THIEF

by A. Zavarelli

  “And how do you think a wife should love her husband?” Sarah asks.

  “In my world, love doesn’t exist,” Nakya answers softly. “Marriage is a duty, and little more. It means remaining devout to your husband while turning a blind eye to his extracurricular activities. Dedicating your life to being small and insignificant, while he reigns supreme. How can love ever be nurtured in such an environment?”

  Sarah is quiet for a moment, tapping her pen against her notepad. She knows she must tread carefully here. Being on my payroll, she is aware of all that implies. She can help Tanaka talk through her emotions, but she must avoid making suggestions.

  “Do you think perhaps you would like to marry someone else in the future? Someone who is loyal to you?”

  “No.” My little dancer jerks her chin reflexively. “I don’t want to get married at all.”

  Her answer is that of a silly girl who doesn’t want to accept her fate. She is a mafia princess, and as such, she has no choice but to marry.

  “Okay.” Sarah takes a sip of her own water, probably trying to determine which direction to steer the conversation.

  “I don’t like my life.” The words burst forcefully from Nakya without warning, spearing me right in the gut. “I never wanted any of this. I didn’t choose to live like a prisoner. I didn’t choose to lose my mother. There is no silver lining, and there is no future. My future is out of my control, so it’s a stupid question. The only thing I ever wanted to do was dance, but now that’s been taken from me too.”

  Ever hopeful, Sarah tries to remain positive. “You are still dancing. I’m told that your recovery is going quite well. Even if it’s not what it used to be, you are still a dancer.”

  Nakya’s hair falls into her face, her shoulders trembling as she shakes her head. “It’s over for me. My career is finished. My ankle can’t sustain the pressures of professional dancing, even if I did manage to attain another position. And it’s all his fault. He did this to me.”

  “Who?” Sarah asks.

  “My father,” Nakya whispers. “It was my own father.”

  The truth no longer evades her, but it doesn’t bring any peace to know she no longer blames me. Her world has been ripped apart by the man who was supposed to protect her. If he was any kind of father at all, he would have protected her from me too.

  I ache to comfort her. I ache to confess that I understand her pain. But that isn’t why I brought her here. And everything about this situation is wrong. She wasn’t supposed to hate her father. She was supposed to be precious to him. That was how I would kill him slowly. His Achilles’ heel.

  I just didn’t expect that his weakness wasn’t her.

  After the disastrous attempt at dinner with my brother, I’ve been forced to choose another avenue for information. While Mischa is by no means Alexei, he is very good with computers, and I trust him more than I trust most.

  At this evening’s Vory gathering, I’m not surprised to find him lurking near the bar. Viktor’s middle daughter has just turned eighteen, and all my brothers have come together to celebrate the milestone.

  “I need you to do something for me,” I tell him.

  Mischa doesn’t look at me. He’s distracted by a brunette with huge tits hanging off the arm of an avtoritet who outranks him by several decades.

  “She looks familiar,” he says.

  “Hey, zadrota, did you hear me?”

  He reluctantly drags his attention to me and nods. “Sure, Kolyan. Whatever you need.”

  For a moment, I doubt myself. Admitting my intentions to anyone is a risk, even Mischa. A Vor should never appear vulnerable, and without solid proof against my father, this could backfire spectacularly if he discovers what I’m doing.

  “What is it, bratan?” Mischa slaps me on the shoulder. “You can trust me, yes?”

  When I meet his eyes, I know that I can. He is my oldest friend, and I trust him with my life.

  “I need you to do some digging around,” I say. “Quietly. And by quietly, I mean if anyone ever finds out, I will cut your nuts off.”

  Mischa smiles. “You know I’m rather fond of my nuts. Wouldn’t do a thing to jeopardize them.”

  “At least we can rely on that.”

  “So what is it?” he asks.

  I’m not prepared to say her name aloud. I have made a point not to utter it since the day she walked out on us. To do so now would feel like a betrayal to my father, myself, and the Vory brotherhood. If what I’ve been told is true, she abandoned us. She deserves no more of my time or my thoughts. But regardless, she has them.

  I remove the scrap of paper from my shirt pocket and hand it to Mischa. One glance at the name, and it’s evident he knows.

  “What would you like me to look for?” he asks quietly.

  “I want to know who she ran off with. Names. Addresses. Dates. I want to know what she ate for breakfast last week.”

  He nods. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  We both drain our glasses, and I gesture to the bartender for a refill.

  “Does this have something to do with Manuel Valentini’s daughter?” Mischa asks.

  I reach for a smoke and meet his gaze. He never saw Nakya at my house, and I don’t like that he knows about her at all. “How did you hear about her?”

  “Word is getting around.” He shrugs. “Manuel has sent his men to hit our clubs, and Viktor is not happy.”

  This is news to me. I wouldn’t have expected such foolish behavior from Manuel when his daughter is in our possession. He should know that Viktor won’t tolerate it, and his carelessness presents a new problem. In the wake of these new developments, Viktor could easily decide Nakya is no longer worth the hassle. In the grand scheme of things, my agenda is unimportant when compared to the greater good of the Vory. And Viktor will always do what he deems best for the brotherhood.

  “You might want to consider alternative options,” Mischa says, “before Viktor suggests them himself. A man in your shoes, I am certain he would expect you to take the initiative.”

  In any other circumstance, what he’s suggesting would make sense. Tanaka is more of a headache to the brotherhood than she’s worth. Manuel’s debt could be taken from his own flesh and blood, and the problem would be solved. But I didn’t take the girl just to kill her and be done with it. I had grand intentions of making her suffer the same way I suspect my mother suffered at the hands of her father. But the thought of doing so now makes me sick. I have tasted her. I still hunger for her. And whether I want to admit it or not, she’s inside me, infecting me with her poison.

  “I’ll consider it,” I tell Mischa. A lie, probably, but an effective end to the conversation.

  “Kosmos.” He has his attention on the brunette again. “That’s where I know her from. I fucked her in the ass while I ate out her sister.”

  “You would be wise not to say that too loud,” I suggest. “The avtoritet appears to be quite fond of her.”

  Mischa shrugs. “That’s what happens when you fall in love with a stripper. She has been sampled by everyone else before you.”

  “What difference does it make?” I ask. “It wouldn’t hurt you to keep your dick in your pants from time to time.”

  He laughs. “You are one to talk. Before you took the Valentini girl, I recall you visiting the club quite often.”

  His implication is not lost on me, but I choose not to acknowledge it. The pakhan is heading our way with his daughter in tow, and this is not the sort of conversation he would want her to hear.

  “Kol’ka,” Viktor greets me. “I would like a word with you in private.”

  Mischa nods and gives the birthday girl his well wishes before making a quick exit. Once he’s gone, I turn to Ana myself. Viktor’s daughter is a pretty girl. Young and wide-eyed and unblemished by the outside dangers of this world. Much like Tanaka, she has been sheltered to preserve our culture and her safety. But now that she is blossoming into a young woman, and her appearances at social events are be
coming more commonplace, she is sought after by many of the Vory. I can think of at least ten men who would like to secure her hand in marriage, along with the inevitable rise in rank that would come with it. It’s good to be in the pakhan’s favor.

  “Happy Birthday, Anastasiya.” I nod in her direction.

  A blush steals over her cheeks, and she bows her head submissively. Ana has been raised to be respectful of male authority. It’s a trait that Vory men covet in a woman, and one I thought I admired too. But that was before I met the little dancer who challenged my every word.

  “I thought that Ana might accompany me to dinner at your house this week,” Viktor says.

  I force a smile, but meanwhile, I’m dissecting the meaning behind this. “Of course. Name the day, and I will have Nonna prepare a feast fit for a queen.”

  Viktor nods and looks at his daughter. “Run along to your sisters, Ana. I have some business to discuss.”

  Ana hesitates for a moment too long, her eyes moving over my face in what can only be admiration. I bring my glass to my lips, but it’s still empty. Viktor clears his throat in warning, and she totters away as she’s been instructed.

  The pakhan directs the bartender’s attention to us, and this time, he doesn’t delay our drink preparations. “My Ana is a beautiful girl, is she not?”

  “Very beautiful,” I acknowledge. To say anything else would be a death wish. “She will make one lucky Vor a very happy man someday.”

  “He will be a lucky man,” Viktor agrees, “to have a wife like Ana.”

  The bartender delivers my whiskey, and I swipe it from the bar, downing it in two long swallows. Viktor is watching me too closely, and I don’t have to guess where this conversation’s heading. It’s far past time to marry off his eligible daughters. Already, an arranged marriage with one of the Irish has fallen through. If Viktor waits too long, he risks rumors of the girls being impure.

  “Sergei suggested that perhaps you would be a good match for her.”

  Of course, he did. It should come as no surprise, given our last encounter. He wanted to make Nakya his plaything, and this is his way of proving he’s still in control, regardless of rank.

  I clear my throat and bite down too hard on a piece of ice. “And what do you make of his suggestion?”

  “I tend to agree that you would be a good match,” Viktor muses. “And Ana seems to like you well enough.”

  “She is still very young,” I observe carefully. “Are you certain she’s ready for marriage?”

  “She’s a year older than my own wife was when I married her.”

  Unsettling silence falls between us while I contemplate my next move. To refuse Viktor’s suggestion would be considered nothing less than the ultimate insult. I’d be lucky to walk away with my life after such a remark. It’s not uncommon to marry for the sake of duty. That Viktor would even deem me worthy of his daughter is an honor I don’t deserve. I should be proud, and I should be grateful. But instead, I can only think of my captive back at home.

  Viktor seems to read my thoughts, and he responds in kind. “It’s time for you to stop playing with the Valentini girl. With your promotion comes responsibilities. You need to set an example for your brothers. Settle down and start a family. Show them the way that a Vor conducts himself in matters of the home.”

  Every word feels like another nail in my coffin, but there is little I can do but nod.

  “I understand that Manuel has been causing trouble, and for that, I apologize. I was unaware he would be so foolish.”

  Viktor shrugs. “He is merely a fly. A nuisance. One that I assume you will be handling soon?”

  “It will be done,” I assure him. “But I must ask for one favor.”

  Viktor adjusts his tie and takes a sip of his drink. “What is it?”

  “You were right to assume I had other motives for taking the girl,” I confess. “But I have yet to discover the truth about my mother. I’m asking that you grant me more time so that when the answers are revealed, I will have vengeance for the crimes committed against her.”

  Viktor’s brows knit together, betraying his doubt. “You are so certain that such crimes were committed, but how can I be certain that you aren’t falling for the girl?”

  “My word is all I have,” I answer. “And my assurances that when the truth is revealed, justice will be served.”

  Perhaps it is a lie, but I’m too deep in to see my way out. I am a Vor, and as such, I should have it within me to do what’s necessary. To admit otherwise would earn a dishonorable trip to my own grave.

  “It’s far past time to start taking flesh,” Viktor says. “Had it been anyone else, she would have been delivered to her father in pieces already.”

  His words reek of truth, but it doesn’t quell the urge inside me to slit his throat for speaking of Nakya that way. I have the highest respect for my pakhan. He has always given me a fair deal, and he has always done right by me. To feel such hostility toward him is troubling, and it proves that he is right. Nakya has made me weak, and if I don’t get my affairs in order, the life lost will be my own.

  “I will agree to your request, on one condition,” Viktor decides. “The girl is still a virgin, yes?”

  I choke out an affirmative.

  “If you want to prove your word,” he says, “then allow Mischa to bed her. I want the sheets hand delivered to Manuel. It will be his last chance to fall into line before we start hacking her into pieces.”

  My vision turns black, but I feel myself nod. “It will be done.”

  “Nika says you can bake something for this evening,” Nonna informs me as she sets up breakfast on the table in my room. “It will need to be done soon. Perhaps after you eat.”

  “What’s happening this evening?” I ask.

  “Dinner party.”

  She gives no further explanation and leaves the room. It doesn’t seem likely that Alexei would return for dinner after the last fiasco, so I’m banking on another Vory associate. By giving me meaningless tasks like baking, I’m certain Nikolai thinks he can keep me out of trouble. But given that he’s been avoiding me, I wouldn’t know for certain. His orders are handed down through Nonna because he is too much of a coward to face me himself.

  I intend to demand my time in the gym as usual, but as it turns out, Nikolai has other plans. When Nonna returns after breakfast, she insists I accompany her to the kitchen before I’ve even had my shower. And unlike last time, she hands me a long list of specific items she wants me to make.

  “This will take all day,” I protest.

  “Then you better start now,” she says. “Dinner is at seven.”

  She turns away and prepares to work on her own list. As frustrating as it may be, I know she’s also just doing what she’s told, so there’s no further point in arguing. We work together in silence, and I was not mistaken in my estimate. It does take all day.

  My feet ache, and I’m covered in flour when I finally pull the last item out of the oven. Baked apples with sweet filling. It is only one of the four desserts we prepared for this evening, in addition to the breads and salads and meat dishes. I have no idea who could possibly be so important to deserve the amount of food we have prepared, but I hope they appreciate it.

  “Nakya.”

  I turn to find Nikolai watching me from the doorway, and my heart slows. His face is expressionless, and the ocean in his eyes has turned to ice. I have seen that look on a man’s face before. I had seen that look when my father handed down orders to his own men. That same numbness came over them when a job needed to be done, but it wasn’t something they were particularly fond of doing.

  And right now, it looks like Nikolai is about to do a job he doesn’t much care for either.

  “It’s time to go upstairs and get dressed,” he says. “Come.”

  He doesn’t wait for me to answer. I follow him through the house and up the stairs, exhausted and weary of another formal dinner. He is already dressed for the occasion, and it isn�
��t his usual jeans or motorcycle boots. Tonight, he is wearing all black, from his slacks to his button up to his oxfords. A dangerous style for a dangerous man.

  Meanwhile, I am unshowered and messy from the labor of the day. Luckily, he seems to be too distracted by his own thoughts to notice.

  “There.” He points to a dress already laid out on my bed. It isn’t one I’ve seen before, but I’m almost certain it might be one of Nonna’s. It’s beige, and it’s ugly. “Put this on, quickly.”

  “I have to shower,” I protest. “I haven’t had time to do my hair or makeup—”

  “No.” His tone is unyielding, and I’m confused. I went to all the trouble of cooking a feast fit for royalty, yet he believes my appearance is not of importance. My father would have never allowed me to attend a dinner in my current state.

  I cross my arms and hold my head high, determined to take a stand. “I’m not going to dinner without cleaning myself up first.”

  “Put the dress on,” Nikolai says through gritted teeth. “Or I will do it for you.”

  I hold my ground, mostly because I don’t want to believe him. I’m not wearing that dress, and I’m not going to meet guests in this state. But my captor has other plans, and he stalks toward me with tension rippling through every visible muscle. Instinct makes me cower when he grabs my arm, and I try to turn away from him.

  “Enough,” he barks. “I would not hit you. I have never hit you.”

  The storm is back, and I’m afraid to meet his eyes for fear of what I’ll find there. But when I do, shock punches the breath from my lungs. It’s a storm of a different color. Sorrow so deep and violent, it chokes every bit of blue in his irises, turning them to gray.

  Just gray.

  I fall limp in his arms when he pulls me toward him and begins to undress me. With the prospect of more bad weather ahead, the fight has gone out of me. Something bad is coming. I can feel it.

  Nikolai drapes the beige fabric over my head and zips it in the back. But it does little to conform to the shape of my body. It’s merely a loose, shapeless sack he’s dressed me in. Ugly and unflattering, the way he must see me.