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At sixty-five years old, Igor is younger than my father by a year, but is the spitting image of him, with the same brown eye color, low-cut gray hair, and cleft in his chin. The similarities give me a false sense of comfort in a bittersweet lie.
I look at him, and instantly, more conflict assails me. The last time we saw each other, we argued miserably about Jason getting the Obshchak position.
The argument was horrendous, but one good thing about Igor is, he values family, and he knows my father would hate for us to be at each other’s throats. I know that, too. That’s why I’m here.
“It’s good to see you both,” I say, looking from him to Jennifer.
The last time I saw them together was at my father’s memorial. I was given special permission to attend as the actual funeral was held in Russia. My father is buried next to my mother and sister.
I’ve seen Igor twice since the memorial service.
With the aid his cane he walks up to us and rests a reassuring hand on my shoulder. He’d injured his leg in the same explosion that took Father’s life. My father saved Igor and a few others, but he couldn’t save himself.
“Welcome back, nephew. It hasn’t been the same without you.” He nods.
“I hope that’s a good thing.”
“It is.”
“That’s good to hear.”
Igor is not like my father. He rarely shows emotion, but right now, his dark brown eyes hold some sense of hope, along with the silent pleading that I won’t fuck things up again and go back to prison.
“Come on, dinner’s waiting,” Jennifer chimes in. “I made your favorite.”
Although she has a personal chef who will make he anything she chooses, Jennifer always makes dinner when I come around.
“Thanks, that sounds great.”
We go inside their country-style home, and within minutes, we’re eating the delicious beef casserole with spring vegetables Jennifer made. The meal is divine and the best I’ve tasted in well over a year.
Once we’ve eaten, Jennifer leaves Igor and me so we can talk.
We make our way to the study, and like always, I admire the painting at the end of the hallway when we get there. It’s a Renaissance Michelangelo-style painting of Dante’s Inferno which takes up the entire wall from floor to ceiling.
It’s supposed to be symbolic of who we are and the struggles we face in life. But as my mother had an affinity for the book and named me after the main character, I always think of myself. Now more than ever, I do as I stare at the artwork and think of all the circles of Hell I’ve ventured into.
This feels like the final one where I have to come face to face with the devil and fight. I just don’t know who the real devil in my story is.
Is it Jason Bell, or is it me? Do I have to become the devil to fight this war?
When we reach the study, we sit opposite each other on the beige leather sofas and Igor takes out two Cuban cigars from the humidor.
Once we light up and start smoking, I prepare myself for the conversation I know he wants to have.
As much as he wanted to see me today, I knew he wanted to talk to me about everything that’s been going on and, of course, the whole prison thing.
“So, how are you doing, really?” Igor studies my face as he takes a drag on his cigar.
“I’m okay,” I lie. I’ve been here for the last two hours, and all I’ve wanted to do was to tell him the truth about Jason. Each time the idea popped into my head, reality resurfaced with the reminder of all the reasons I shouldn’t.
I know all those reasons I’ve come up with are assumptions, something I never base my decisions on. But on this occasion, it’s wise because I know my uncle so damn well.
Igor gives me an easy smile and taps the butt of his cigar on the ashtray. “I’m glad you’re okay. Now that you’re back, I’m hoping you’ll put more thought into taking over what your father left you, including the house.”
I haven’t had the chance to think about that yet, and I haven’t wanted to. “Sure. I suppose I should get everything sorted out.” My father would want me
to do so, and I should out of principle. Apart from the house, I was also given a few properties and other assets worth a few million easily. I plan to sell some and keep the ones that carry the most sentiment.
