My Mobster

by J. L. Drake

His sweet brown eyes wore me down. “Okay, but not here.” I hopped inside Ryan’s truck and texted Kiki I would catch up with her later.

  We made small talk as he drove us to our favorite pizza place. Turned out he was spending winter break with his dad, who lived across the street from me. Once we got a booth and ordered a large white pizza with artichokes and black olives with a side of meatballs, Ryan put his hand on top of mine. “I didn’t turn you down that night.”

  I looked away, ashamed of my slutty drunken horniness. “Ryan, I’m totally embarrassed about the whole thing. Can we please drop it?”

  He shook my arm to loosen my constant anxiety. I couldn’t look at him. I took a sip of my Sierra Mist.

  “You’re not hearing me, Carter. I’ve been crushing on you since high school.”

  Pop fizz tickled my nose. “Ryan, stop it.”

  “Seriously. I only said no because I have too much respect for you to take advantage of a situation like that. But, if you were my girlfriend and wanted to attack me, I’d be all right with that.” He tapped my foot under the table and squeezed my hand.

  I peeked up at him. He had the cutest dimples. “Your girlfriend?”

  At that exact moment, a guy bumped into Ryan’s chair. When the dude turned around and held up his hand to apologize, I recognized him—Playboy. He tossed me a wicked grin and camped out at the table behind Ryan.

  After Playboy took a seat, two of his cohorts joined him—the big, grimacing fellow that lurked around Vladimir’s house, and a wiry guy with a shaved head and a trail of black tats running down his neck. Playboy waved behind Ryan’s back and snapped a pic of the big boy and me. A not-so-subtle reminder for me to be on my best behavior.

  That trio of Russian outcasts must be the patsani Vladimir had warned me about last weekend. My God, would he really use them to teach me a lesson?

  ***

  As we walked back to his truck after dinner, Ryan said, “Can I talk you into a movie instead of going to the lake?”

  Hanging around with Ryan would be a solid plan to stay out of trouble. I hated the thought, but the Russians were right about drinking around boys, and there was potential for the overnighter to end badly—and I sure as hell didn’t want Playboy and his posse to get involved.

  “Come on. I’ll buy the Milk Duds.”

  “You’re tempting me with the promise of a sugar buzz and a mouthful of cavities? Smooth. I’m a sucker for bad boys. Your bribe is accepted.”

  As Ryan drove to the theater, Dad’s ringtone erupted from my phone. “What’s up? I’m with Ryan.” I paused, listening. “Cowan Lake? On my way.”

  “What’s wrong?” Ryan asked.

  “The cops busted Kiki and a bunch of the others for being at the lake after hours. Some jerk brought beer, so everyone had to call their parents to pick them up. Kiki’s dad was worried because I was M.I.A. and called Dad.”

  “How angry is he?”

  “Oh, you know Dad. Somewhere between an overprotective rhino and a ticked off Coach Harbaugh.” The drama was getting exhausting.

  “But you weren’t even at the lake.”

  “Stop applying common sense. We’re talking about my dad, here.”

  When Ryan got me back to the house, Dad was waiting on the front porch in his pajama pants, Karen’s house slippers, and a winter coat. He couldn’t even wait for me to get inside the house to interrogate me. Ryan offered to walk me to the door and serve as my witness, but I convinced him to go home. I liked the idea of knowing he was across the street.

  “You lied right to my face, Carter?” Dad asked before I even made it up the steps. “How dumb do you think I am? You do this sort of thing every weekend with your wild college friends?” He held the door open, I stepped inside, and he locked it behind me. “Does Ryan lie to his dad so he can sneak around all night? So, the two of you are an item now?” Even though he was shouting, he sounded excited about the prospect of me dating The Perfect One.

  I didn’t answer any of his questions. The one night I didn’t do anything wrong, I got busted for lying to my dad for no good reason. Karen peered at me from the kitchen table.

  “You don’t want to talk?” he went on. “Fine. You’re grounded. Give me your phone. If you don’t have anything to say to me then you don’t need to talk to anyone else.”

  I handed my cell to him without pleading my case. Grounded. Like a kid. Total bullshit, but I didn’t have it in me to fight back. In fact, I could think of nothing better to do than sit in my room and rot all weekend.

  He glanced down at my screenshot and let out an exacerbated sigh when he saw a selfie of Kiki and me making fish faces. “The two of you,” he mumbled under his beer-tainted breath. “It’ll be such a relief when you’re finally out of this house so I won’t have to put up with your goddamn shit anymore.”

  My hands flew to my mouth.

  “Oh, Rick,” Karen said. “Apologize.”

  “I didn’t mean it. Sorry,” Dad said to Karen. He was more motivated to appease his wife than he was to take back what he said to me. Because it was the truth. He reached out and laid his hands on my shoulders.

  “You’re not sorry.” I shoved him off. “You hate me. You’ve always hated me. It’s my fault Sophia’s dead and you’ll never forgive—”

  “Oh no you don’t, Carter.” Dad held out his hands. “Don’t you dare try to deflect—”

  “Admit it. You wish I had crashed and burned instead of your good daughter.”

  “Carter, how could you—”

  “I’m sorry I made your life suck.” I retreated to the safety of my room, dropped to the floor, and did push-ups in rapid-fire succession to ignite the burn in my muscles.

  The devil clung to my shoulder and hissed in my ear.

  You’re a fucking loser…Sophia was a better person…you should have been the one who died…it’s your fault…it’s your fault…it’s your fault…

  Sophia’s voice was silent. She blamed me, too. “I’m so sorry, Sophia,” I whispered. “I would trade places with you if I could.” My muscles were on fire, but I deserved the pain. I kept going until my body quit working, and I collapsed on the floor.

  I could not do one thing right to save my fucked-up life.

  Chapter 19

  Aftermath

  Before my disastrous Saturday night, I’d agreed to Boris picking me up at our usual spot on his way home from church at eleven a.m. Sunday morning to make up for the time I’d missed on Friday. Since I was grounded, for God’s sake, and without a phone, I had to think of a way out of the house to let him know I wasn’t going with him.

  Instead of making it complicated, I bundled up and told Karen I was going out for a run. The December deep freeze hadn’t set in yet, so jogging outside was still plausible. She didn’t try to stop me. Dad wasn’t around anyway. He was probably across the street in search of The Truth. He was best buds with Ryan’s dad.

  When I got inside the Cadillac, Boris gave me the once-over. I wore gloves to cover up my shaky hands and sunglasses to mask the fact I had bawled well into the morning hours. Even though Playboy and his wolf pack had surely followed me last night, there was no way Boris could have known what had gone down after I got inside the house.

  He waited for me to speak first.

  “You don’t have to say it.” I held my hands up in surrender. “I can’t do anything right. Trust me, I hear it all the time.” My eyes welled up again.

  Boris put his hand on my shoulder, and I caught a whiff of incense on him from church. “The boss is proud of you for making a good choice to stay out of trouble.” He patted me on the back in an attempt to calm me down or, possibly, be supportive.

  I wiped my nose on the sleeve of my gray North Face jacket. “Kiki’s dad called my dad and busted my story. He said he can’t wait for me to move out so he doesn’t have to put up with me anymore.”

  Boris tapped his rings on the steering wheel and stared at the handmade cross dangling from his rearview mirror. “You shouldn�
�t have lied to your papa.”

  “If I told the truth, he would never let me leave the house. He still thinks I’m a little kid. I can’t wait until I move out. Besides, if I had broken down and told him about the party at the lake, I would have ratted out, like, fifty of my friends. You know I’m not a rat.” I appealed to his sense of loyalty.

  “Your papa taught you a lesson?” He strangled the steering wheel.

  “What?”

  He pointed to my sunglasses. “He hit you?”

  “Of course not.” I lowered my shades to show him my red puffy eyes. “I’m grounded,” I made air quotes, “but he didn’t say for how long. He took my phone, too. Will you tell Mr. Ivanov I’m sorry?”

  His veins were popping out. I couldn’t tell if he was mad at my dad, me, or the situation in general. “Get home before you get into any more trouble.”

  I jogged to work up a sweat to solidify my excuse for leaving the house. When I opened the door, Dad met me in the foyer. I slid around him to get to the stairs, but he blocked me.

  “Hold on, Carter.” His eyes were rimmed in red like mine. “First, I’m sorry for what I said last night. I didn’t mean it. I was just mad, okay?” Dad’s apology was as sincere as a warning label on a pack of cigarettes.

  I had always felt like a burden on my dad, especially after he married Karen and Megan was born. They were a family, and then there was me—the aftermath. “No problem. Sorry I lied.” I tried to escape, but he wouldn’t move his arm.

  “Secondly, when we have an argument, it’s not fair to use your sister as a weapon against me. You’ve been to enough counselors to know better than that by now.”

  Ouch. “My bad.” I went with what I was supposed to say rather than what I felt. I learned that in therapy, too, Dad. Check the right boxes and you don’t have to spend your Saturday mornings trapped in a shrink’s office.

  Dad reeled me in for a hug. I didn’t hug him back. “Boris called a few minutes ago. Vladimir wants us to come over and watch the Bengals game today. Feel like going?”

  Leave it to Boris to untangle my mess. “I thought I was grounded.” I stepped back.

  “Karen and I talked about it this morning. We decided not to punish you. Ultimately, you stayed out of trouble.”

  Ultimately, I’m not twelve years old. I clamped my lips, though. I was getting out. I suppressed a smile as I passed him to go upstairs.

  “One more thing,” he called out. “Boris said to bring your tennis racquet and a bathing suit.”

  I ran to my room, careful to keep the pep in my step down a few notches. Being at Vladimir’s house, soaking outside in the hot tub, and watching a Bengals game sounded like utopia compared to hiding out in my room all day at Dad’s—and I had Boris to thank for it. A reward for staying out of trouble? Maybe. I’d take it.

  Chapter 20

  Solitary Confinement

  Boris and the poodles were waiting to greet us at the front door. Megan was at a birthday party, so she wasn’t with us. Dad and Karen walked ahead of me, and I trailed behind carrying a grocery bag full of snacks and fruit that needed to be cut up. When I passed Boris, he maintained his usual contemptuous expression, but initiated a celebratory fist bump behind my dad’s back and knocked his knuckle into mine.

  Ouch.

  The poodles cried, Mama! Mama! and danced in circles, overjoyed to have me home.

  “The dogs remember you, Carter,” Karen said.

  “I have a way with animals.” I turned to Boris. “Do you mind if I use the kitchen?” I nodded to the bag. “I need to cut up the fruit.”

  “Of course, Miss Cook. I’ll show you the way. Rick, Karen, the game is on outside. It’s sufficiently warm with heat lamps and fire. Vladimir will join you momentarily.” Boris picked up the bag from my arms and led the way to the kitchen.

  Considering my track record, I worried I might be in trouble for something, but Vladimir put me at ease right away. He smooshed my face against his crisp blue shirt and wrapped his arms around me. He stepped back, cupped my head in his hands, and swept his thumbs under my puffy eyes. “No more sad Sundays for my good girl.”

  “Thanks, Mr. Ivanov.” I suppose hanging out with Ryan wasn’t a crime, or Boris chose not to tell him. I had a feeling the boss wouldn’t share my joy about the fact we had officially started dating, so I decided to keep my mouth shut.

  As Boris unpacked the grocery bag, I pointed to the refrigerator to bring attention to my schoolwork still on display. He dismissed my concern with a tip of his head. I got out a cutting board, a sharp knife, and a platter for the fruit.

  Vladimir rubbed his hands together and moved to the bar. “Let’s make Mama and Papa a drink.” He turned over two champagne flutes.

  “Wait. If you want to have some fun, serve Karen a margarita. Trust me, Dad will be completely preoccupied.”

  He took my advice and mixed up a strong batch into a pitcher, and Boris carried it outside. When we were alone, the boss set down the knife I was using and pressed a new phone into my palm. “If you ever need anything, you call. My personal number, as well as Boris’s, is programmed into the phone. Day or night for any reason, promise?”

  I slid it into my pocket. “Thanks, Mr. Ivanov.”

  He mirrored my tortured expression. “Oh, my angel. How could your papa ever want to be rid of someone as wonderful as you?”

  I should have never told Boris what Dad had said. “Mr. Ivanov, he didn’t mean it. He was just mad. It was totally my fault, anyway. We’re over it.”

  “You deserve to be cherished and adored, not like some pest unworthy of your papa’s love.” He stroked a long strand of hair that had fallen from my messy bun. “I want you to live here with me.”

  Say what? “Everything is fine. People fight. It’s no big deal.” I forced a smile. “And I appreciate the offer. It’s tempting, but I can’t move out of Dad’s house and live here with you.”

  “Of course you can.” He squeezed my shoulders. “Let me take care of you.”

  “Mr. Ivanov—”

  “I’ll buy you a car—”

  “I can’t just—”

  “I’ll pay for your college education—”

  “That’s very generous, but—”

  “I can give you everything your heart desires. Say yes.”

  I had known the boss for all of two weeks, and he wanted to move me into his house and make all my dreams come true. “I can’t, Mr. Ivanov.” I gave him a broken smile. “It means a lot that you care, though.” I fought another round of tears. “You’re the best boss ever.”

  His eyes clouded over with disappointment. “Oh, Carter, is that what I am, your boss?”

  I placed my hand on my belly to settle the butterflies. “Let’s go watch the game.” I tried to move on from our awkward conversation. “I made a bet with Boris that the Dolphins QB will get sacked in the first quarter. I want to see his face when I win.”

  Vladimir picked up my hand and guided me to the bar, visibly deflated by my rejection. “What can I make you, angel?”

  I tapped my fingers as I thought it over. “I think I’ll wait. I need to eat something first.”

  He checked his watch. “It’s after one o’clock, and you haven’t eaten today? Is your punishment starvation as well?” His mood had flipped in an instant. At times he was like two completely different people: Vladimir and the pakhan. Vladimir was the sweet, caring, man who loved to make me happy, but then there was the ruthless, take-no-prisoners crime boss—a dangerous man, never to cross.

  “Oh, no. I got up late. It’s not Dad’s fault. He would never do that.” I had to remember who I was dealing with. I could never let my guard down. I never wanted to find out would happen if he thought someone had hurt me.

  “I’ll make a tray of cheese and olives to go with the fruit. We’ll eat together on the patio,” I said. “See you out there in a minute?” I pleaded.

  “Sounds good.” He turned over a shot glass and poured a long swig of vodka. “Don’t
be too long.”

  I hacked up the fruit, chunked some cheese, and dumped a jar of olives on the platter. Boris was outside, so I knew he would keep the peace between my dad and the boss. Nonetheless, I didn’t want to linger.

  I set down the tray on the coffee table separating Dad and Karen from the Russians and me. I filled a plate and offered it to Vladimir, but he motioned for me to go ahead. He downed another shot. Boris flashed me a look to remind me not to act so familiar with the boss, then he downed a shot of vodka, too.

  Vladimir narrowed his eyes at Dad. Boris shouldn’t have told him about our fight. “You know Ricky, we have a deer overpopulation problem on the grounds. Maybe you and I should do a team-building exercise and go take out a couple of the bad ones.”

  “No, way!” I jumped to my feet. “I mean, no fair. Dad gets to see you every day. I was hoping we could hit some balls.” I directed my gaze to the tennis court.

  Boris downed another shot and then said something to Vladimir in Russian.

  “I’m sure Vladimir wants to relax on his day off, sweetie,” Dad said.

  The boss still had the crazy in his eyes. He needed convincing. “Please? Can you teach me how to nail that wicked backhand slice of yours?”

  Dad wrinkled his forehead. “When have you seen him play?”

  “I spend half my life at the tennis club, Dad. He hits with Mr. Cusimano.”

  “You could skin a cat with your backhand slice,” Dad said.

  “Please, Mr. Ivanov? We have our playoff next Thursday.”

  “You didn’t tell me you made playoffs,” Dad said.

  “Surprise.” It came out snarkier than I had intended.

  Dad gave me a weak smile. “Congratulations.” I could tell I’d hurt his feelings.

  “Will you, Mr. Ivanov? I need all the pointers I can get.” I batted my sad, watery eyes.

  “I would love to teach you something.”

  Boris invited Dad and Karen to enjoy the hot tub. He refreshed their drinks and showed them where to change. I smiled to thank him for helping to diffuse the situation.