“I will give you the Bratva,” he says. “I’ll step down and it will all be yours. Please, Anton!”
Anton’s just standing there, looking down at him with a sneer of disgust on his face. “I have everything I’ll ever need from you, Vladimir,” he says. Then he lifts his gun and fires once. My father’s head jerks back hard against the pavement and his body goes still.
He’s dead. He’s really… dead. I stare numbly at his body in the headlights of the car. Blood as black as night under the lights spreads out underneath him, staining his favorite tracksuit.
My arm goes around my abdomen automatically.He won’t hurt you, my dear. Your father made sure of that.
That’s when I see Anton’s face as he walks back to the car. The look on his face is unreadable as he walks out of the light of the headlights and gets in on the passenger’s side.
Mikki’s coming back to the car and in these seconds that we’re alone, I want to say something to him. Apologize? Beg him to look at me? I don’t know. He’s probably furious with me…
Mikki gets in the car and pulls out his phone as he puts the car in drive. With deft skill, he dials a number while we pull away from the massacre. After a few seconds he says, “Yeah, Iggy. We need you to open the store. The boss needs your help. Yes, now.” He pauses, listening to whatever Iggy says. “Fine. We’re on the way.”
I look over at Anton, who’s looking out the window. I did say that I wanted to raise this child alone… Maybe that’s exactly what I’ll get in the end.
Why does that suddenly feel wrong?
30
ANTON
We get to Iggy’s within the hour, and it’s a good thing, too. I’m starting to feel lightheaded. I look down at the bullet wound and I realize that in this great adventure, I’ve probably lost quite a bit of blood…
“Well, you look like shit,” Iggy says as I walk into his back office. He adjusts his wire-rimmed glasses and scratches his mass of white hair as he looks me over. “Cut yourself shaving, did you?”
“Something like that.”
“Well, have a seat. Let’s get that shirt off—Oh? And who is this?”
I glance over my shoulder at Mikki… and at Natalya standing shyly behind him. Mikki follows his gaze and looks back at her, then they both look to me for a response.
“Unimportant,” I tell Iggy as I sit on the dentist chair in the center of the room. The pain in my side burns like fire as it travels up the side of my body. My shirt suddenly feels as tight as mummy wrappings around my body. I look over at Mikki,silently asking for help. He obliges, walking all the way into the room to lend a hand.
Iggy continues to look Natalya over. “‘Unimportant’, huh? Well, you’re a damned fine ‘unimportant’ from where I’m standing.”
She’s trying not to smile, but she does. The corners of her lips turn up and her cheeks flush as she turns her eyes down to her shoes. Iggy sticks his hand out to her.
“Igor Brodsky,” he says. She shakes his hand tentatively.
“Natalya. Natalya Petrov.”
I don’t have to see Igor’s face to see his smile has dropped. He straightens up a little and utters a short“Oh”before clearing his throat. “Well, Natalya, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” He glances around at the chairs near the door. “Why don’t you have a seat?—”
“Wait outside,” I tell her. “We won’t be long.”
She looks at me and her smile fades. I’m expecting her to argue or give me a hard time about throwing my weight around, but she doesn’t. She just backs out of the room.
Mikki finishes helping me get my shirt off. It’s no easy task. My arm is starting to feel like it’s on fire now, so once I get it off one side, I’m practically dying as Mikki lifts my arm to get it off the other side.
But it’s off. I lean back as Igor turns the overhead light on and aims it at my wound, then turns to the cabinets under the sink, pulling out bandages, antiseptic, large tweezers, and a variety of other items. Without looking at him, he says to Mikki, “Why don’t you keep Ms. Unimportant company while I work? I hate having someone hanging over my shoulder as I work.”
Mikki looks at me for confirmation of the request, and I nod. He leaves the room.
“It’s been a little while since you’ve seen me,” he says. “A little birdie told me you were in the Motherland for a little while.”
“I was,” I say. He nods, then puts everything he took out on a metal tray and brings it over to me, setting it down on a small table by the chair.
“Mmm.” He turns and walks back to the cabinets and stops at the sink. The low din of the room fills with the sound of water running as he washes his hands. “I don’t think I ever had the chance to offer my condolences about Maksim, by the way. He was a good man… or at least as good as men are in our line of work.”
