I followed my mother to the far side of the foyer, away from prying ears, where she stood staring out at the beautiful gardens. I thought once again of Marisha and our brief time together out there earlier today; the urge to check my phone for the millionth time—despite not hearing it ping or vibrate—was almost overwhelming.
“Everything okay, Mother?” I asked as I came to stand beside her.
My mother was a beautiful woman and she looked after herself so she stayed that way, but even so, I could see the tiredness in her eyes and knew what my father had said earlier to be true. She was weary of this life and wanted something other than the danger that came with it. She wanted her family around her; sons, daughters, wives, husbands, children, grandbabies. Love and laughter, over blood and butchery.
“Marisha Zolotov was here earlier,” she said, and I froze at her words. Her soft gaze was on mine, watching my every movement. “Her husband came to collect her,” she said simply, like there was nothing unusual or concerning about that, but my heart beat sharply, bits of ice biting at the organ.
“Oh?” I said, forcing the single syllable out before throwing the vodka to the back of my throat.
She was frowning as she watched me, her lips pursed as she took in every subtle movement. “I’ve never been a fan of Ivan. He was always too rash with his decisions and too violent when violence wasn’t required. He enjoyed the bloodshed, where bloodshed should only be a means to an end. There’s a certain appearance one needs to have when in this lifestyle. He has never quite fit the modern mold of our industry, despite his efforts.”
“I agree,” I replied, wondering where this was going.
“We’re not street gangsters anymore, yet he still behaves like he is.”
I nodded in agreement. Truth be known, I thought the same thing. Half of me hated that I had been the one to convince my father to let him back into our lives, but the other couldn’t. If I did, then I would never have gotten close to Marisha, and that was something I would never regret.
Ivan had been steadfast over the years, despite his unmannered behavior. He had made the family money and lucrative connections. Yes, if he had ordered Stefano to rush things and ruin the deal to try and get in my father’s good graces, then he had made a bad judgement call, but he was still that pesky word loyal. And that was the most important quality in our world. Especially to my father.
“I’ve never trusted him. Not before, and not now,” she continued.
I nodded. “I know that. But business is business, mother, and Ivan—”
“Shut up, Alexander, and listen to me,” she ordered, and I snapped my mouth shut. “Business and money must take a backseat in this case.”
Mother linked her arm with mine and we began to walk. “Do you think I don’t see what’s going on between you and that woman, Alexander?” I tried to bring us to a halt, but she tugged on my arm. “Keep walking, son.”
“Mother, I…”
“Do not lie to me, Alexander. You may be a man now but I’m still your mother and I will still wash your mouth out with soap if another lie slips from that tongue of yours!” she snapped, her usually tender voice filled with irritation. “Do you think I did not recognize your behavior at the restaurant? Your father and I, many, many years ago, were the young lovers hiding away our passion.”
I smiled at that. Of course, I could not hide it from her. I could never hide anything from my mother. Eyes in the back of her head, as some would say. Before I could say anything, she spoke once more, and this time her voice was full of worry and fear.
“Ivan came to collect Marisha earlier. He was furious. More than furious, he looked trulyunhinged.”
I did pull us to a stop now and I turned to face her. My eyes searched her expression for something… anything. I didn’t even care that she had guessed we had been seeing each other. It seemed irrelevant now, in light of this new information.
“Do you think he’ll harm her?” I asked.
Ivan was crazy and controlling at the best of times, but if he suspected something—which was possible since my mother had guessed—then who knew what he would do to Marisha.
“Son,” my mother began, reaching up to place a hand on my cheek. “A man doesn’t become a king, he makes himself one. A man doesn’t ask for respect, he earns it through action. And a man doesn’t have power, he takes it,” she said.
“Mother?” I asked, taking her hand from my face and holding it gently as I frowned.
“Do you love her?” she asked, bluntly, her eyes searching mine.
I stared down at my mother. My beautiful, wonderful mother, who loved her children and my father unequivocally, and I nodded feeling the full weight of that confession to my very core.
“Then yes, I think he will hurt her,” she replied.
“Fuck,” I said, releasing her hand and reaching for my phone. “She’s not answered any of my texts from earlier.”
“Then you need to go to her,” she said simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world, but I could see the fear in her eyes.
“But it’s Marisha, mother… and with her family history I didn’t think…”
My mother tsked and waved my comment away. “That’s history now. And the history of men is just that. You and your sister are the future, Son.”
