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“Espie packed her jacket.”
“And?”
“And, it’s below freezing outside.”
“Well, good news, Esperanza Jr., we only have to walk a couple of feet to the car.”
“You know you—“ Espie grabs Olive’s fist, wagging at me before she can continue.
“I’ll be fine then.” She assures her and I lick my bottom lip, brows twitching up in Olive’s direction before I stand and make my way off the plane.
It is fucking cold outside. I won’t deny that. I haven’t been here since I was a boy, and it wasn't winter here when we visited. My body has grown far too accustomed to the very mild winters of LA. And this is certainly not LA.
As soon as I get in the heat of the car, I have no other distractions because Espie and Olive take the car behind me. Now I can feel the excruciating pain of needing nicotine, worse than I’ve ever needed anything in my life.
“Hey!” I reach for the driver, who turns his head, shocked. “Take me to the nearest gas station.”
His expression tells me he does not speak English, and I ball my fists at him in fury.
“Mne nuzhna sigareta!” He pulls his dimpled chin into his neck, and some of my boys load in the car as I yell. “nemedlenno, right now!” Finally, he nods and steps on the gas, peeling out of the airport in record timing.
Everyone knows not to mess with my family, and knows not to question our arrivals to the private airport just an hour away from the safe-home. We never fuck with customs, I can’t remember the last time I carried a passport on me to travel. The perks of being so feared throughout the world.
We are at the nearest gas station within a few minutes, and I send one of the boys in to buy every pack of Belomorkanal cigarettes that they have. They are incredible, usually my favorite when I visit any post-soviet republics.
He comes back with a cardboard box the size of his torso, and tosses it into the car before handing me a pack and a lighter.
“You’re a hero.” I nod, and he slides into the car as we take off again. For the rest of the drive, I smoke. Get through half a pack by the time we reach the electric gates of the infamous Mikhailov safe-house. Well, infamous to my family who knows about it.
The gates part for us, and we begin up the winding hill, leading up to the main entrance. Our driver pulls around the back, and we roll down a slippery driveway into a garage that used to be dungeons. The safe-house is an old castle that we acquired by force in the early 1800s. We’ve done plenty of renovations since then, though. None of which have solved the problem that happens when it snows. And we’re a little fucked because it is starting to snow.
“How much is expected?” I ask one of the guys guarding the door to the lower level of the safe-house.
“It’s hard to tell.” His thick Russian accent responds, and I nod solemnly as the rest of the boys meet me with my suitcases and box of cigarettes.
“Adrik.” I shove my cigarette in my mouth and reach for his hand.
“Barth.” He shakes it, and I motion for the boys to follow me inside. We head up a long set of black wood stairs, lit with torches all the way up the wall. When we make it to the top, the foyer instantly takes me back to running around and playing hide and seek with my brothers when we were younger.
The entire room is round— black wood floors that extend to cabinets, otherwise known as perfect hiding spots for kids with nothing to do but play. The walls are painted with images of nature in a blue glowing moonlight, all done by my mother. I’m surprisedOtetshas kept the paintings, considering his rage for her cheating on him with our uncle.
Both of them are dead now, for obvious reasons. It wasn’t obvious when I was younger. But knowing what my father does and his capacity for crimes driven by raging rampages, the math worked out rather quickly at a certain age when things tend to make a little more sense.
“That’s ridiculous. There has to be another floor for us to stay on.” Olive’s anger ricochets off the walls from above, and I look up at her standing by a railing with one of my guys.
“What seems to be the trouble, Olive?” I call up, and she looks down at me, hands on her hips.
“Your goons are saying we have to stay in the room next to yours.” I look over at Barth who seems rather terrified of Olive and I don’t blame him. She’s quite the firecracker. Not in any way that’s good— if anything, it’s highly inconvenient. I guess her presence here is in general.
“Well,” I begin towards the wide staircase at the center of the foyer. “Unfortunately, we have to do what they say—“
“Is that why you’re smoking a cigarette right now?”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“The boys told me that your father confiscated your cigarettes. You know, so you wouldn’t be smoking around this thousand-year-old castle?”
“Great, you made friends with my boys.” I shoot Barth a glare, and he doesn’t meet my eyes. “What’s your point?” I’m nearly a few feet away from her and I notice Espie, crossing her arms over her chest near the doorway of a room down the dark hall.
