Kissing The Enemy

by Helena Newbury

  Mikhail thumped down on his back, still on the stone walkway that ran around the edge of the roof. Irina’s momentum had been enough to pull him over but not quite enough to pull him with her. His arm stretched out above his head and he grunted as he took her weight. I could see his arm flex and twist—she must be swinging from side to side.

  I scrambled the rest of the way out of the hatch and ran along the stone walkway towards them. That’s when I found that the whole roof was covered in a slick layer of ice. Towards the center, the fire had melted it away but the cold stone at the edges was still slippery as hell. My legs shot out from under me and I almost went over the edge into the blackness beyond. Shit! I started moving more carefully, but that slowed me down. Irina and Mikhail were on the far side of the fucking building. It was going to take forever to work my way around the edge.

  And I saw to my horror that Mikhail wasn’t just lying there, supporting Irina, as I’d thought. He was moving, inch by inch, towards the edge. The weight of Irina’s swinging body was dragging him over. He was trying to stop himself, but he only had one hand free to grab with and there was nothing to hang onto but smooth, icy stone.

  There was no way I could get there in time, not if I followed the walkway all the way around. The only chance was to go straight across the middle of the flat roof, right over the fire.

  I changed course and stepped onto the tiles. The timbers beneath my feet sunk sickeningly, throwing fresh sparks into the air, and tiles tumbled down into the fire, opening up holes that led straight down into hell. Fuck.

  Behind me, I heard Luka and then Vasiliy climb out of the hatch. “Stop!” yelled Luka.

  Vasiliy cursed in Russian. I could hear the frustration in his voice: he wanted to do whatever it took to save Irina, too, but what I was trying was suicide. “It’ll collapse, you crazy bastard!”

  He was right. It probably was suicide. And I probably was crazy. But I was crazy for her. And if she died, life wasn’t going to be worth living anyway.

  I stared right at Mikhail’s sliding body, shut out everything else and ran.

  The first few steps weren’t so bad. The tiles sunk and cracked but I was past them too quickly for it to matter. But then my weight made one of the big roof timbers shift and it tipped to the side, tearing a hole the size of a sedan in the roof. Flames and heat blasted up, so bright I couldn’t look at them. I fell sideways and rolled. Shit! The tiles were as hot as a griddle pan! I could see steam rise from my clothes. I put out a hand to push myself up and—

  Fuck. I actually heard the sizzle. I staggered to my feet and ran on. The tiles I was stepping on didn’t feel like they were attached to anything, anymore: they just pushed down into nothingness as I stepped on them and I could see the light growing around me as more and more of the roof disintegrated. Don’t look down. Don’t look down. I sprinted towards Mikhail. The bastard’s head and shoulders were off the roof, now, and he was picking up speed. Fuck!

  I felt my feet start to fall through the roof. I launched myself forward with everything I had and landed on Mikhail’s legs, stopping his slide just in time.

  I lay there for a second panting, clutching at him like a lover. Then I started to haul him in. It wasn’t easy, because I was moving his weight and Irina’s, but I slowly got his shoulders back onto the ledge and then his head—

  He spat at me. I wanted to slug him but I needed both hands just to stop him slipping off the roof. I wondered why he hadn’t shot me with his free hand—had he lost his gun? Why wasn’t he trying to hit me?

  Then I saw that his free hand was stretched out over his head, alongside the one that was chained to Irina. He was fiddling with something that glinted in the darkness. A key.

  He was trying to open the handcuffs.

  58

  Irina

  Chyort!

  It was difficult to think through the pain. All of my weight was hanging from one wrist and the sharp metal cuff was pressing so hard into my flesh that I couldn’t feel my hand anymore. I was trying to keep still because every tiny movement made me swing, and when I swung it felt like my arm was being ripped out of its socket.

  Most of the heat from the fire was rising straight up through the mansion, so now I was completely at the mercy of the wind. My almost-naked body was splattered with snow and I couldn’t stop shaking.

  Then I saw Mikhail start to fiddle with the handcuff lock. No! I made the mistake of looking down. The fire was throwing out just enough light that I could see the jagged rocks three stories below. Mikhail almost had the tiny key in the lock: I could see it scraping all around the dark hole. In another second he’d get it in—

  Angelo’s head appeared over the edge of the roof. He’d thrown himself atop Mikhail’s chest, using his body weight to try to pin the big Russian in place. Like an avenging angel, silhouetted by the blazing roof behind him, his fists swung down in arcs and slammed into Mikhail’s face: right, then left, then right again. Mikhail grunted, his head whipping from side to side.

  I willed him to drop the handcuff key...but he didn’t. His head lolled for a second and then he turned to the side and spat out a tooth. “Fuck you,” he yelled over the wind. And I saw the key finally slot into the hole. And twist. The cuff around Mikhail’s wrist loosened, the tiny click of the mechanism reverberating through my whole body.

  Angelo launched himself forward, scrambling along Mikhail’s body.

  “No!” I yelled. “Don’t!” I could feel Mikhail resume his slide off the building as Angelo moved. He’s going to get himself killed!

  Angelo ignored me. He was face-to-face with Mikhail, now, his arm stretching down towards me….

  Mikhail shook his wrist and the cuff popped open. I screamed as I fell into space.

  Angelo made a final lunge, his fingers brushed my wrist...and then that big, warm hand I loved so much was holding mine in a death grip. But all three of us were now sliding off the roof: Mikhail’s big body was slipping on the ice and Angelo was still lying atop him, riding him over the edge with no way to stop their forward momentum.

  “Let me go!” I screamed, desperately trying to open my fingers. “You have to let me go!”

  Angelo shook his head, his jaw set like iron. “No fucking way.”

  I looked up into those brown and amber eyes and tightened my fingers around his, my heart swelling. But Mikhail and Angelo’s slide continued, a slow-motion car crash none of us could stop. More and more of them passed over the edge: torsos, then hips, then legs...I screamed again as their feet slipped over and all three of us plunged.

  Then we jerked to a stop. My shoulder, which had had a second or so of sweet relief, wrenched again as it took my weight. I looked up in bewilderment.

  A big, broad shouldered beast of a man was leaning over the ledge, grasping Angelo’s ankles. He lifted his head and I gasped as I saw his face. Luka! Luka is here too? My brain couldn’t even process him and Angelo being there together. But maybe, just maybe, there was hope now. If he could pull us up—

  A hand grabbed my left ankle and my shoulder exploded with white-hot pain as I was jerked down hard, my body stretched between Angelo’s hand and whatever was below me. I looked down….

  Mikhail. All three of us had slid off the roof together, but Angelo had been stopped by Luka and I was attached to Angelo. Mikhail had fallen right on past us and would have plunged to his death...except he’d caught my ankle on the way down. He started to swing and twist and my shoulder hurt so much I thought I was going to pass out.

  “Fuck!” I heard Angelo say above me.

  I tried to kick Mikhail but each time I moved, the agony it caused in my shoulder made me stop instantly. All I could do was hang there and weep and pray for it to be over. Angelo was grunting with the strain of supporting both of us: I could see every muscle in his back standing out, his biceps hard as rock. Higher up, Luka was starting to lose his grip on Angelo’s ankles: even he couldn’t support three people for long.

  Then another figure joined
Luka at the ledge. As big as him, but the light from the fire gleamed off silver strands amongst the black. Vasiliy! Between them, they took the weight of Angelo, me and Mikhail. Now it was a question of which would give out first: Angelo’s grip or my arm. Either way, Mikhail was going to take me with him.

  Angelo drew his gun and tried to aim at Mikhail, but my body blocked most of his view. He cursed. And I was running out of time. The pain was so intense that my vision was starting to narrow, my view of Angelo seeming to recede. I was slipping away from everything: his warmth, his light, his love...down into the cold, dark numbness I’d known before him.

  I closed my eyes. Somewhere, distantly, I could feel my fingers loosening. I’d let go of him and then I’d be alone. I’d always been alone.

  “No!” yelled Angelo. “You hang on!”

  “Fuck you, Vasiliy,” yelled Mikhail victoriously. “You should have just let me fuck her and join the family!”

  For some reason, that bit deep. Everything that he’d planned to do to me, the years of hell he’d been willing to put me through, all to join us...and yet he still had no idea, no idea at all….

  I loved Angelo. I was his. I would always be his.

  But I was something else, as well.

  I opened my eyes and looked down at Mikhail. “Fuck you,” I grunted through the pain. “You don’t have what it takes to be a Malakov.”

  And I looked up at Angelo, stretched out my free arm and motioned for the gun. He stared down at me in shock and then dropped it into my hand. I swung my arm down and pointed the gun right at Mikhail’s head.

  His eyes went wide in shock and outrage. His mouth opened, but I didn’t give him time to insult me again. I squeezed the trigger, the hand on my ankle released and he disappeared down into the darkness.

  “But I do,” I panted.

  With Mikhail’s weight gone, Angelo was able to lift me higher, high enough that he could grab my other arm and finally take some of the load off of my injured shoulder. Even that change made it flare with pain again and I suddenly started to cry, hot tears of agony flooding down my face. Luka and Vasiliy pulled us higher and higher and then Angelo and I were being dragged up onto the walkway and, for the first time in what felt like hours, my arm wasn’t being stretched at all. I went woozy with how good it felt, even though the slightest movement made the pain start all over again.

  There was a crash as another part of the roof gave way. Even the stone walkway we were on was starting to crumble and tilt. The mansion was little more than the walls, now, the whole interior having mostly collapsed. We could jump forward into the fire, follow Mikhail down onto the rocks or wait until the entire place fell.

  But when you’re a Malakov, there’s always a way.

  Vasiliy reached into his jacket, withdrew a wad of banknotes thick enough to buy a high-end Mercedes, and waved it slowly back and forth above his head. A searchlight came on, picking him out in the darkness: Mikhail’s helicopter, which had been circling as we fought. It came closer and the side door slid open. I saw the pilot and crewman look at each other and shrug, then wave us forward. Russian mercenaries: not terribly loyal but outstandingly practical.

  Luka got in first, then Angelo lifted me and passed me to him, so that I didn’t have to use my injured arm to haul myself in. That left Vasiliy and Angelo on the ledge. I saw Vasiliy’s eyes flick from the helicopter to Angelo to the edge of the roof. Killing his rival would take only a quick shove…. I grabbed Luka’s hand, my heart suddenly in my mouth.

  Angelo stared back at Vasiliy...and lifted his chin, unafraid. He glanced at me, then back at Vasiliy. You can do it, his expression said, but I’m not going to stop loving her.

  Vasiliy let out a long sigh and looked down into the darkness where Mikhail’s body lay. “Perhaps I have enough enemies,” he said wearily. And he waved Angelo into the helicopter before climbing in himself.

  Epilogue

  Angelo

  It was a long trip home.

  First, we flew to Moscow and a private clinic that Vasiliy knew. There, Irina was dosed up on morphine so that the doctors could reset her dislocated shoulder. Even with the morphine, she squeezed my hand so hard it hurt.

  I didn’t care one bit. The pain meant it was real: I had her back.

  With her arm in a sling, Irina fell asleep before we even left the clinic’s parking lot. She dozed all the way to the airport, where the Malakov jet met us. I carried her aboard in my arms, laid her in one of the big leather seats, put a blanket over her and strapped her in.

  And then, for the next nine hours, Vasiliy, Luka and I talked.

  It was a careful negotiation, the verbal equivalent of circling each other with swords drawn and shields up. None of us was prepared to show weakness. But for the first time, we talked to each other with respect, and what I had with Irina felt like it brought us closer, instead of setting us at each other’s throats.

  There was no way I was going to give up the territory I’d fought so hard for and there was no way that Vasiliy was going to abandon his plans. But with Mikhail out of the picture, there was the opportunity to rework things. Vasiliy didn’t need to expand: that had been Mikhail’s power-hungry scheme. He just wanted security for his guns. There hadn’t been any way he could trust that responsibility to anyone but a Russian. But with me….

  We eventually decided that Vasiliy would keep Mikhail’s existing territory, but wouldn’t expand into mine. Since Vasiliy couldn’t be in New York full time, I’d help him with the day-to-day running of it in his absence. With an Italian and a Russian in control, we’d be sending a strong message to the communities that there’d be no more violence. It amounted to a near-doubling of my territory and I’d receive a hefty cut. In return, I’d provide Vasiliy’s arms traffic clear passage. It was a great deal.

  But that didn’t mean everyone would be happy with it.

  * * *

  Nicky sprang to his feet in shock as soon as I walked through the door. He’d been expecting Rico, since he’d been the one who’d asked for the meet. “You?” He glared at Rico. “I told you to finish this son of a bitch!”

  “Yeah,” said Rico calmly. “You did.” And he stepped back out of the way.

  Nicky was so mad, little drops of spit flew from his lips as he screamed at me. “You’d better be here to get down on your knees and pray you fucker, because you’re—”

  I punched him as hard as I could in the face. He spun fully around, tripped over his chair and crashed to the floor. The other Saints gaped. Some of them cursed...but quietly.

  “Have you got any idea what you’ve just done?” asked Taavetti.

  “Yeah,” I said, straightening my tie. “What I should have done years ago.”

  And I laid it out for them: how I was back in power, with Rico’s agreement. How I now controlled more territory than any other single boss in New York. How I wasn’t going to take their shit anymore. Italians and Russians were going to live side by side in peace, and if the Saints didn’t like it, we were going to have a problem.

  Vasiliy had taught me something: you don’t rule a kingdom by trying to keep everything the same; you rule it by nursing it on its journey to be something better.

  Nicky climbed to his feet, bleeding from his lip. “You cocksucker!” he snarled. “I’ll finish you myself for this!”

  Vincenzo cut in. “We’ll vote on it,” he told me. “Give us the room, please, Angelo.”

  Three minutes later, when Rico and I went back in, Nicky was gone. Taavetti looked miserable, but the other Saints crowded around to congratulate me. Rico slapped me on the back and we embraced.

  “You sure about this?” I muttered as we walked back to the car. “Do I need to watch my back, now you’ve had a taste of the big chair?”

  “Fuck the big chair,” said Rico. He rubbed his chest, wincing a little. He had two big scars, just like the nurse had promised, and he’d be dosed up on painkillers for a while, but he’d be okay. “Sitting around giving orders drove me nu
ts in one morning. I’m happy when I’m doing something. Just promise me you’re never going to go crazy like this again.”

  I thought about it. “Don’t need to,” I said. “Got my woman, now. Keeping her.”

  We reached the Chrysler, a brand new replacement for the one we’d totaled, still with that showroom smell. We’d got the exact same model: you don’t mess with a classic. I patted the roof affectionately and then climbed in. “The next thing we gotta worry about is you going nuts because you meet someone.”

  Rico gave me a look. “Get a grip. Me?”

  * * *

  I hadn’t planned to be there. It felt like it should be a family thing, but Irina wanted to go to the hospital as soon as we heard and there was no way I was leaving her side. Of course, when we got there, Luka and Vasiliy were standing over the bed. They didn’t smile when they saw me, but they didn’t scowl at me either and that practically felt like a hug.

  “The nurse said he woke,” said Vasiliy. “But he’s been sleeping since we got here.”

  I moved closer and leaned over Yuri. His chest was much more extensively bandaged than even Rico’s had been and his epic surgery had apparently been a real marathon. But he’d made it through. Now we just had to wait until—

  A hand shot out and grabbed me around the throat. Yuri’s eyes were still closed but none of his strength had gone. It felt as though I was being throttled by a fucking bear. With his other hand, Yuri groped on his nightstand for a weapon. Thankfully, his hand only found a water glass. Whew.

  He struck the water glass on the edge of the nightstand, leaving it with a curved, razor-sharp edge, and shoved it towards my jugular. Shit! I grabbed his wrists and tried to pry myself free. Luka and Vasiliy helped and we finally got him under control. His eyes opened, bleary and scrunched half shut against the bright overhead lights, but locked on me.

  Vasiliy pushed me out of the way, then leaned down and embraced his friend. “It is good to have you back,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. He glanced at me. “There is much to talk about.”