Dad put me down on the tiles, and then tore the end of his shirt and covered my mouth with it. “Keep it like that, son. Let me save Mommy.” He kneeled in front of her, sliding his palm under the heavy wood, and tried with all his strength to lift it, but all it did was rise a bit. “Ludmila, try to slide from under it.” He again repeated his action, but she couldn't do anything. “Ludmila!” he snapped, but she shook her face as a single tear ran down her cheek as my dad gazed at her confusedly.
“I can’t, Jake,” she whispered. “I don’t feel my legs.” Soon the fire reached the kitchen, torching the wooden baskets scattered around the floor, the curtains, and wooden chairs. We had no time; we needed to escape.
“Daddy, Mommy?” I came closer to them while they gazed at each other with weird looks on their faces I couldn't name. He leaned down and they rested their foreheads against each other, as if coming to some kind of decision.
“Radmir.” I quickly joined them. She gave me a kiss on the head and said hurriedly, “Go, run to the window. Daddy will help you.” Then she let me go as Dad picked me up, holding me so tightly for a second and whispering in my ear, “We love you, buddy.” He helped me get through the window. I held on to the windowsill then dropped the short distance to the ground.
“Go to the street,” Dad shouted, and I frowned but listened to him. Wouldn't he want me to open the door for them so they could escape? Or ask for help? With all my might, as fast as my legs would take me, I dashed toward the sidewalk where everyone already stood. As sirens rang loudly at the far end of the street, Daddy’s friends brought water and tried pouring it on. The main door was completely blocked.
Should I help them?
But Daddy’s voice rang in my ears. “Go to the street!” A few seconds after I reached the street, the house crashed and exploded. As an agonized scream left me, a man pushed me down on the ground, blocking me from the explosion. My head got dizzy, and in a second, everything went blank.
Radmir, 11 years old, November
“Child, come with me,” Vasya Konstantinov said gently as he squeezed my shoulder and we entered the gates of some weird place he called home. “The Bratva headquarters,” he announced as the view of the mansion and its surroundings came into view, immediately creating uneasiness inside me. Nothing about it reminded me of our beautiful house in the suburbs, where Mama grew roses that bloomed every spring.
Burrowing my face deeper into the scarf around my neck to protect myself from the cold, I asked, “Will I live here?”
Vasya nodded, and then unexpectedly crouched next to me, raising my chin so he’d have my whole attention. “You are a Bratva member now,” he said, and I frowned.
“What is that?” He chuckled, ruffling my hair. “You’ll learn.” Then he grabbed both of my shoulders. “My nephew will be one of the greatest members.”
Back then, I didn't understand his words. I didn't understand the Bratva wasn’t just a family. It was a brotherhood that dictated your life, and in a way, Vasya chose my destiny for me.
Radmir, 15 years old
Stepping to the side, I avoided Vasya’s fist aimed right at my face and dug down to deliver my blow to his stomach. He grunted painfully, which allowed me to move to his back and hit it with my elbow. He doubled over, but before I could catch his neck in a tight grip, he kicked me below the knees and I lost my balance, crashing onto the leather mat painfully, hitting my lower back.
He loomed above me, wiping the sweat away from his face. “Never underestimate your enemy and act victorious. The first mistake you can do is think no one out there is better than you are.”
“I didn’t—”
He shut me up pretty quick. “Silence! I’m not chitchatting here with you. Follow my words religiously. And enough of this virginity bullshit. Alicia will help you with that problem tonight.” He then helped me get up, ignoring my wince of pain from the black eye he’d given me and the limp, because his kick had a bit more force to it than what I was used to. “From now on, you will train with me. Everyone else seems to be babying you here.” Then he hopped down from the ring, while everyone else pretended not to hear a thing, although I didn't miss the pity in their eyes.
Vasya had turned my life into hell in this fucking place, demanding more than usual. I had to have the best grades, learn three languages instead of two, drive a car, shoot like no one’s business, and be the best fighter.
Even sex had to be under his strict supervision, since the Bratva members ran their mouths about my hesitation, and it wouldn't do for the pakhan's nephew. We needed to show our virility.
In the corners of my mind, my heart, there still lived a hope to have a love like my parents. They used to come alive in each other’s company, and I longed for it.
I almost laughed self-mockingly, because it was such a sappy thing to do.
The future sovietnik should be devoid of any emotions and be impersonal, right? It was time I accepted dreams had no place in this world.
Who cared who’d be my first?
Might as well be Alicia; she wouldn't matter.
No one would matter.
Radmir, 17 years old
His nose bleeding, the man sank to his knees on the concrete floor of the warehouse as he pleaded, “Please, mercy.”
Vasya just chuckled, lighting up his cigar while studying his fingernails. “You stole from the Bratva, Pasha. Surely you understood the repercussions?”
I grabbed the nearby towel, wiping my hands on it, as the fist fighting and “teaching a lesson” had ended, as Vasya called it. Although I was still considered young and a recruit in the brotherhood, he had started taking me to such meetings so my fists could deliver the much-needed blows to make the victims or traitors talk.
