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I hoped everyone had drunk enough to be rendered physically useless for at least an hour.
Everyone except Grandpa, although I knew that was wishful thinking.
The corridor led to a spacious dining room where a long mahogany table dominated the center space. A crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling, casting a warm glow over the fine china and silverware meticulously arranged on the table. It was surrounded by dark wood paneling and plush, high-backed chairs fit for royals.
At the head of the table sat Vladimir, flanked by his associates. The room fell silent as I entered, and all eyes turned towards me. The air was thick with tension, the room turning into a stage on which this deadly play would unfold.
Vladimir pushed his chair away from the table, making a loud screech as the wood slid across the marble floor. He stood up and began walking towards me. The walk was a long one, given how large the dining table was. Once he was in front of me, he stood stoically facing me, the freckles on his face reminding me of my mother’s, reminding me of my own.
“My cousin,” he said, smiling and spreading his arms wide as he came in for a hug. He then pulled back and kissed each of my cheeks. “We look a bit alike, don’t we?”
“I suppose we do,” I said back, feigning a smile. Then, suddenly, Vladimir’s smile faded.
“You didn’t bring the vodka I asked you for?”
“No,” I said. “Sorry, I don’t drink. And I thought it was a joke.” I looked at the table, which was filled with meats and rices and potatoes, not to mention more bottles of red and white wine than I could count.
“Oh, shame,” he said. “Real Russians drink vodka, young Vladimir. You should try a little before you, well…anyway…YOU!” Vladimir yelled at the butler. “Bring us some of our best vodka. The boy didn’t bring any.”
Vladimir walked back to his seat as the butler fetched a bottle of vodka out of a nearby china cabinet. He put it on the table by Vladimir and then came towards me, pulled out my seat, and instructed me to sit.
“Anyway, Nikolai, I’m so glad you came,” Vladimir started. As I looked around the room, I could see some of the guards’ faces look a little uneasy. Perhaps I was imagining it, but I could swear I heard someone’s stomach grumbling. The butler poured Vladimir a small glass of vodka, then returned to my side of the table to pour me one as well.
“Nah zda rovh yeh!” Vladimir said, holding up his glass. He held up mine and then took the shot as he took his. I felt the vodka burn the back of my throat and shook a bit; I hated the stuff so much.
Vladimir let out a hardy laugh.
“The boy can’t even take a proper shot of vodka!” He was hysterical over it. “God, I can’t even blame you. It must be the diluted bloodline.” After a few seconds, his laughter subsided. I’d remained without a smile on my face the entire time. Again, I was just observing the guards, waiting for the poison to hit them and render Vladimir practically alone.
“Young Nikolai, I should tell you—I really take no pleasure in what has to happen tonight,” he said. I didn’t believe him for a second. “You understand, your parents put the Russian mafia—the work of my uncle and your grandfather—at grave risk. They made a mockery of us, and I had to save that. It was the noble thing to do.”
The butler came around and poured Vladimir a glass of bottled Fiji water. Damien had been right—a man this arrogant would never drink tap.
No matter.
We had our plan.
The butler came my way and began to pour me some water as well. I heard his belly rumble as he did so. There was sweat accumulating on his face.
“Given tonight’s circumstances, I guess I can finally say it out loud,” Vladimir continued. “Everyone knows it, but here it is—I got rid of your parents. Well, they damn well forced me to.
It was the only way I could save things after they tried to put me on probation for shooting an
Italian…in the GODDAMN LEG! It was NOTHING!”
Vladimir was screaming now, slamming his fists against the table. I grabbed onto my steak knife in anticipation of needing to use it earlier than planned.
Vladimir took a deep breath and seemed to calm down for a moment.
He was the definition of a man-child.
I was furious as he spoke, of course, but I knew that I needed to maintain my cool.
Showing him any emotion would only delight him. I needed to tap into that mafia blood of mine.
I needed to show him no pain.
“Doesn’t that enrage you, Nikolai?” he asked. “I’m telling you I killed your goddamn parents!”
