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But the guy was right; I was disassociating myself as much as possible. Hell yeah! Damn right, I was. It was the only way I could keep functioning.
I acceptedthe incidenthappened, and a person I loved was gone. I accepted that I was primarily to blame. I accepted that before I could move on with my life, I needed to get justice, and the only way to do that was to take revenge. Bratva style.
I felt guilty because I was guilty. I felt anger because the situation should never have happened and because if I hadn’t been late, it wouldn’t have.
I needed to atone, and until I did, I would lead a half-life. I would feel the guilt and anger that was my due, my punishment.
I accepted all of that, and as far as I was concerned, that was as much facing up to things as I needed.
The only way forward for me was to put an end to everyone who had played a part inthe incident.Once I had done that, I believed I could eventually move forward, shake off some of the overwhelming guilt and then come to terms with my grief.
Unfortunately, the last person involved was currently out of my reach, which meant the final piece of my revenge was out of my reach. One day, that would change, but not for a long time. Although, if I had my way, it would be sooner rather than later.
The thing that concerned me was that the longer I waited, the more my control slipped, and the harder I found it to cope. The recent attacks were making things worse. My family was in danger again, and so were our allies.
Afterthe incident, I swore that I would never allow anything to happen to any of my family members again. That extended to Glowacki and his family. I was determined to ensure that this situation would be dealt with swiftly and without any of my loved ones being hurt. So, until I could get my final revenge forthe incident, I would focus all my rage on our newest enemy, and if it consumed me, so be it! I only hoped it wouldn’t and that, one day soon, I would be free of it.
This isn’t the time to be thinking of these things, I chastised myself.
I poured a shot of vodka and gulped it down. The liquor burned as it slid down my throat, and I felt myself relax. I took another shot and relaxed some more. That felt better.
Tonight’s event was important. I had to schmooze with the guests. A difficult task for me at the best of times but made even more difficult when I was in a sour mood. I needed to stay in control.
I took a few steadying breaths while studying my reflection in the full-length mirror.
I looked sharp in my made-to-measure charcoal grey suit with my white shirt and matching charcoal tie. I nodded in approval. The tailor was right; the colour suited me well and made my dark grey eyes look lighter. I had my dad’s dark, brooding looks and dark grey eyes but my Italian Mafia princess mother’s olive skin and full lips. I felt a tug in my heart, thinking about my parents. I missed them.
My mother was a beauty with eyes as blue as the sky and long, dark brown hair. Sonia was becoming the image of her and had the same blue eyes. That’s why we referred to Sonia asmalen’koye nebo, which means little sky. All of us took our looks from our father except Sonia, and… I cut off the thought.
My body tensed, and I clenched my fists and ground my jaw. My eyes narrowed, and my vision blurred. I shook with rage as my thoughts returned to their all-too-familiar dark place. I was starting to spiral again. I’d let myself indulge in my dark thoughts too much tonight. I needed to regain control. Fast.
I closed my eyes, focusing on my breathing while reciting my mantra.
“I will get revenge.” Breathe. “I will get revenge.” Breathe. “I will get revenge.” Breathe.
Thankfully, after a few moments, my thoughts were back under control, and my breathing had calmed once more.
This was something I did when I felt myself spiralling, and although it didn’t always work, it seemed to be doing the trick tonight.
I downed another shot of vodka and rechecked my watch. It was eight p.m.
I headed across the hall and knocked on Sonia’s door.
“Time to go.”
She was ready, as I knew she would be. Sonia was always on time and never liked to be late.
I had taken a few girls out on dates in the past who wanted to keep people waiting, either because they couldn’t decide what to wear or because they wanted to make an entrance for attention. I couldn’t stand that. I never waited for anyone more than once. If a girl kept me waiting without a good reason, she never got the chance again.
Not that I dated much; I preferred to pick up a girl, fuck, and then leave. There was less need to deal with their emotions when I didn’t have any of my own. Less hassle that way. Yeah, I could be a jerk. I was aware of that, but I didn’t really care.
Sonia snapped her fingers in my face. “Hey, bro, you in there? Looking a bit spaced out,” she said, pulling me out of my thoughts.
I sniggered at her attempt to sound American.
We were all born in Russia but had come to live in the UK as children. We were now British citizens, and although Russian was our first language, English was our second and the one we tended to use on a daily basis. Father had wanted it that way so that we would quickly become fluent. We usually only spoke Russian now, though, when we were in Russia, or when we were discussing the family business with each other in a place where we didn’t want to be overheard. Our mother was Italian, so we spoke that too, but generally, English had become the norm.
Nevertheless, we all still had traces of Russian in our accents, to varying degrees, most noticeably when our emotions were heightened, but Sonia had the least as she was only three when we came here. She was the most British of us all, with absolutely no trace of a Russian accent unless she was actually speaking Russian. In fact, Sonia often sounded the epitome of a well-bred English Lady. Though tonight, she was obviously channelling our American cousins by the sound of things. She did that when she was in a playful mood. I found it cute.
