by Monica James
She looks down at it, working her bottom lip, but eventually reaches for one. She watches in interest as I cut into the cap with my blade before holding the lighter flame to the foot of the cigar, rotating it a few times. Once it’s warm, I light it and inhale.
Lighting a cigar distinguishes the men from the boys.
I pass Renata the lighter, but it’s clear she has no idea what to do, so I puff on my cigar, then pass it to her. She accepts with a shy smile. When she inhales deeply, I wait for the coughing to commence.
“Oh god, that’s strong,” she wheezes, thumping her chest. But I’m impressed when she doesn’t allow that to deter her.
Lighting my own cigar, I lean against the railing, savoring the tobacco hit. I look out into the vast nothingness, angered my half-brother is still breathing the same air as I.
“Where did you go today?”
I don’t want to make conversation; however, she is nothing but persistent. “Just had some business to take care of.”
“What sort of business?” she asks. She’s curious, which is natural, but I don’t plan on sharing my life events with her like discussing the weather.
“Are you always this nosy?” I counter, not making eye contact with her.
“Yes,” she replies, not deterred by my frankness. “I just figured if we’re stuck with one another for the next few weeks, maybe we can talk instead of sitting in silence.”
“Or maybe not,” I disagree lightly, blowing a ring of smoke.
“How are you going to do it?” she questions, ignoring me. “I can tell you where to find them, but will you ambush them? You can’t expect to do this on your own. You have allies, right?”
“Let me worry about that.” I’m not sure how much more straightforward I can be.
“What happens when they’re…?” She leaves the sentence unfinished, suggesting she isn’t ready for what I have planned for Serg, Raul, and whoever else is against me.
Pavel is smart. He has achieved all he has and stayed alive because he works alone. He is discreet, and he doesn’t mess in matters that don’t involve him. Not many people know we’re allies, which is why I have an advantage over Serg.
I plan on reenacting that fated night, seeing as my half-brother and my “friends” felt sentimental by using the grounds of where my house once stood as their meetup spot. But this time, I’ll be victorious. There will be no survivors because if you’re not with me, you’re against me. And lucky for me, Pavel is with me. He has all the ammunition and explosives I need. I may not have manpower, but I have dynamite and high-powered guns.
It’s not foolproof, but no plan ever is. My need for vengeance will ensure I don’t fail.
I just need to be within the same space as Serg. I’ve been chasing a ghost, but thanks to Renata, that’s going to change.
“When we both get our revenge, I’ll ensure your safe return back home.”
“Oh.” I can hear the surprise in her tone. “How are you going to do that? Serg made it seem like you didn’t have any pull. But he was wrong?”
“You should know by now that he is full of shit,” I reply, turning my cheek to look at her. “I may not be where I once was, but it’s only a matter of time.”
“You’re going to make sure your mom pays as well, aren’t you?”
Renata is a smart woman. “Yes. As I see it, she and I have unfinished business.”
When a smile tugs at her lips, I realize this fact pleases her. Zoya’s impending death has that effect on people.
“Well, I want to help. Any way I can.”
“You can tell me where this alleged meeting is to take place,” I counter quickly as she still hasn’t shared the details.
I don’t blame her. It’s her only bargaining chip. We may be able to play civil, but we’re a long way away from trusting one another.
“Nice try. If this whole thing has taught me anything,” she says, taking a long pull of her cigar. “It’s don’t trust handsome men.”
The moment the words spill free, she bites her upper lip, as if trying to hold back what she just shared. But it’s too late. I heard it.
I don’t know how to respond to her admission. The last time she flirted, I ended up stabbed. But I don’t sense any deception this time.
“Sorry, I’m drunk.” She backtracks quickly, pinching the bridge of her nose in embarrassment. “I don’t know what I’m saying.”
“Don’t worry about it.” I brush it off because I honestly don’t want to deal with any more awkwardness.
She nods, and I think we’re good, but she catches me completely unaware when she leans across and kisses me.
At first, I wonder if maybe I am drunk, but when her soft, warm lips part mine, nudging me to reciprocate, I realize this is really happening. My mouth moves against hers, savoring this close connection with another being because it’s been so long.
Turning my body, I wrap my fingers around the back of her neck, drawing her closer to me. She stands on her toes to accommodate my sudden need to consume her whole. Flashes of what I want to do to her spark to life, and a carnal need to push her beyond pleasure so she’s straddling pain overtakes me, and I pick her up, slamming her ass onto the balcony railing.
We continue to kiss. She threads her fingers through my hair while I dominate her lips and body, never giving her a chance to breathe. She doesn’t fight me. She surrenders, which only awakens the sleeping lion within.
When she begins to unfasten the buttons on my shirt, the line we’re about to cross becomes clear. Yes, I’m old enough to be her father, but we’re two consenting adults. And right now, she feels so good, and I can think of nothing else.
However, when she murmurs my name, something else inside me rouses. Sister Arabella’s scent and the curves of her body slam into me, and I realize that’s because no matter how good this feels, it’s secondary to what I want.
Renata isn’t who I want. Sister Arabella is.
She is completely off-limits, which is a part of the reason I want her. But doing this with Renata will only complicate things, and I don’t need any more complications. I need her, but not in this way.
“малышка, no,” I say from around her lips before pulling away.
Her bubble soon pops when her eyes flicker open. Her red puffy lips are like waving a flag in front of a bull, but I’m doing the right thing. I need to stop this before it crosses the point of no return.
“No?” she questions. “It didn’t feel like no a few seconds ago.”
Her temper surfaces, which is another reason I had to stop things. She is unpredictable, and there is too much riding on this to give in to temptation. I brought this on myself. It appears my methods are still effective.
“I’m sorry. I can’t.” I let her go, allowing her to jump down from the railing when she realizes I’m serious. She folds her arms across her chest, clearly angry.
Yes, no one likes being rejected, but there seems to be something more to her response. I don’t know what that is, but it unsettles me.
“That can never happen again,” I state firmly, wanting to shut this down immediately.
She flinches, but soon conceals her hurt. “Okay, whatever.” She tosses her cigar over the balcony, then brushes past me and goes back inside.
Sighing, I turn back around to look out over the balcony. Smoking what’s left of my cigar, I begin to wonder if there is more to Renata than she is letting on. I don’t know anything about her, which is a very dangerous thing.
She submitted easier than I thought. But she seems to have a way of making me lower my guard. I don’t even realize it until it’s too late. And I know why that is.
She holds more resemblance to Willow than I thought possible. But I must never forget that Renata isn’t Willow. I can’t make that mistake ever again.
A banging on the door wakes me.
Rubbing my eyes, I see that I fell asleep on the deck chair outside. It seems I’d rather sleep out here than inside as memories from last
night surface.
Groaning, I come to a stand, shielding the morning sun from my eyes as the banging continues. Renata is sprawled out on my bed on her stomach with her dress pulled up, exposing her ass. Ignoring the sight, I walk toward the front door.
When I open it and see Pavel, I quickly close it behind me, but he’s seen enough.
“Who’s the girl?” he asks, eyes narrowed.
“She is my ticket to Serg.”
He folds his arms, indicating he’s listening.
I detail our encounter, and just who she is and how I intend to work with her to finally get my revenge. Once I’m done, I wait for him to speak. Pavel has mastered his poker face, so I don’t bother attempting to decipher what he’s thinking.
“Are you sure she is who she says she is?”
Shaking my head, I reply, “No. She could be Mother Theresa for all I know, but she knows a lot. She knows personal things that only someone who had firsthand contact with Serg would know. She also knows about Raul.”
Pavel whistles, impressed. “Let me do some background work on her and see what I can find. In the meantime, don’t let that пизда distract you.”
It seems he saw her ass as well.
“Here is your cut from the job. What did Santo want?” Pavel passes me a black duffel.
I nod my gratitude, accepting it. “He wants me to find someone who betrayed the family and bring them to him.”
“Why can’t he do that himself? He has more pull than anyone in this town.”
“It’s his youngest son’s ex-fiancée,” I explain. Pavel frowns, already expressing his empathy for the woman.
“You do this, and you know you won’t be able to get out of that family,” he warns.
“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were worried about me,” I taunt with a grin.
He doesn’t appreciate my jibe and digs into his jacket pocket, producing some mail. No one knows I’m here, which is why my mail has been directed to Pavel’s mom’s house. The place holds bittersweet memories as I associate it with my old life, and that’s cemented by who lies buried behind the barn.
Sara, Zoey, and a memorial for Ingrid lay under a large tree, marking their final resting place. We couldn’t lay them to rest legally, so burying them at the last place we were all together made sense.
I was only permitted on Pavel’s mom, Larisa’s, property for the burial. Once it was done, she showed me the door with her shotgun in hand, in case I misunderstood her. I didn’t. I was grateful she allowed me to put Sara, Zoey, and Ingrid to rest.
Flicking through the letters, I stop when I see a postcard. This time, it’s from Mexico. I don’t need to turn it over to know who it’s from. Only one person would bother writing to me.
“Be careful.” Pavel doesn’t need to clarify. He saw me with Willow. He saw firsthand how I happily sacrificed everything for her.
Running a hand through my snarled hair, I nod. “Let me know if you find anything on the малышка. Say hi to your mom from me.”
Pavel scoffs playfully, then turns around and walks toward his car.
Once he’s gone, I open the door to see Renata is thankfully still sleeping. Not wanting to wake her, I quietly walk through the house and into the bathroom. Closing the door softly, I walk over to the claw bathtub that takes up way too much space.
However, this isn’t here for decorative purposes.
Carefully placing the postcard onto the edge of the sink, I quietly move the bathtub over and roll back the mat. I unlock the small trapdoor I cut into the old floorboards and reach inside. The safe I bolted and then cemented into the ground is the safest place for my money.
I can’t deposit it into a bank. And hiding it anywhere within these thin walls is out of the question. So the only sensible solution was to deadbolt it into the ground, then pour concrete around it, ensuring no one could dig it up.
Entering the code, I open the safe and commence placing the large stacks of cash into it, forty thousand dollars in total. Once it’s all loaded in, I lock the safe and carefully place everything back in place. Just as I am rearranging the bathtub, the bathroom door opens.
Quickly stuffing the duffel into a drawer, I dart over to the toilet and flush it, faking doing up my fly.
Renata pauses when she sees me. Her blushing cheeks reveal she remembered everything that happened last night. “Sorry, I didn’t realize you were in here.”
“It’s fine. I’m done.” When I stuff the postcard into my pocket, Renata arches a brow. She’s seen it, but she can never know who sent it. The less people know of Willow, the safer she’ll be. “I’ll leave you to it.”
She steps out of the doorway so I can push past her. It seems she can’t stand the touch of me after last night.
Good.
Closing the door behind me, I exhale slowly, as that was a close call. I will never get used to this houseguest nonsense, but I do need to be more careful on all accounts when it comes to Renata.
Needing to put some space between us, I toss all my dirty clothes into a bag and decide to do some laundry. I leave a note for Renata, once again putting my trust in her that she won’t run.
Where I’m headed is about twenty minutes away, but I still drive. I won’t take the risk of walking anywhere; it’s the reason I’m still alive. Willow’s postcard burns a hole in my pocket, but I decide to read it later, so I place it into the glove compartment before heading to Lia’s.
The “laundromat” isn’t your conventional storefront. It’s in a ninety-one-year-old’s backyard. Her name is Lia. She has eighteen grandchildren and ten great grandchildren, but I haven’t met any of them. She lives alone. She does my laundry, and in return, I buy her groceries and pay her well for her silence and her ability to get the bloodstains out of my whites.
Oleg is the local farmer I get all my produce from. Keeping hidden means sticking to the shadows and steering clear of the mainstream. When I pull into his driveway, he waddles into his house, emerging moments later with a boxful of food.
Eggs, fresh meat, produce, and milk are all derived from his land. This is as organic as one can get. Leaving the motor running, I meet Oleg and take the box from him. Peering inside, I see he has once again packed enough food to feed a small army.
“Are you trying to fatten me up?” I tease in Russian, digging into my pocket for my wallet. I give him three hundred dollars, which is probably far more than any reasonable person would pay for groceries. But this also buys his silence.
He places the money into the top pocket of his shirt. “A hungry man is an angry man,” he replies in Russian.
I don’t argue because he has a point.
Placing everything into my SUV, I bid Oleg farewell and head for Lia’s. A part of me doesn’t mind living off the grid like this. I’m accustomed to riches, but living simply does have its benefits. When you’re on top of the food chain, everything is handed to you.
But now, everything I earn, everything I have is a direct result of my doing.
Once upon a time, if I wanted my suit cleaned, I’d send someone to do it. Or I’d simply call my tailor and have him make me a new one. But those occurrences are a thing of the past. Now, nothing gets done unless I have a hand in it.
Back to the basics, I suppose you could say, and when I pull into Lia’s long driveway, this is as simple as one can get. Lia lives on an old wheat farm. The earth has long dried up and produces nothing of value, but this is her home.
I park my SUV round back, seeing her scrub a floral dress down the washboard. Everything is washed by hand. If this were anyone else, I would offer to buy them a washing machine, but I wouldn’t insult Lia that way.
Grabbing my clothes, I announce my arrival loudly because although Lia’s hearing is superb, her eyesight failed her long ago. She stops her scrubbing, smiling when she hears me greet her.
“Здравствуйте.” I kiss both her cheeks as I say hello. “I’ve come from Oleg’s,” I inform her in Russian as she
doesn’t speak a word of English. As I attempt to unpack my clothes from the bag, she slaps my hand away.
I take the hint and leave, grabbing the groceries. Going inside, I unpack the meat and put it in the fridge.
Oleg packed extra, knowing I would give what I don’t need to Lia. In this community, we look out for our neighbors but mind our own business. That’s how I’ve been able to remain hidden here for so long.
Lia hums along to a Russian song over the radio like she always does, always appearing most happy when busy. I wonder where her family is. It’s awfully sad knowing she is here by herself most of the time, but she never complains.
But this generation never does. They push on through because that’s how they were raised. Their strength is admirable, and I can only wish to be like Lia when or if I get to her age.
Once I’ve put the groceries away, I tidy up because her house is a mess. I doubt anyone has been by to visit her in days. Once the toilet is cleaned, I remake her bed and do a quick sweep of the house. As I sweep down the hallway, I catch my reflection in the window.
In secondhand trousers and a creased blue shirt that served as my pajamas, I don’t recognize myself, but that’s common these days. I once took pride in my appearance, and I still do, just not in the same way. My beard is long, as is my hair. The impeccably groomed and noble Aleksei Popov is no more.
I wish Willow could meet this version of me. I wish for a lot of things.
Thinking of her has me finishing up the sweeping and deciding to read the postcard while I wait for my laundry to dry. As I place the broom back into the closet, I notice something is out of place.
It’s silent.
Lia’s humming no longer floats through the air. It’s deadly quiet.
I’m unarmed as I’ve never felt the need to carry anything when coming here. But now I realize that decision will cost me dearly. Looking out the window, I can’t see anything out of place. But as I sneak down the hallway and into the kitchen, I see that that’s no longer the case.
