by A. Zavarelli
Like me, Alexei had to adapt to the world he was born in. And I have no doubt he is always the smartest man in the room. Calculating his moves like he does on the chess board. Standing with his back towards a wall so he never misses a cue in conversation. His eyes working overtime to assess everyone in his orbit. Trying to appear as though he is normal.
But this man is nowhere near normal.
He is a genius in a room full of cavemen. Highly adapted and overqualified for everything he does. And yet he slums it with his Vory brethren and a wife like me, feeling as though he will never fit in. And maybe it’s selfish of me, but I hope he never does. I hope he never realizes how much better he could do than the likes of me.
Franco’s phone rings, interrupting the game. He speaks in short and precise sentences, giving Alexei a nod before he steps outside.
“How long do you think he’ll be gone for?” I ask.
“Not long enough for what you have in mind,” Alexei answers, wheeling his chair closer.
“You mean what you have in mind,” I retort. “Pervert.”
I reach for his hand that rests on my thigh. With an empty space reserved for another tattoo. One he has not added yet. An idea strikes me as I grab a pen from his desk. One that will probably reveal too much. But I do it anyway. And he lets me.
Pressing the ink to his skin, I write my name in that space. The one I feel like I have a claim on.
“When do you get my name carved in your skin?” I ask.
“Soon,” he answers. “If that is what you wish.”
I have an opportunity here. To be vulnerable. Or to keep my armor in place.
I did not think I could ever choose vulnerable again. But I do.
“I would like that,” I tell him.
He wraps his arms around me and presses his face against my belly, peppering it with little kisses. My hands move through his hair, mussing it up before he pulls my face down to kiss him.
“Lyoshka,” I murmur against his lips.
“Yes, my sweet?”
“You are so hot.”
He smiles at me.
“I don’t think I ever tell you,” I continue. “But you’re hot, and you should know it.”
He grabs my chin and his eyes flick from my mouth to meet my gaze.
“Solnyshko,” he says sincerely. “You terrify me.”
I swallow, and he kisses me softly.
“I know,” I tell him. “Because you terrify me too.”
43
Alexei
Just as I do every month on the 3rd, I arrive at a Vory owned club for the usual meeting. The meeting where we discuss numbers and operations and anything else that Viktor adds to the agenda.
And just as I do every month, I set up the flash drive in the computer downstairs and prepare the projector.
This is the way things are always done. The same routine I have performed as long as I have been Sovietnik.
And then we drink. Always for about thirty minutes or so until all of the Vory have arrived. We discuss business and ask after the other’s family members.
It is the way things are always done.
Only, this evening is different.
This evening, I am betrayed.
When Viktor calls the meeting to order, he directs one of the Boyeviks to operate the presentation as he always does. I take my seat beside him, prepared to discuss the details of our gambling operations.
What I am not prepared for is what comes up on the computer.
“What is this, Lyoshenka?” Viktor asks.
I stare at the video in confusion. It is from my own home. A video I have not seen before. From a low quality camera placed somewhere in my own sitting room.
I am on the couch. And Talia and Magda are behind me, near the stairs. Magda is telling her something. And it looks like Talia is calling out to me, but I can’t be sure. I don’t turn around, and Talia’s face fills with confusion as she tries again.
“Turn it off,” I demand.
The Boyevik is fumbling with the computer, removing the flash drive, but the film doesn’t stop.
Viktor is rigid beside me, and I know that my worst fear is confirmed.
Someone has just made a mockery of me in front of all the other Vory. Someone has announced my defect for all of them to see.
Instinctively, my eyes move to Sergei.
Viktor stands up beside me. Yelling something.
When I glance back at the screen, I’m moving across the room myself before I can make sense of what I’m seeing.
Images of Talia. Strung out and being fucked by other men.
And then one last single slide appears before I tear the computer from the table myself.
How does it feel to know your beloved Sovietnik is deaf and married to a whore?
I smash it against the wall. Until nothing but pieces remain. Viktor clears the room, but not before I see all of their eyes on me. Questioning me. Doubting me.
The rage inside of me cannot be contained.
I smash my fist through the wall four times before Viktor shakes me out of it.
“Let’s go to the control room,” he tells me. “We will check the security cameras.”
I’m walking with him, but my thoughts are elsewhere.
“Nobody is allowed to leave this building,” Viktor tells Nikolai before he shuts the door.
He waits while I go through the footage myself. But there is nothing. I cannot see anyone touch the computer from the time I installed the flash drive, no matter how many times I go back over it.
And then Viktor asks the question that is already at the back of my mind.
“Did you bring this flash drive from home?”
“She does not have access to these files,” I tell him. “And she has no reason to do this.”
“Are you certain of that?” he asks.
I nod.
But inwardly, I am questioning it. Doubting her. It would not be the first time I have misjudged someone so wrongly.
“Those photos are from her time as a slave,” Viktor notes. “Most likely Arman’s own security system. Perhaps we should start with him.”
“Yes, perhaps,” I agree.
“The only problem,” he amends, “is that Arman has never been in your house.”
His truth is too difficult to acknowledge. I’m still not willing to accept it myself. So I retrieve the hard drive from the computer. Setting out to prove him wrong.
Viktor is silent while I work. Contemplative.
There is no evidence the computer has been tampered with. And the flash drive is one of my own. Only, it does not contain the information I transferred this morning.
When Viktor sees the realization on my face, he grips my shoulder in a show of support.
“Perhaps her relationship with Arman was not as it seemed,” he states. “There is no way you could have known, Lyoshenka.”
I want to defend her. To argue that he is wrong. But there is no evidence to support that statement. And I know what comes next.
“You must face your Vory brothers,” Viktor tells me. “You always knew it might come to this.”
“I did,” I acknowledge.
Keeping my defect from them was a risk I was willing to take. Now that I am exposed, I will pay the consequences of my lie.
“Come,” Viktor says. “Let’s get it over with. So you can go home.”
* * *
The men are waiting for us in the basement. Solemn and drinking quietly amongst themselves. It is not the same atmosphere as when I arrived. They, too, know what must be done. As a high ranking Vor, keeping a secret like this from them is considered a betrayal. And punishment must be doled out. If they do not give it, they themselves appear weak.
I strip my shirt over my head and toss it aside, gladly taking the drink that Viktor hands me next. There is not a word spoken in the room. When the drink is finished, I turn to Viktor. And as with everything else we do, he is the first to perform the honor of punching me in the gut
.
He does not hold back. The pakhan must never show weakness. And his punch nearly doubles me over. But I take another drink, and then each of the men take a turn. Punching my face. My chest. My back. Even Sergei. Which is the worst of them all.
He takes pleasure in it. And he gets me twice.
When the ritual is finished, Viktor calls a Boyevik over to add a fresh tattoo to my body. One that means I have betrayed them, but have earned my way back in with honor.
There is no honor though. Lying on the floor, bloodied and exposed for all of the Vory to see me for what I am.
The rage is building inside of me. The rationalizing no longer valid. There is only one explanation. One person that I have brought into my home. That I trusted. And she was the only one who could have done this.
“Lyoshenka.” Viktor kneels down in front of me, squeezing my shoulder. “Franco is waiting outside. Time for you to go home.”
I sit up and meet his gaze, as well as the rest of the men in the room around me. The men who respected me. Who trusted my judgment and my abilities.
Now, they hold questions in their eyes.
“Go,” Viktor says again. “Take the footage with you, if you’d like. I will continue to do what I can on my end.”
I have gone through the footage on my security system from last night and this morning. But I cannot find the proof I need. I cannot find the evidence of her betrayal. It should bring me relief. But it does not. I need the proof.
I need what I know is true. That this has all been a game to her. That none of it was real. That she played me.
I find her computer in her room. And on that computer, I find the photos from the slideshow. The photos from Arman.
It is right there in front of me. But still I question it. Question her motives. It feels too easy. Something about this isn’t right.
But I realize, when I look at the tattoo of my dishonor, that is just what I want to believe.
I am tearing the sitting room apart when Talia comes downstairs.
It is two am. And she wore the black silk nightdress as I requested.
My beautiful fucking liar.
My traitor.
She is gutting me with her innocence. The way she looks at me right now. So soft and sweet, and yet so fucking ruthless.
When she sees the anger on my face, she takes a step near me. I hold up my hand and tell her to stop.
“Where is it?” I demand.
“Where is what?” she asks, so innocently.
I am shaking with my rage. With my betrayal. The things I have done for her. I have lied to Viktor. Risked the other Vory to retrieve her. I have protected her as I said I would. Avenged her, as I promised. And now here she stands, refusing to own up to the truth. Just as Katya did before her.
I believed them different, but they are the same.
I can’t even look at her.
“Where is the camera?”
“Alexei?” she stares at me as though she is confused. “Are you drunk?”
“No. For once, my mind is perfectly clear. Are you proud of yourself?” I ask. “You must be. You fooled me better than even Katya.”
“What are you talking about?” she asks again.
“You do know I have cameras in every room of this house,” I tell her. “I will find it. And will you still deny it then?”
“I have no clue what you’re talking about,” she answers.
Magda appears at the bottom of the stairs, followed by Franco a moment after. They are all staring at my disheveled state, the broken remnants of decorations on the floor.
“Take her up to the third floor,” I demand of Franco. “Set her up in a room there.”
“What are you doing, Alexei?” Talia demands.
“I don’t want to see your face,” is my reply. “I want nothing more from you.”
Magda attempts to protest as well, but I turn away. And continue on my mission. Breaking and shredding every possible hiding place.
By the time Franco returns twenty minutes later, I have run out of places to search.
“Mr. Nikolaev?”
“The camera was in this room,” I tell him. “Recording my private affairs.”
“And you still believe it was Talia?” he asks.
He seems doubtful. Just as I know Magda will be. Their faith in her feels like another betrayal.
“I want all of her belongings sent upstairs,” I demand. “This evening. I don’t want anything left behind. She is to stay on that level from now on. You can inform both of them.”
He doesn’t argue.
So I walk upstairs to my office and settle in at my desk for the evening. The security system in the house only stores recordings for up to a month.
But I have no intention of leaving this room again until I’ve gone through every last recording.
44
Talia
It has been two weeks since I’ve last seen Alexei.
I still don’t know what happened.
The doors are locked, and I am now a prisoner of the third floor. I have no computer. No communication with anyone besides Magda, who seems tired and drawn every time I see her.
At first, I thought it was a misunderstanding. That Alexei was drunk and confused.
But now, I don’t know what to think anymore.
I’m trying to stay positive. But every day, my belly grows bigger, and my heart grows smaller.
I gave him my trust.
And he’s destroying me.
This morning, when the door opens, I am expecting Magda with my breakfast. But instead, it is Alexei.
My heart stutters in my chest, and I grip the arms of the chair I’m sitting in as he walks closer. He has my computer in his hands. But that isn’t what has my attention.
It’s his face.
Closed off. Completely devoid of any emotion for me.
He pauses at least two feet away from me and thrusts the computer onto the table beside me.
“I have recovered these files,” he tells me. “From an email you received. Do you still deny it?”
I glance at the screen, genuinely horrified by the sight before me.
The photos are of me. But I don’t remember them. I was too drugged. Too fucked up.
I turn away and feel the urge to retch. Alexei is watching me closely, devoid of any sympathy whatsoever.
“Why are you showing me these?” I ask.
“You were the one that received them. You were the one, always asking if I liked fucking my whore wife. So this is what you wanted? You wanted them to know it too. Why continue to deny it?”
“Lyoshka.” I stand up and take a tentative step forward. “Tell me what’s going on.”
“Do not come near me,” he says.
I feel like I’ve been slapped. My hands are trembling, and I am no longer able to contain the emotion that I’ve been holding back for the last two weeks as his eyes move over me.
“I want to know why,” he tells me. “Why did you do it?”
“Do what?” I ask again.
“Make a mockery of your husband,” he replies.
I take another step towards him, pleading. “Whatever has happened, you are wrong. I would never hurt you, Lyoshka. Please. I am begging you…”
For a brief moment, there is confliction in his eyes. He wants to believe me, but his past won’t let him.
“You are having my child,” he cuts me off. “But I want nothing more to do with you until then.”
“No.” I shake my head in between the painful sobs that are now wracking my body. “You are wrong, Lyoshka. Please… I love you.”
He’s on me then. His fingers squeezing my face between them in a harsh and painful grip, his eyes filled with wrath. He can’t see past it. He can’t see past his hatred. It’s consuming him, and I am powerless to stop it. I don’t understand. How can he not see that he is my whole world?
“Don’t ever say that again. Don’t ever lie to my face, Solnyshko. If you were anyone else, you w
ould already be dead.”
He releases me and walks back to the door.
And with the sound of the lock, so cuts the cord tethering us together.
45
Alexei
I have not seen my wife in two months, with the exception of the cameras I sometimes watch her on.
Her betrayal is worse than any other.
I thought with time, she would relent. But she will not admit to what she has done. And even now, it hurts to look at her.
She is due in two months. And then, I don’t know what will happen.
My rage is consuming me. Threatening the life I have built for myself within the Vory. Threatening my relationship with Franco, Magda, and even Viktor.
I have not left my house since the incident.
I have studied everything. Watched the tapes of us together over and over again. Looking for signs. Looking for her hatred.
I still can’t see it.
And that is what burns me the most. How she continues to fool me when the only logical answer is there on her computer. I have not yet informed Viktor of what I found there. I still can’t make sense of it myself. She could barely operate the computer when she got it. At least, that’s what Magda said.
Another lie.
I have gone through everything. Credit card purchases. I cannot figure out how she got the camera. I believe that Sergei has gotten to her.
It is what makes the most sense. He wants to destroy me, and she is all too willing to help. I don’t know how she did it. I only know that everything points to her. And I have learned for the last time never to trust anyone.
There has been no word on Arman. After Ronan hit his shipments, he returned to Bulgaria. And now, only in a few short hours time, I will be on my way there myself. Because I can no longer go another day without the answers. Without the truth.
Magda appears at my door, setting down my dinner. For the last month, she has not uttered a word to me either. But it is better this way.
