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The door to Vadim’s headquarters slams shut behind me. I walk into the foyer with no shirt on, having given it to Tatyana to keep her warm in her cell. The walk back to this building was brutally cold. The heat inside is certainly welcome, but almost painful as my windburned skin adjusts to it. I turn toward the elevators, but in my side vision, I see Kalash and Grigor walking together.
They’re not wearing shirts either.
Surprised, and a little confused, I stop and watch them. Kalash sees me and raises an arm to me.
“This way!” he calls to me as he and Grigor walk to the stairs to the lower levels.
I follow them, hearing the voices of the rest of the men grow louder as I descend the staircase. It sounds like a group of sports fans cheering on their favorite team.
When I come in, a few of the men stop and look at me, but no one speaks. Once again, they’re huddled in a crude circle with their attention fixed at the center. A continuous buzzing noise drifts upwards, a sound that’s very familiar to me: that of a tattoo gun.
As I walk closer to investigate, Eugeny and Sergei part to allow me in the circle of men. I look down and find Dima reclined in a leather chair being tattooed by Adrik. The last time I saw Dima was during his initiation, when he was beaten into his new brotherhood. Some bruises that swelled his eyes shut have faded to light pinks and yellows, but there are still a few large circles of deep violet bruising remaining in other places.
All the men in the room have their shirts off, displaying their tattoos. I deduct this tattooing to be the remaining part of Dima’s initiation to the Bratva brotherhood.
Vadim sits next to Dima with a smile on his face, trading words of pride and belonging to Dima. He looks at me and his smile fades when he sees my shirt is off as well. I look at him, thinking of where we left off, with Vadim brushing off the assassination attempt on us.
Adrik’s hands work the upper chest muscle on Dima, laying the outline of his tattoo. I lean my head to the side, looking over areas Adrik has started. Swirls of clouds float along the contours of Dima’s chest and abdomen, avoiding areas where he’s already tattooed.
All the men here have the same cloud design tattooed on their skin, albeit in different configurations. I can see the areas that circle around existing tattoos and new tattoos layered on top of the clouds so they’re integrated into one piece. Adrik places new tattoos when a new member joins the Bratva, and any time they’ve earned a new tattoo for their actions committed as part of the brotherhood.
I realize this is Adrik’s part in the Bratva. He is the recorder of a new member joining, as well as their deeds before and after becoming members. I study the marks on Adrik’s hands and fingers, remembering what some of them mean.
The X marking over his knuckle shows he’s done time in jail. The watch face over his wrist means he served his full sentence with no leniency or early release. The beetle covering the surface of his hand is for good luck and a happy life. A cross on his finger shows he’s an experienced thief. The top of his forearm is covered with the image of a dragon tangled in a strand of barbed wire wrapped around its torso and broken manacles hanging from its feet, a symbol of rejection of state authority.
I think about when Adrik and his brother rescued me as a boy. Before they tattooed me, they argued over whether they should even do it. Adrik’s brother was against it, but I remember Adrik’s words as he insisted on placing the tattoo on my chest.
He risked his life for the brotherhood.
Dima came away from his initiation in awful shape, but that was more the act of Bodhan, a violent asshole who couldn’t contain himself. I glance over at Bodhan and notice he has a scowl on his face. A new member joining strengthens that brotherhood, but some people find reasons to turn it into a threat.
“Looks like the tradition’s changed,” I remark. Adrik looks up at me and nods a greeting before returning to his work.
Vadim holds his gaze on me. He shakes his head before answering. “What do you think changed?” he asks.
“From my understanding, a man needs to risk his life before he earns his tattoo.”
Dima shoots me a glare as Vadim rises from his seat, standing with his legs shoulder width apart. He points at the work Adrik is placing on Dima. “That’s not a tattoo. That’s a shield. He’s one of us. He defends us, and we protect him.”
I raise my eyebrows and nod. “That’s very touching, but again as I understand, a man needs to risk his life in order to earn his way in. I’d assume in a battle of some sort.”
“We’ve outgrown the need for battles,” Dima says with a proud smile on his face. “No other group comes close to our size and strength.”
“Outgrown battles,” I repeat to Vadim. “And now you’ve grown into a target for assassinations.”
Vadim’s bites the corner of his bottom lip with a smile still on his face. “That was nothing,” he says with a shrug of his shoulders.
“Someone tried to kill us!” I shout at him. “Do you think they’ll stop at a one failed attempt?”
“Maybe you think you deserve a shield,” Vadim says. “You survived the attempt on our lives, just as I did. But if you’re going to preach guidelines to me, then I’ll tell you the guidelines I follow.”
He stands in front of me, making me feel as if I’m looking into a mirror.
“You would need to be accepted as a brother, and I don’t accept you. I reject the idea of you deserving a place in the organization I resurrected, and I grew without your help. You have no place in the work I’ve done in the memory ofmyfather.”
Vadim returns to Dima’s side, whispering some words in his ear. They smile at each other and link their hands, squeezing and pulling their fists around as they laugh. I try not to let it affect me, reminding myself that Vadim doesn’t have to accept me as a brother. We’ve never seen each other until a few days ago. If the roles were reversed, I might have reacted the same way.
Kalash and Eugeny step aside as Vadim walks out of the circle and heads for the staircase upstairs.
