My cousin Ivan is all I have. My Dyadya Ira, Ivan's Papa, was killed a few weeks ago. That was the warning that we should have heeded. My mama died in childbirth; that's one reasonthat Papa left Russia and left me with Dedushka. Ivan's mama, Maria, ran off, and Ivan hates her.
I'm running, yeah, I'm scared, and so is Ivan, but we must escape; I must survive this ruthless slaughter. I'm young, da, I'm twenty, but I'll fight; I will survive.
It takes us days to reach the border, to the White Sea. We are looking for a cargo ship that will take us to New York. We're traveling by ship to hide from the sukas that want to kill us off.
"Finally, we arrive in New York."
I look around the dock, adjusting my backpack, it's early morning, and the dock is busy. The cargo ships are lined up out at sea, waiting their turn to dock. The freezing wind whips around us, and I shiver.
"Da, it's been a long trip. But we need to get moving, call the Brigadier," Ivan says, pulling his coat closer around his neck.
"Da, but what if he's not loyal to the Pakhan, I mean to me? People change when there's power and money to be gained. Who knows what the son of bitch that killed Pakhan has offered the Brigadier. He might be working for him. I need to figure it out, and I think it would be wise to seek my half-brats. If I'm lucky, Pakhan left all I need to know at the safe house."
"We have to trust him. We need him to tell us what happened," Ivan scoffs, shrugging his shoulders.
"Nyet! Let's get moving!"
I walk down the street with Ivan, looking around. I'm trying to remember everything I need to do.
Shit, it's just as cold here as in Russia. Geeze, I always visited in the summer, and I thought that it didn't get as cold here in the winter.
"Nyet, I need to figure out if he didn't betray my Pakhan. Let's get an Uber; we did that last year when we were visiting. We can do this on our own."
"Da."
"I want to get everything on my brats. I need to talk to them."
My mind is spinning. So many thoughts, things I need to do, and overwhelming emotions run through my head. I need to push down the feelings, lock them up, and focus on claiming what's mine, the Kravtsov Bratva.
I’m the Pakhan now. My motto is kill or be killed. Blood will run, and I will reign, and retribution will be obtained for the death of my Pakhan.
I will claim what's mine, and my two brats need to be on my side. I do not doubt that Pakhan told my brats about me; therefore, they will be ready for me.
An hour later, we entered the apartment on the twenty-first floor of the apartment complex that I own. Da Pakhan gave it to me. It's top level, and it has its own private elevator. Pakhan took care of masking our ownership behind corporations andanonymous LLCs. Privacy, anonymity, and discretion are viable in the business landscape in New York.
This is where I stayed when I visited Pakhan, and the Bratva didn't know of this safe house except for Pakhan, Dedushka, Ivan, and me. Soon, I'll find out how much my brats know. I bet they know everything, but what I don't get is why Pakhan kept their existence from me.
Pakhan would spend time here with me, but he didn't want the Bratva to know much about me, so that I would remain obscured, as in unrecognizable. He also kept me from my brats.
Mudak!
I have so many questions, and I fucking hope that I get them.
We walk off the elevator into the lighted foyer area, and I walk up to the heavy steel door. I place my hand on the pad and enter the password, and the sound of the mechanism clicks, and the heavy steel door opens.
Pakhan thoroughly customized this apartment with bullet-proof doors, walls, and glass windows to protect me and make it a safe house, pretty impenetrable. Everything I need is here, and the place is stocked with food and ammunition.
I walk into the apartment and place my backpack on the side table. I look around, and I can't help but feel relief. All of the memories of Pakhan and Dedushka flood my mind, and my throat tightens. One thought runs through my mind.
This is home.
"Der'mo, it’s been hell escaping Russia, and I'm so happy to be home," I say, running my fingers through my hair.
"Da, I'm hungry, tired, and stinky. So, I'm going to shower, eat, and sleep," Ivan huffs, walking to the kitchen.
"Da, make sure to make plenty, I'm starving."
"Will do," Ivan hums, walking to the sink and washing his hands.
