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From that day forward, my life has been some weird alternate version of what should have been. My parents were supposed to live. I wasn’t supposed to become a criminal. But I am one, and every day since that nightmare I’ve dreamed of revenge.
I don’t even know who arranged the attack that day. I only know what they wanted, my father dead so they could rob him of the empire he built.
The door to my room opens to a scene just as destroyed as the rest of the house. My dresser is lying face down with the back of it smashed to pieces. The drawers are gone. Curtains that used to hang in the window are little more than burned out tatters of fabric that flap in and out of the broken picture window with each gust of wind.
I climb the stairs to the second floor, skipping the ones that are missing by pulling myself up with the wobbly, decaying banister.
When I was growing up in America, I resented my parents for leaving me behind. When they died I felt they abandoned me. I tried to erase all memories of them, hoping one day I’d forget the pain of losing them. So much of the trouble I got into back in those days was to numb myself. I partied, drank, got into fights, had my first run-ins with the police. Eventually, I learned there is no outrunning the things you need to face. I also learned that if I was going to break the law, I might as well make money at it.
These days, the idea of having something to remember my parents by is comforting. Comfort is a rare luxury for a man in my business.
When I reach my bed, I spot the yellow suitcase Adrik told me he’d hid my parent’s belongings. It’s huddled far under my bed, which is still pushed up against the far wall the way I liked it. I hook my arm over the top of my old mattress and reach under the frame, swiping away the dust that kicks up when I wave my arm across the floor as I reach for the suitcase huddled towards the back. When I pull the old suitcase out, I see the entire length of it is cut open. I stick my hand into the cut fabric and pull, lifting the top open and finding nothing but a thin layer of dust settled into the folds of torn fabric.
It was silly of me to hope for something as comforting as seeing my parents again. I shouldn’t have come here. Part of me knew this would be the result, but another part of me feels like Tatyana, needing to confront the day of the attack. The day that defined us both.
I kick away the empty suitcase, sending it spinning to the other end of the room. “It’s done!” I shout to myself, knowing I have no choice but to accept reality. There is nothing I can do to change the past.
All I have control over is now. The thought reminds me of Adrik’s stark gaze when I first saw him, his eyes filled with vengeance. He never forgot that day. As hard as I tried to forget, I never did either, but I don’t know if I want revenge as much as Adrik does. I moved on and made a life for myself in America. It was all I could control in the situation.
A pinpoint twinkle of light catches my attention and I turn back towards the rumpled suitcase. A shape comes to view as I walk towards it and I recognize my mother’s necklace. It’s the one she wore every day she was alive, including the day she was murdered. Adrik must have slipped it in an inside pocket. I pick the necklace up by the teardrop-shaped amber pendant and study the flecks in the stone. My thumb follows the edge of the open-back bezel holding the stone inside, just as I did as a boy when my mother cradled me in her arms.
It was on her neck the day she died, in much worse shape than it appears today, so many years later. There was always grit staining the links of the silver chain, but the day she died it was covered in her blood. I couldn’t stand to look at it. Today the metal shines brighter than I’ve ever seen it, as if I’d just been picked out of a jewelry store.
A smile spreads across my face as I realize Adrik must have cleaned it to its gleaming state before leaving it in this suitcase for me.
Some memories are worth holding onto: my mother’s face, my father’s voice, the necklace that hung around my mother’s neck. But other memories are so horrible they should be wiped from history. My eyes pan over my bedroom and I decide this house, the epicenter of a vicious attack and scene of my mother’s murder, is one that must be destroyed.
The stairs creak as I walk down them and return to the living room. The fire has grown outside the confines of the fireplace. I walk to the room behind our kitchen where a false door leads to a private weapons stash my father kept. After all these years, no one has found it. I grip the handles of an old can of petrol, rolling it out of the room and into the kitchen. When I reach the fireplace, I unclasp the lid and tip it forward, sending a gush of accelerant into the fire I started. The flames merge with the spilled gasoline, consuming it in a blue glow that changes to yellow and spreads across the floor. The fire is completely outside of the fireplace, climbing up wood beams and creating black shadows of soot on the ceiling.
When I’m satisfied that the fire will eventually consume this entire building, I walk outside, get in my car, and leave the past where it belongs.
* * *
Visitingmy family home was supposed to be the last thing I did before I got a flight back to America, but I can’t stop thinking about how complicated things have become in my short time here. There was an assassination attempt against my brother and I. And of course, Tatyana Ivanova.
How do I leave the woman who is mine?
The metal door to Vadim’s headquarters slams shut behind me and I hear the men arguing. They’re gathered in a room off the foyer. When I enter the dining room, Vadim and the men turn towards me. He looks me over and turns back to continue the discussion.
“This isn’t the end of it,” Adrik urges Vadim. “Even if Viktor leaves, it won’t solve the problem. They tried to assassinate you too.”
Vadim sits back in his chair and thinks about Adrik’s point. He raises his eyebrows and shakes his head, not seeming to be that worried.
“Then we go to war and win, just like we always do,” Vadim says. “We have more men than any other group and we’re better armed,” he reminds Adrik. “It’s not a concern for us,” he says as he leans back in his chair.
“How do you know it’s only one group conspiring against you?” I ask. “When you’re at the top, all eyes are on you. It wouldn’t be difficult for a few smaller groups to join in battling a common rival.” I say, motioning at Vadim.
Adrik tips his head towards me. “He has a point. That’s exactly what happened to your father.”
Vadim twists his glass of whiskey around on his desk using the tip of his fingers, brushing off our arguments. “No one would be that reckless. We have too much influence over the industries they profit from.”
I lean over the top of his desk. “Our father had the same influence, and they still cut him down.” I think of the elders Vadim took me to meet, how unfair it is that a group of men awarded themselves such a pompous title as they benefitted from my father’s work. “And nothing collapsed the day our father died. Greed is greed, Vadim. It doesn’t change.”
Vadim glares at me. The sides of his jaw turn red as he grinds his teeth. “Our father…” he scoffs.
I slam my hands on the top of his desk. “He wasourfather! Not yours alone. I had to make peace with the fact that my father cheated on my mother. You can’t face the fact that he was a married man when he fucked your mother?”
Vadim glares at me. He rises from his seat, so we stand eye to eye. “You helped us yesterday. That’s why I won’t kill you right now.” He leans his body towards me, lining his forehead as his eyebrows raise. “But if you ever speak about my mother like that again, brother or not, I’ll put a bullet in you.” Vadim lowers himself back into his chair, leaving me to consider his threat.
