You Don't Know Me: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance

by Georgia Le Carre

  I open my door. I don’t know why, but I have the craziest … I mean it’s just so stupid that I could even think something like that … but I actually think Sergei is wrapped up in his blankets, so fast asleep he did not hear me come in.

  The fantasy that he is asleep continues as I walk towards him. Even though the air in the room smells funny. Metallic and sweet. Even as I stand over him, my mind stubbornly refuses to believe what I am seeing.

  Then it hits me and my legs give way beneath me. It feels as if I am under water. There are no sounds, there is resistance to my movements, and everything is happening in slow motion as I fall to my knees in front of him.

  In slow motion my hand reaches out, grasps the edge of the blanket, lifts it, and that is the moment the slow dream ends. With a startled shriek of horror, I fall backwards onto my butt. In a mad panic fueled by terror and disbelief, I scramble away on the palms of my hands, my heels kicking, scrabbling, and scurrying on the ground like some demented four-legged animal. My back hits the wall and I stop. I sit propped up against it, breathing hard, and staring in utter shock at my beautiful, beautiful beheaded baby.

  Someone came into my bedroom and beheaded my baby!

  Chopped off his head.

  It is completely severed from his body and whoever that sick monster was, he has placed Sergei’s head at the end of his tail. It is the most grotesque sight I’ve ever seen in my life. Slowly, I crawl back to him.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I whisper. ‘I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to run away from you. I love you.’

  I reach into his basket and my hand touches his fur. There is no more give to his still skin, so his fur feels hard and cold. I flinch. Sergei has been dead for a long time.

  How he must have suffered.

  How frightened he must have been.

  There is an A4 size paper on his body wrapped around something. I unfurl it. It’s one of those tiny tape recorders that bosses use to dictate things for their secretaries. I read the note. Only three little words but they turn my heart into a fist of ice.

  One by one.

  In a daze I press play on the tape and the nursery song Ten Green Bottles starts playing. The innocent but strangely eerie children’s song seems obscene beyond all words. The greatest insult to Sergei’s bloodied, mutilated body. I fling the tape to the wall and it crashes and opens. The tape flying out and bouncing. It falls close to the treat I gave Sergei.

  He never ate it.

  My hands clench with a sick helplessness.

  I go to the bed, my knees knocking together, and pull the sheet off. I fold it into four and spread it in front of Sergei’s little body. Kneeling in front of his bed, I bend down and pick him up. His severed head first. The congealed blood is like runny jelly underneath him. My hands immediately become dark red.

  Tenderly, I lay his head on the sheet. Then I pick up his body. In death he is much heavier and I have to grunt to lift him. Once he is in my arms it is easier and I lay it next to his poor head so that both halves of him are joined.

  Then I lay down beside him. ‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry,’ I whisper again and again as I hug his cold, hard body. The guilt is terrible. I wasn’t here to protect him. I was out having a good time. I should have been here. If I had only left him in Baba’s room. I even thought about it and then I thought no, he might bark when I call or make a noise and wake Papa.

  So I didn’t leave him in her room.

  He must have had a premonition. No wonder he whimpered and cried when I left. And I still left. I close my eyes and grit my teeth with regret.

  I kiss the top of his head. I kiss his closed eyelids, and I hold his elegant bloodied, little paws. The pads used to feel soft and warm. They feel hard, rough, and cold. When his nose touches my lips it is dry and not wet with life.

  I sit up and look down on him. It doesn’t feel real. It can’t be real. My mind is blank. I can’t think. It is my fault. Poor Sergei. I cover his remains with the sheet and go to open a window.

  Fresh morning air rushes in.

  I think of Sergei running free in the park. I think of Sergei licking my face. I think of Sergei as a puppy hiding under the bed when he heard thunder and how I had picked him up, holding him in my arms, taking him to the window to show him that it was just a storm. There are no tears. I am too shocked to feel anything. Not even anger at my father.

  I think of my father. How could he? He brought Sergei home for me. Having said Sergei always hated him.

  I sit in my room hunched, confused, and immobilized with shock and horror, until I hear Baba come up the stairs. Then I run to the top of the stairs and she stops mid-step.

  ‘What is it?’ she asks, her hands roaming my bloodied clothes and hands.

  ‘Sergei is dead,’ I say.

  Her reaction is instant and shocking. She goes white and her knees buckle so that she has to tighten her hold on the banister to stop herself from falling. She closes her eyes in pain. I run down the steps to where she is and take her hand.

  ‘It’s okay, Baba. It’s okay,’ I tell her, even though I want to lay my head on her chest and bawl my eyes out.

  She catches my hand. ‘How?’

  I shake my head.

  ‘Show me his body,’ she demands suddenly.

  I shake my head vigorously. ‘No, don’t look at him, Baba.’

  ‘Is he in your room?’

  I nod, because I am suddenly so choked up I cannot speak. It’s the strangest thing, but while I am standing there with Baba, part of me doesn’t believe that Sergei is actually dead. It’s more possible that this is all a nightmare or a mistake. My brain can’t comprehend that it could be real. He can’t be gone. Just like that. It almost feels as if all I have to do is let my grandmother into my room, and she will not find my beloved dog cut into two pieces and wrapped up in a sheet.

  Baba starts up the stairs, her face determined, and I follow.

  I stand back as she opens the door, and for a few seconds just stands at the doorway. Then she walks towards the covered cloth and I go into the room and close the door. The air is freezing cold because I opened the window. My eyes fall on the sheet stained dark red.

  That isn’t my Sergei under there. He’s gone.

  I watch Baba get onto her haunches with difficulty, and lift the sheet. Silently I watch her sigh deeply and let the sheet drop back down. Then she looks up at me. Her eyes are totally blank and her face is like stone. I have never seen my grandmother look like this before.

  ‘My son is a monster.’

  I don’t say anything. My eyes sting and my throat feels as if there is a stone in it.

  ‘Whatever you want from me, just ask,’ she says.

  I swallow the stone. It goes down hard. ‘Come for the funeral.’

  Thirty

  Tasha Evanoff

  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RgKAFK5djSk

  See You Again

  I’m afraid I fell apart after inviting my grandmother to Sergei’s funeral. I ended up in bed crying like a baby. She arranged everything. She got a white pet casket delivered inside of an hour. It has a cross etched on the lid and it is satin lined. She put his favorite toys and blanket into it. She ordered flowers. White roses. She invited the staff to come.

  We meet under the apple tree. The sky above is charcoal and a great storm is expected later. The gardener, John, has dug a hole. Nobody can meet my eyes. There is an air of shock and disbelief. The little Polish maid who helps the chef looks frightened. Her eyes dart about nervously.

  Baba and I are dressed entirely in black. I hold a handkerchief to my trembling mouth while Baba says a little prayer. I watch everybody throw coins on top of the coffin.

  I kneel down and throw the first clump of soil on his casket.

  ‘My darling Sergei, please forgive me. Forgive me. Forgive me that I wasn’t there to protect you,’ I whisper softly. ‘I know I promised that I wouldn't cry and make your spirit anxious, but I just can’t bear this sorrow. Never mind, I'll se
e you again,’ I say, and begin to stand, but I stumble backwards. I feel an arm come around my back.

  ‘Don't shed further tears, Tasha. Love is eternal. He will love you from wherever he is,’ Baba consoles, but her voice rings hollow in my ears.

  Then everybody else throws their handful of dirt, and Baba comes to me. With her hand firmly around my waist she leads me away.

  I let her take me back to the house. At the door she stops and holds out a hand. She is asking for my handkerchief. It is our custom to throw away our used handkerchiefs after a funeral. It is a way of reminding the mourners that one’s sorrows should start to diminish once the funeral has passed and not carried much farther into the future.

  Automatically, I put my handkerchief into her hand.

  ‘Shall we have some tea?’ Baba asks, putting both our handkerchiefs in a plastic bag.

  I shake my head. ‘I’ll just lie down for a while,’ I say.

  She smiles. ‘Yes. Perhaps you should have a nap. I’ll wake you up in a couple of hours and we can have lunch together.’

  I nod vaguely and enter the house. The house is even more silent than it usually is. I feel a strange chill go through me at the deathly silence. I go upstairs to my room.

  While I was out someone has cleaned the room. Sergei’s bed is gone and the room smells of air freshener. I go to the window and watch John fill Sergei’s grave. Shovel by shovel until the ground is level. I watch him stop, push his palms into the small of his back, then sit under the tree and light a cigarette. His life seems wonderfully simple and uncomplicated.

  Never again to see those eyes.

  Tears cloud my eyes as I turn away from the window and walk to the bed. I sit on it and feel as if I am hollow, all my insides eaten away. Sergei’s little funeral has crushed my heart and broken my spirit in a way nothing before has done. I loved Sergei like he was part of me. He was always by my side other than the rare times I could not take him. I don’t even feel real anymore.

  I feel as if I am living in a dream.

  How can it be anything but a dream, if one moment someone is warm and alive and real and the next they are just gone? Forever. You cannot see, touch, or hear them ever again. How can all of us walk about pretending life is real, that it couldn’t at the drop of a hat pop into nothing?

  What almighty arrogance to think that I of all people had anything in my control. What a joke. How my father must be laughing now. I believed, I actually believed, I could have my cake and eat it. I thought I could have Mama, Baba, Sergei, even Papa, and Noah. One big happy family. Fool. In one brutal stroke my father showed me different. I underestimated him.

  Badly.

  My father doesn’t understand love, but he has a gift of manipulating the love others feel. He sees inside a heart, feels its greatest vulnerability, and attacks. Yes, he took my beloved Sergei from me, but I know Sergei died with his love for me intact forever and mine for him.

  There is a soft knock on my door.

  I walk to it and open it. Rosita is standing outside. ‘Your father wants you to join him for lunch downstairs,’ she says.

  ‘Thank you, Rosita. Tell him I’ll be down in a minute,’ I say and close the door. He is home. I did not realize.

  I lean against the door, feeling so numb that I cannot even begin to figure out why my father wants me to join him for lunch. Does he want to gloat? Does he want to frighten me more? Does he just want to have lunch with me because what he did to Sergei is not a big deal?

  I straighten, open the door, and go downstairs towards the dining room. On the way I meet one of his men. He nods to me and I nod back automatically.

  I open the dining room door and my father looks up and smiles. To look at him you would never believe that he sent someone up to his own daughter’s bedroom to murder her dog so she would come home totally unsuspecting and find the slaughter. I don’t smile back. I just stare at him. Shocked that all these years I never really knew him at all.

  He puts his fork and knife down. ‘Come in, come in,’ he invites genially, still chewing his food.

  I don’t move.

  He smiles. ‘Just because it is delivered in a friendly tone do not regard my invitation as anything but a direct order.’

  I walk stiffly into the room. My right palm is itching. I hold it in my left hand and scratch it furiously.

  ‘Come closer,’ he purrs. ‘What are you afraid of?’

  I take a few more steps.

  He stands up and, bending down, takes something out of a cardboard box. To my absolute horror and disgust it is a blue Doberman puppy. My eyes bulge with shock. Surely not. The puppy is the exact age Sergei was when he gave him to me.

  My eyes move slowly up to his.

  ‘This is a present for you,’ he says, jerking it slightly in my direction.

  I stare at him dumbfounded. I thought my father was a monster, but he is not. To be a monster means you have feelings. My mother was right. My father has no feelings. He killed my beloved dog and now he is replacing it with a puppy. He can give then take it away and give it again. What a sick freak. Only a man who cannot feel love would do what he is doing. He jerks the puppy again to encourage me to take it.

  I take a step back. ‘I don’t want it,’ I say.

  He scowls. ‘If you don’t take it I’ll have to get the staff to drown it.’

  My mouth drops open and he takes a step towards me with the puppy wriggling in his outstretched hands. I put my hands out and take it from him. Its body is soft and warm and I feel the tears start to burn the backs of my eyes.

  I turn around so he will not see them and run out of the room. I stand for a moment in the grand foyer. Rosita is on her hands and knees polishing the marble steps. I walk up to her.

  The puppy makes a small sound that is not quite a bark yet. It tears at my heart. Sergei used to make that sound. It’s not its fault. It’s just an innocent little thing, but I can’t even look at it. My heart is broken. I hold it out to her.

  ‘Please can you take him and see that he is well taken care of.’

  She looks at me with a surprised, confused face, but she puts her hands out and takes the puppy from me. I wipe my hands on the sides of my dress.

  ‘Thank you, Rosita,’ I croak, and run upstairs.

  In my room I fall on my bed and sob my heart out. I don’t even hear the door open, I only feel it when Baba’s hand falls on my head and strokes my hair gently.

  ‘I hate him,’ I sob. ‘I hate him so much.’

  Baba says nothing, just hums an old Russian song she used to sing to put me to sleep when I was a child.

  Thirty-one

  Noah Abramovich

  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N6voHeEa3ig

  Gangster Paradise

  They were waiting for me in the shadows. The punch catches me in an area just above the ear, and in the confusion, my brain registers it merely as a thud, but in fact, it’s the kind of blow you never want to get hit with.

  It’s fucking lethal. You can't prepare, or train for it.

  It’s where the expression ‘knocked senseless’ originates from. I’ve been clipped like this once during training while I was preparing myself with the worst case scenarios, so I know how this shit goes down.

  Seconds later, it scrambles my senses. My eyes blur, the world starts spinning, and I lose control of my legs as they turn to jelly. I'm going down and all that matters now is how hard. Fall on my head and everything could go dark and silent. Maybe even forever.

  ‘Fuck,’ I yell, as I try to position my hands out in front of me to cushion the fall.

  I'd always imagined my end would be bloody. You live by the sword you die by the damn thing. It’s the unwritten rule and it’s fair. It should be that way. Even time spent in prison doesn’t change anything, they are only pauses, before this gory and fitting finale. A bullet in the head, a knife in the gut in a dark alleyway.

  Yeah, I see it now, not parking in the gym’s car park was a really bad idea. Careless. Ca
reless. Zane was right. While you’re finding the gentleman’s way of taking care of the solution, he’ll just fucking send someone around to snuff you out.

  Then a sane voice in my head. Get a grip Noah, if they wanted you dead, you'd already be! You’re still breathing.

  ‘Fucking put that piece away. What are you, fucking stupid? Get your fucking knife out you pussy, and slice him up good. Boss said, make mincemeat out of his face. And hurry the fuck up about it,’ I hear a man’s voice spit with disgust.

  So that's their fucking game. A message from the father of the bride: mess with my daughter and I’ll leave you clinging to life and marked forever, unable to walk amongst normal people. You can’t argue with the strategy. It has the added benefit of being a good way to cool down a girl’s ardor too.

  I hear the sound of a knife blade swish open. It is like an electric shock to my brain. It makes me focus and gets my head together. They're all fucking tooled up, but I’ll kill these fuckers before I accept anyone telling me who I can and can’t have as my woman.

  Before I breathe my last I’ll be sure to pay a less than friendly visit to that filthy pervert her father has chosen for her. Just thinking of it is enough to get the adrenaline to break through the fog in my brain, and race around my body again. There’s three of them.

  I can take them.

  As my eyes begin to clear, I spy two trouser legs approaching, a thick hand grasping a sliver of cold steel. I don’t let my gaze go further up.

  Get up Noah, get the fuck up now.

  ‘Ready for a bit of free plastic surgery, lover boy?’ he taunts.

  I gather up every bit of power inside me and thrust all my weight behind a powerful kick aimed straight at his shin bone, at that weak point just under the knee. Shame I’m not wearing my heavy boots, but even so I hear the crack of bone as it tears through flesh. It’s beautiful music to me. He falls to the ground screaming like a girl.

  One down.

  I spring to my feet, just as I am confronted by two large soldiers rushing towards me. One is built like a brick shithouse, the other is tall, lean, and mean. A scar running right across his neck. Their features make me think they’re probably from Chechnya. Tough, ruthless men.