped me in the middle of the road. I can almost still feel the weight of the simple business card in my hand. It felt like a thousand pounds of weight in my hand.
There’s a meaning behind that plain black card and I want to find out what it is, but I’m too scared to ask. The look on my father’s face when I gave him that card will stay with me for the rest of my life. The blackness of the card matches the shadows it has brought to my father’s eyes. He’s jumpier than usual, edgy, and has an unfamiliar look of fear in his eyes.
No, I take that back, a look of doom.
“How’s the puppy I brought in last week?” I squat when I get in front of the cage I know the little guy is in.
My father doesn’t say a word.
“Dad?”
“What?” he snaps at me, something he never does and turns his eyes to the clock on the wall.
I blow kisses at the puppy and he growls at me, launching himself at my finger playfully. I stand up, cross my arms over my chest and glare at my dad.
“What’s your deal? Why have you been like this lately?”
“Like what?”
“Like—” but as soon as I’m about to ask him, the door opens. That’s odd. We aren’t open right now. “Who is that?”
“Stay in the back! Hide in the closet, Alegra. Right now.”
“Dad—”
“Now, Alegra!” he whispers in a harsh, brisk tone.
With his hands on my shoulders, he shoves me into the closet on the side of the cages where the puppy pads and dog food are. Regret shines back at me in his dark chocolate eyes, shining with tears.
“God, I’m so sorry. Just remember that I love you.”
“Da—”
He lifts his finger to his mouth to silence me and shuts the door in my face, leaving me in the dark. Since the walls are so thin in this place, I’m able to hear everything. I place my cheek against the door and push my hair out of the way, listening to find out why my dad shoved me in a freaking closet.
“Mr. Wilson.” A thick Russian accent floats from the front of the store to the back where I am. It familiar, like the guy that stopped me the other day to hand me that stupid business card. “Do you have my money?”
“Money?” I mouth to myself and lay my palms against the rough grain of the door, steadying myself as I eavesdrop. Why would my dad owe that man money?
“I don’t have that kind of money, Mr. Volkov. Please, you have to understand, business isn’t what it used to be. Can I do a payment plan? Anything?”
Volkov?
My blood runs so cold my entire body begins to shiver. There is only one man in this city with that last name and he is the head of the Russian mafia. Oh my God.
Everything is clicking together now. The man who gave me the card, the fear I felt, the accents in the clinic right now. My father owes the mafia money and he can’t pay them back.
I’m not a fool. People talk. People whisper about the Russians. They are terrifying and they always find a way to get what is owed to them.
Always.
“Do I look like a credit card company, Mr. Wilson?” the man, Mr. Volkov, speaks. “Am I, Kazimir?”
“No, Papa.”
A different man answers Mr. Volkov’s question and his voice is different. It’s smoother, deeper, and has a light accent compared to his father. I have a visceral reaction to it. The baritone sound makes my stomach do flips and my heart patter against my breast in a way no other man has ever been able to make me feel.
It’s a ridiculous reaction.
This man is the enemy!
Out of all the men out there, this man, the one I have yet to lay my eyes on, grabs my interest just because his voice sounds sexy? I need to get a grip and process the severity of this predicament. My father is in serious trouble. We are in serious trouble.
“I want my money, Mr. Wilson. Today.”
“I can’t. I can only give you a thousand. That’s all I have,” my father pleas.
“Is it?” the sexy man speaks up again. “I know that you have something that’s worth more than money, worth more than anything. Something that’s very…irreplaceable.”
The lyrical way the unseen man’s vibrato enunciates each word as if it is a dance seduces my libido.
“I have nothing of the sort. I have no savings, no retirement, my house is a rental. I own nothing,” my dad declares. “I’ve put everything into the business.”
I’ve never heard my dad sound so desperate before and it’s breaking my heart. I had no idea things were this bad. What has he gotten himself into?
“Do you want the slate wiped clean, Mr. Wilson?” the voice of my dreams and destruction asks.
“Of course I do. Anything. I’ll do anything.”
“Your daughter for the loan, then. You hand her over and consider yourself out of your debt.”
I gasp and take a step back into the closet to submerge myself further in the dark. No. No, my dad would never hand me over like that. It’s been me and him since I can remember. We are a team. He’s my best friend.
“She’s my daughter. She’s a good girl. Please, if you want anything, take me.”
“You don’t inter
est me like your daughter does, Mr. Wilson. It’s her or nothing. And the next thing we take will be your life,” the seductive enemy states and his voice somehow gets closer.
Silent tears fall down my cheeks and I press my back against the shelf, keeping my hands over my mouth to muffle my breathing and slight whimpers from the sobs building in my chest.
“She’s my daughter,” my dad argues and I can hear the raw emotion in his voice, but telling them I’m his daughter means nothing to them. It’s either me or my father’s life they want. “She’s my world.”
“I know,” the voice that seems to soothe my fear yet causes it to increase at the same time is standing right in front of the closest door. The crack under the door shows the shadows of his shoes as he looks around. “It’s why she is the best leverage. Oh, look at this little guy.”
He makes kissy noises at the puppy in the crate to the right of me.
“That is the dog that Alegra had with her that day, Kazimir.”
That voice.
I know that one too. That’s the guy that pulled me over.
Oh my God, I’m going to die. I know it. They are going to kill me. My dad owes three frightening men a God-knows-what amount of money.
“Is it? Would she like to have it, you think?”
Why is this Kazimir person asking if I want a puppy?
“Da, Kazimir. She seemed fond of it.”
“What’s your answer, Mr. Wilson?” Mr. Volkov asks again, impatience lining his tone. “I do not have all day.”
Another beat of silence falls and the shoes block out the light under the door.
“She’s here.”
“Who? No one is here but me,” my dad rushes to say. “It’s only me here.”
“I can smell her!” Kazimir roars. “We will be leaving with her whether you like it or not. We take her and leave you alive or we take her and leave you dead. It’s up to you.”
“Will I be able to see her again?” my father feebly inquires.
Denial has me shaking my head. My dad can’t honestly be thinking about doing this? He wouldn’t just give me up. I mean more to him than that.
