“What beef do the Russians have with us?”
This is the first time I am hearing of any issue with the Bratva. Although I’m only a lowlysoldato, Angelo brought Mateo and me in on a lot of high-level discussions, so it’s unusual neither one of us was aware of something going down. If Mateo had known, he would have confided in me. We didn’t usually keep secrets from one another. I wonder if this will change now Mateo is gone—if my access to Angelo will be restricted.
“We found some of their guys selling product on the streets,” he explains. “Sent one of them home with a message, assuming they would move out of our turf.”
“Would they really take Mateo down in retaliation for that?” It seems unlikely to me.
“Five of their guys are shark fodder at the bottom of the Hudson. Maybe I killed someone’s son and this was a father’s revenge or it was a renegade who lost a buddy and decided to take matters into his own hands. We know how unstructured and undisciplined they are.”
The Bratva are a strange mafia organization in the US. They don’t have solid structures or strong leadership like the Italianmafioso, and it’s widely known a lot of their men operate as solo agents. While they have their traditions, the same as we do, they are a wild, uncultured rabble. It’s why we have never seen them as much of a threat. They lack coordination and loyal manpower.
“Whatever you are planning, I want in.” My eyes bore into his. Mateo was my best friend, my brother, and I want to slaughter the man responsible for his death with my bare hands.
“I have a meeting later this morning with the other dons to discuss it. I’ll let you know if anything new comes to light. If, and when, we make plans, you will be included. I give you my word.” He stands, signaling the end of our conversation. Taking his jacket from the back of his chair, he folds it over his arm and comes to stand beside me. “Walk me to my car,” he says, moving toward the exit. “I have something else to tell you. We have a making ceremony tonight.”
“We do? Who is getting initiated?” I arch a brow as we step out into the hallway. I keep my head down, forcing myself not to seek out Natalia. I know most of the young men in ourfamiglia, and I can’t think of anyone who has just turned thirteen.
“I have someone I want you to take under your wing,” he adds, opening the front door. He stops on the top step, tilting his face up, basking in the early June sunshine. I quietly close the door and stand beside him, wondering what’s going on. After a few beats of silence, he looks over at me. “I have another son, and I need you to help me to teach him our ways.”
* * *
NATALIA
“Natalia! Principessa!”My father hollers up the stairs, his loud voice booming off the walls, but I ignore him, curling tighter into myself on top of my comforter, willing him to go away.
No such luck.
The door rattles as he knocks on it before walking inside a few seconds later.
I sit up, staring at him in outrage. “Papa! You can’t just barge in here! I could’ve been undressing!”
“And you can’t just ignore me.” His eyes skim over my wrinkled clothing and my wan face. “We have someone special joining us for dinner. Take a shower, and clean yourself up. You’re the woman of this house now, Natalia. I need you to act like it.”
“My brother just died!” I cry, the words sticking in my throat. “And you’re already entertaining guests, as if we haven’t lost Mama and Mateo!” I fight a fresh wave of tears.
He sighs heavily, and exhaustion cloaks his face as he sits on the edge of my bed. “Princess.” He clasps my hands in his. “I know you are hurting because I’m hurting too, but we can’t sit around grieving all day. Life must go on. You know it is what Mateo and your mama would have wanted.”
“Everywhere I look, I see reminders of them,” I whisper. “I don’t want to forget them, but the pain of constant reminders is killing me, Papa. I don’t know how to go on when it’s only you and me now. Overnight, we have lost half our family, and I feel lost too.”
“Come here,bella.” He opens his arms, and though I’m mad at my father—for this lifestyle that got Mateo killed and for forcing Leo away from me—he is the only family I have left, and I need him.
I need him to hold me and tell me it will all be okay.
So, I wrap my arms around him and let him hug me. He smooths a hand down the back of my hair. “We will get through this.Youwill get through this because you are strong like your mother. I think tonight will help too.”
All the tiny hairs lift on the back of my neck at his words. “No, Papa!” I exclaim, shucking out of his embrace as I contemplate his meaning. “You said I could go to NYU! That I wouldn’t have to marry until I was finished. I—”
“Shush,principessa.” He cuts me off before I dissolve into hysteria. “It is not a suitor. He is someone else entirely.”
Air punches from my lungs in grateful relief, and now I’m intrigued. “Who is it Papa?”
He stands. “Clean yourself up and come downstairs so I can introduce you.”
I take the quickest shower in the history of showers, covering my hair so it doesn’t get wet as my thick locks take forever to blow-dry. Then I pull on red underwear underneath a black knee-length dress.
I used to scoff at the tradition that saw mafia wives, sisters, and daughters wearing layers of black clothing after a death in the family. Now, it’s more modern to wear something black with red underwear because black symbolizes mourning, red symbolizes blood, and the contrasting colors denote revenge.
Strangely, I have found it a comfort succumbing to the tradition this past week. I trust my father to discover whoever did this to my brother and to make them pay. I’m working up the courage to ask Papa if I can be there when the culprit is tortured and killed. I want to see him suffer before we snuff out his miserable existence.
