“Please wait here. I’ll see if Mr. Shabalin is available.”
I glance sideways at Edik and we both ignore the invitation to sit. Instead we follow Viktor through the artfully decorated first floor of the brownstone. If he’s annoyed, he doesn’t say so, but Iknow he can hear our footsteps behind him. We follow him out of the front parlor and down a wide hall.
I glance at the walls surrounding us and can’t help but notice not art, but family pictures decorating them. Annika. Valya. Taken at varying ages and times in their lives. High school plays. Graduation. Dances. One picture catches my eye more than the rest. It’s a family photo. One taken before the passing of Yulian’s wife.
It’s not staged like most family photos but instead looks as if it was candid. They’re in a park of some kind. There’s a large tree with a blanket underneath, shaded by the green leaves. Yulian is sitting on the blanket; the sleeves of his blue shirt are rolled up and he looks like he’s about to roll on his back from laughing. His late wife is in a white sundress and hat, leaning toward the tree with her arms outstretched and a wide, laughing smile on her face. Valya and Annika are young. Probably not even ten yet, and they’re on either side of the tree, looking as if they are about to pounce into their mother’s arms. They’re both wearing wide, slightly defiant grins. The ones children sport when they think they’re about to one up their parents.
It’s the first time I realize that Yulian isn’t just a member of the mob, but a father. At one time a husband. In the photo he just looks…normal.
Could my life ever be like that? With Annika? With our child?
“Pakhan?”Edik murmurs by my side. “Are you alright?”
I blink, realizing that I’ve stopped walking.
“I’m fine,” I reply. “Where did Viktor go?”
“He’s just up ahead. He stopped in the kitchen. That’s where Yulian is.”
I continue through the hall, ignoring the rest of the pictures hung there, and I walk into the kitchen to see Yulian looking unnerved. His usually styled hair is messed up, his white dress shirt is untucked and only half buttoned. I’ve never seen this man any less than perfectly polished.
“Hello, Yulian,” I greet calmly.
“Pakhan.Edik,” Yulian says, finally focusing on us. He stops moving from counter to counter.
“Did you lose something?” Edik asks.
Yulian shakes his head, presses his knuckles into the gray marble counter.
“My apologies, gentlemen, but I am having an off day. Did we have an appointment?”
“No,” I reply, taking a step toward him. “We just wanted to drop by. See how you were. You seem off. Everything alright?”
For a second I see something in Yulian’s eyes. A flash of willingness to say the truth. There’s something else there, too. Worry. Then his eyes shift to something behind me, and his face goes blank.
“Everything’s fine,” Yulian states.
I turn and raise an eyebrow as I see Pyotr of all people strolling into the kitchen. He grins at me as he goes to the bowl of apples and picks one up. He takes a bite and then with a mouth full of juice and fruit he says, “Hey, big brother.”
“Pyotr,” I greet, my tone stiff. “What are you doing here?”
I turn back to Yulian and ask, “Is he bothering you?”
Yulian quickly shakes his head.
“Oh, no. It is always an honor to have a Pavlovich in my home,” he replies with haste.
“Yulian, you are the picture of hospitality,” Pyotr replies through another mouthful.
“You didn’t answer my question,” I say, turning my focus back to Pyotr. “What are you doing here?”
“I told you the other night Valya and I were getting along,” Pyotr replies with a shrug. “We’re just hanging out upstairs.”
“Hanging out upstairs?” I ask. “You’re a man now, Pyotr, not a boy. If you want to spend time with a lady, you take her out, not hang around her father’s house and invade his privacy.”
“It really is no trouble at all,” Yulian answers quickly. “Valya seems quite sweet on him. And I just want my daughters to be happy.”
Before I can reply, Pyotr chortles and nearly chokes on his apple.
