Russian Roulette (Russkaya Mafiya) (28 page)

As I strut leisurely to my office I shuck my jacket and shoes, diligently unbuttoning my shirt. One thing I thoroughly enjoy about being home is the lack of clothes.

I sit in my comfortable, overly plush leather desk chair and fill a tumbler with Grey Goose. Growing up around my uncle, I learned to drink vodka as if it was water. Now it’s second nature to have it at home when I’m relaxing.

Taking a deep breath, I’m met with the vibration of my personal cell phone ringing. This better be important. If it were the ringtone to the business phone I would let it keep ringing. I glance at the flashing screen to see it’s Tate.

“Braat,” I answer ‘brother’ in Russian on the second ring.

The majority of our conversations are in Russian, even though Tate hates when I call any attention to our native language. I am proud to be Russian and use it to my advantage when I talk business.

“Viktor. What went on at the club today?”

“I’m well, brother, thank you for inquiring.”

“Save it, Viktor, what happened?”
he asks, frustration coating his voice.

“Nothing happened.”

“Bullshit! I heard you took a man out the back door, is this true?”

“Yes, and? What is it to you, Luka? I had business, it was handled.”

“Business! Are you joking? You carried a man out the back door in front of customers! That is reckless, Viktor. You are being too bold.”

“Bold, Luka? No. You forget that I was the one handed the Mafiya, but gave it to you. You may be the Big Boss now, but I run the rest. The only thing
bold
, is you speaking out of place. Mind your business, Luka. I will handle things as I please.”

“Viktor, you will go to jail if the wrong person sees this. I know you stepped down, but at the same time I stepped up into a position you so desperately ran from. Don’t you lecture me about giving up your spot. I took it for you so you could have freedom, yet you embrace the Bratva for Uncle.”

“Yes, someone has to embrace the dirty deeds of our family. I clean up messes, Luka, it’s what I do. The trash put his hands on Elaina at the bar and I was fixing the issue, little brother.”

“Why didn’t you tell me that in the first place, instead of fighting with me? We have to stick together, Vik. With father out, it’s you and me, now.”

“I know this, it will be fine, Luka. Don’t stress, I am doing my part.”

“Thank you, and if you need anything, call.”

“I will, if it comes to that.”

I hang up and pound my fist on my desk, shaking the glass of vodka. My little brother has some nerve, getting angry with me. He has no idea what he’s talking about. I wonder which little rat called him.

Truth? I didn’t take over the Mafiya because I knew my father really wanted Tate to have it. He always favored Tate over myself and that was fine, I had my uncle. I stepped down to make my father happy. Had I known what he was doing to Tate and me, then I would have taken it over and not had the burden placed on my little brother. Should have known he wouldn’t think twice to lie to his sons. He’s a slimy two-faced fish and doesn’t deserve the air he breathes.

Tate went ballistic when he found out about our father being even more crooked than he had suspected. He knows I had worked very hard to make all the books appear legit. They weren’t legit but I altered them in good faith that I was helping my father change his ways.

Tate doesn’t mind being in guns, but he loathes the drug and sex trade. I don’t mind the drugs and my men make plenty of money from them. I do not dabble in the sex trade however; that stopped when I took charge. I know my uncle was very supportive of it, but I can’t fathom selling another human being.

Drugs are another thing entirely. I feel the person has the choice. If they choose to be a user, that’s on them. The same with gambling; we have many circuits of gambling that we support and profit from, also the occasional gambling debt one might incur. I have no problem lending and having my men collect my interest due.

I still handle some disposal. I know I don’t have to, that I have men for it, but I enjoy it. I guess it’s just another mess for me to clean up.

I take a large drink of my vodka and call my guard, to check on Elaina.

“Spartak?”

“She’s good, Boss, just stopped by a little store on the way and got a few things.”

“Alcohol?”

“No, sir, just snacks.”

“Very good. Pay attention.”

“Yes, of course, sir,”he replies diligently and I hang up. I pull up her number to send her the nightly text I’ve sent since I first took her home.

Me:
Good Night, Принцесса (Princess)

I’m met with the only response I have ever gotten from her at night. One evening I hope she will add an endearment to it, but I won’t hold my breath.

Принцесса:
Night.

TWO

ELAINA

two days later…

I wake with a start.
Fuck.
Another bad dream.

The dreams have never stopped. I had to live through everything with Brent and now I’m stuck dreaming about it. I don’t want to remember.

God, that dream was so vivid. It felt like he really was touching me again and my skin crawls with the after effects. Gagging, I take a few deep breaths to try and calm my nerves.

It always felt wrong each time. I didn’t really know it was immoral until I got older and saw how my friends’ parents interacted with them. Their parents treated them completely differently than what I was used to. I think back to when I started to question things.

I was thirteen and staying the night at my girlfriend’s house. I had never been allowed to stay away but Brent and Paige went out of town. I got to stay with Stephanie for three days.

Stephanie’s house was a two story, warmly decorated home and her family was the kindest I had ever met. Each night I lay beside her in her big bed with its fluffy pink comforter. I was always waiting, scared for her father to come in, but he never did.

Finally, I worked up the nerve and asked Stephanie if he came to lie beside her when I wasn’t there. I thought perhaps it was my fault, disturbing what fathers do with their daughters.

I remember she had looked at me like I had lost my mind. Stephanie then drilled it into my head that fathers don’t normally lie with their daughters, especially when they are older.

She never told anyone about that, but we did start to grow apart. I didn’t understand at the time why she drifted away, but I did once I got older. I didn’t blame Stephanie, I was dirty and no one wanted to be around that. I never spoke of it to anyone again. I couldn’t stand the thought of my case worker finding out.

Brent and Paige were small worries compared to what some foster parents put kids through. I could handle Paige being mean and saying hateful things. I could even deal with Brent and his touching, I had to.

As soon as I was old enough to leave without the cops picking me up, I split. I had been working a part time job after school and on the weekends at the Dollar Store close by. I was saving every penny and delighted in the time spent away from that house. I got my crappy apartment after some time and eventually was able to get my car. It was rough, but I refused to sink.

Shaking off those ominous feelings, I head into the shower. I scrub extra hard, attempting to remove the feeling I have crawling all over my skin. Turning the faucet to hot, the water heats quickly and I get a tingle from the burning. The pain helps clear my mind of some of the details. My skin turns bright pink, but it’s better than the creepy crawlies I had before. I’ll take the pain over memories of that sick fuck any day.

Raiding my small closet, I throw on my short jean skirt, one of the few nice tank tops Emily gave me and the boots I borrowed from her. Not my usual style but the guys at the bar seem to eat it up. Any extra tips I can make by wearing a skirt or borrowing boots, I’m going to take full advantage of.

Thank God I have Emily now. I had no idea how much a sister could truly impact my life and make things better. I’m even more excited about the fact of becoming an aunty.

My car is almost paid off, thankfully. It seems like all I do is work and pay my bills. I’ll occasionally go on a drinking binge or party but that’s about all. I can’t afford much more even if I wanted to. It’s okay, this life is way better than the one I had growing up. I just have to keep my ducks in a row and keep my eyes on the prize—being car payment free.

I’m usually too afraid of getting close to any guys and them touching me, unless I drink. If I’m toasted, I’ll let them kiss me or grab my breast, but that’s as far as I’ve ever let it go. I get creeped out and reminded of how it felt when Brent would mess with me.

People don’t understand that sexual assault of any kind can affect the victim for the rest of their lives. I may not have been raped or anything that serious but this still impacts my daily life, no matter how strong I feel I’ve become. I’ve read online that it’s a form of PTSD. I don’t think I really have it, but I do have my triggers. Not like I’m going to visit a doctor anytime soon and discuss it with them.

I’m fortunate working at the club and having Viktor there. He has no idea just how much I appreciate him looking out for me all the time. Not only do I feel safer but I’m able to work at a high end club. It helps dramatically with me meeting my goal of paying off my debts. I never want to be that vulnerable again, of being in a position I can’t escape if I need to.

Tate is drastically protective of my sister, Emily, and with Viktor doing little things for me, I figure it’s probably a family trait. I know very little about his family besides the stuff Emily has told me. She’s not very forthcoming about them though. I know they both have a group of scary-looking guards. For what reason, who knows? My guess is because they are rich and because of all the Mafia-ish people in this area.

I grab a banana on my way to my white Camaro. It’s all I can afford right now, so I make do. It’s not the fancy version of the Camaro and it’s not even that new, but I love her. She’s good to me and I do my best to take care of her. I’m thankful I can park my car close to my apartment and right under a light every night as I get a little spooked in the dark around here.

I take a large bite, stuffing my mouth with a third of the banana. I’m hungrier than I first thought. I wipe the banana off my fingers onto the towel next to me after I climb into the car. I start her up, loving the little rumble she makes; it’s almost as if she thinks she’s fast.

Glancing in my rearview mirror, I drop my banana and shriek in surprise.
What the fuck?
One of Viktor’s thugs is standing directly behind my car. I shut the engine off and climb out quickly.
What a waste of a good banana, damn it!

I snap rudely, “Umm, can I help you?”

This is it, Viktor has overstepped the boundary this time. We formed a small friendship when I was in the hospital. I’ve tried pulling away but he just keeps pushing me. This time he’s out of line and I plan to give him a thorough piece of my mind. I place my hands on my hips and cock them to the side, tapping my foot. This better be good.

“Forgive me, ma’am,” he says with a slight Russian accent. “I am Spartak.” He smiles warmly and my anger melts slightly.

“Okay, Spartak, what’s going on? You’re in my way.”

“Ma’am, please, your tire is bad, may I fix?” he asks, gesturing to my back tire on the passenger side. I walk around the rear end and look at him skeptically at the same time. I glance at the tire.

“Shit! What am I supposed to do with this?” I flail my arms toward the very flat tire and cringe.

I have to get to work soon or I will be late. There’s no way I have time to get a new tire and I definitely shouldn’t drive it like this. I’ll have to call a cab and that’s going to be so expensive.

“I fix it for you.” His Russian gets a little stronger and I’m immediately reminded of my sister’s good friend, Nikoli.

“You can fix it? How?”

He walks to the trunk and gestures for me to open it. I press the trunk release button on my key fob and he proceeds to show me where the spare is. He also shows me how to remove it from the trunk, what the jack is, and how to jack my car up. Then he takes the old tire off, puts my spare on and loads the flat back into the trunk for me.

I’m in awe that this man just offered to help me and do all of this work. It took him about twenty minutes total. He did it efficiently and never once made me feel guilty for his help.

I never could have changed it that fast, once I figured out what to do. I cataloged each maneuver so I have it for future reference. I like being able to do stuff and not having to depend on someone else all the time.

I clap my hands happily and smile. “Wow, thank you so much! Do you want some money, for umm, fixing this?”

“No, no, ma’am. Please just go to work, I don’t want you to be late.” He gestures with his hands for me to get in the car. I nod and climb inside.

The flat tire sucks, I’ll have to pay for that eventually. At least I’m not out a cab fare and since I leave early, I should be right on time.

That was so nice! What a friendly guy; I wish there were more people out there willing to jump in and help someone else. I have to tell Viktor his guy was so polite and helpful. Wait, why was his man here anyhow?

There’s no telling with Viktor, and I plan to ask as soon as I see him.

After a short non-eventful drive, I arrive and it’s my favorite time in the club. There isn’t anyone here besides the manager and Viktor’s guy who changed my tire. He ended up following me here and opened the door for me. It’s kind of neat feeling like I have my own personal assistant, but creepy at the same time.

I check the place over, then turn on lights and fans for the main room, storage and the bathrooms. I enjoy opening the club up, makes me feel really useful.

I wonder where Viktor is today. He’s normally here eating his dinner or lunch from some random restaurant. It’s amazing he’s in such great shape with always eating out. I wonder… could Vik not know how to cook? I really want to ask his guy here about him, but at the same time I don’t want to seem too eager.