AllFreeNovel
Share Us
8
Dmitry
The conversations around me had stayed lively since Kuma swept Manya off with her. I missed her presence at my side, but I was partially grateful for her absence all the same. It gave me greater clarity, her being off safe in the kitchen, and allowed me to more fully focus on the political dance that was taking place around me. It was dinner, yes, but it was also ranking and shifting loyalties. It was carefully placed commentary and well-aimed suggestion.
The room was rife with a discomfort that no one dared name, drumming under the surface of the conversations like a heartbeat.
“Nyet!” Gustev crowed, his nose scrunching up and his cheeks deepening into an irritated, ruddy red. “I do not abide by that. He will pay me all of it, or he will lose his son. Either way. For me, it is nothing.” His teeth ground between his words, his anger more evident than he should have allowed for it to be.
“You cannot go making such claim!” Ivanov argued, lifting his glass of scotch as if toasting the improbability, he thought he had found in Gustev’s anger. “I will wager four men besides that he does not pay, and that you can do nothing! He is a favorite. Besides, have you seen his submarine?”
“His what?!” Gustev blustered, raising suddenly from beside me with consternation wrinkling his brow.
“His submarine. Come, comrade, I show you. I have it here, on my phone.” Ivanov waved Gustev over to him, and the two of them wandered away from the small group we had formed to break off into their own, much like the rest of us had been doing throughout the evening. People spoke easily back and forth, switching between groups as necessary and keeping an ever-watchful eye on any they weren’t sitting with.
I was now left alone on the couch, my glass of whiskey growing warm in my grip as I looked around the room inquisitively. There were so many forces here, so many moving pieces, and something was viscerally off.Something was wrong, but I couldn’t for the life of me figure it out.
“Krestnik,” my godfather greeted me familiarly. He sank into the couch beside me and looked out at the gathered men with as much intent as I was.
“Kum,” I returned, somewhat amusedly as I swirled the whiskey in my glass. “Are you here to tell me about this whisper moving through the room, finally, or will I have to suffer through an equally awkward dinner?” I was teasing, my question absent of any real ire, but I could see how it struck him, and I knew instantly that I had cause to worry.
“I think, Krestnik, my godson, that you should not stay for dinner.” He spoke around the rim of his own glass, pausing to take a drink. I could see the tension in his gaze, the worry that laid there and wrinkled his brow. “You are safe here because you are family, da. . . . But Russia? Russia is not so safe for you right now.”
“When is Russia safe for anyone?” I laughed, taking a sip of my whiskey and trying to make it seem as if we were discussing nothing more important than old shared memories.
“There are several contracts open on your head here, Dmitry. The infighting your father warned us of has made its way back here. Some factions of the American side of the Bratva are going to try and overthrow you if you gain leadership. They send men back here to sway our members. They say you are unfit, that you have no history in leading. They say you are a boy.” He sighed, forcing a smile onto his lips that didn’t meet his eyes.
“A boy. . .” I repeated, my voice growing darker. “I see. Da. That is why I came home—to make my case. Is that not what is best? Sway them to my side, build our numbers?” It was the whole reason we had made this trip: to set up the meetings, to charm and grease the palms of the men I knew to be important players. . . .
“Normally? Da. Russia is not normal right now though. You would be best to see to cleaning your house in America first. Getting more of them on your side. Here . . . many wish to wait it out, to see where it falls there. America. . .” he trailed off, his voice weary. “America is not our country, to many, not our concern.”
“But it was our concern when my father chose it to be,” I muttered, the question clear in my tone.
“You are not your father,” Kum Yasif said solemnly. It was something I had always appreciated about him, his utter transparency. With or without being my godfather, I knew him to be loyal, and I knew what he was telling me to be true only for that.
“Skipping dinner would only raise suspicion, would it not?” I argued, knowing that it was useless. I was looking for a way around having to follow his advice, only because it stank too much of running to me. I did not run. I was Dmitry Koalistia.
“You make your excuses; you tell them your father has called you home. Who would dare argue with Papa Koalistia?” His voice was reasonable and sure, and I could feel it sinking within me like a hot stone. Like medicine that I didn’t want to take.
I wanted to argue. I wanted to bite back that I could handle myself and that I dared any man to come at me here in Russia or elsewhere. The loud laughter drifting in from the kitchen stopped me though. So obviously feminine and amused, it reminded me of the wife I myself had in there now. I did dare any man to come at me, but I did not dare them to come at my wife, not again.
I could feel the acid travelling up the back of my throat. My jaw tightened as I took my phone out of my pocket as if I had just received a notification. “I will not make my excuses,” I muttered, my anger barely concealed. “You will make them for me. It’s more believable that way, less likely I’ll curse them and their whore mothers who allowed this fucking disloyalty.”
He snorted from beside me, which I took for assent, and I downed the last of my whiskey before putting the empty glass on the coffee table in front of me. I pocketed my phone, not trying to hide my irritation as I stood because, again, it only served to better sell the story he would tell them later . . . and I had such little ability to stop it all from showing in the first place, so great was my anger.
“Dmitry?” Kum Yasif called after me as I stalked off towards the kitchen. I half turned my head in acknowledgement. “Be safe.” The words were quick and quiet, but they echoed in my head the whole way back to the kitchen, my nostrils flaring as I came upon the congregation of drinking wives. I couldn’t even hear the talking around me. My focus was on Manya and the way she rose to come and meet me without so much as a backwards glance.
My godmother was chattering to me in the background. I bent to kiss Manya, seeking to ground myself, but the lips that met mine were somehow distant and cold. When I pulled back in question, her gaze was more shuttered than I had encountered from her in weeks, the inky depths flitting away from me as Kuma Yasif came up alongside us.
“As pretty a wife as you have, I do—” she started, only to be cut off by the lifting of my hand. I could see the affront she took from it, and the concern, but I didn’t have time to answer either of them.
“Excuse me, Kuma,” I said with tightly controlled politeness. “Papa Koalistia has just called requesting my presence back home. Immediately. You’ll have to forgive my short visit, and my missing dinner . . . and my brief goodbye. As you know, a summons. . .” I trailed off, leaning in to kiss the side of her face importantly, and touched her hand feeling the forgiveness I was sure she would give me.
“A summons is a summons, don’t we all know,” she muttered back, kissing both of my cheeks before looking at Manya. “We will get to know one another better next time then. Maybe I will convince my husband to come visit you next instead, we will see. Did you need anything for the journey home? A ride to the airport or—”
“Nyet,” I dismissed, waving my hand and forcing a smile to my face. “Next time, Kuma.”
It would all have to be next time, the hangman’s axe hanging over my neck as it was now. Though protecting myself should have been my only priority, I couldn’t help but be concerned by Manya’s cold, dead fingers in my grip and the nearly nonexistent replies I gained from her as we hurried from the house to our car, her face void of emotion, and I worried that this time, the shards were in too deep.
In no less than a couple of hours, what had been supposed to be a business dinner among family had planted shards in what seemed like every aspect of my life.
