Velvet Devil: A Russian Mafia Romance (16)

“My sons,” he rumbles, his voice raspy and weak. He tries to add something else, but his words fail him.

His skin has turned grey. Flecks of blood dot the corners of his mouth. Even his eyes seem smaller, rheumy, bloodshot with fatigue.

“Where is Andrei?” I rage, turning towards the door where two guards are standing like mute statues. “Get the fucking doctor. Why isn’t he in here?”

“He’s been called,” Mama tells me. “But…”

“Fuck the doctor,” Father coughs. Spittle and blood flies from his mouth and peppers the white comforter pulled up over his bloated stomach. “I’m not going to make it to the next sun… sunrise…”

I notice everything. The whites of Mama’s knuckles where she’s clinging to the cuffs of her cashmere cardigan. The resigned slump in Papa’s shoulders. The smell of death in the air.

Papa starts speaking again. I have to lean forward to catch his words.

“… He did it… I didn’t think… I never thought… he had the balls…”

“Papa?” Bogdan asks. “Who are you talking about?”

“That little fucker… my own nephew… Maxim.”

Bogdan and I exchange a glance over our father’s death bed. Is he saying what I think he is?

“It’s not a fucking… a fucking coin… coincidence… that I’m dying the same… the same way… he did.”

I can feel the air in the room change. Before, it was funereal. Depressing. Now, there’s a surging rage percolating between Bogdan and me.

If what he’s saying is true, it’s not just war I’m waging against my cousin Maxim.

It’s fucking Armageddon.

“Otets, rest now,” I tell my father. “Andrei will be here soon.”

He shakes his head. “He… he kill…” He coughs again. More blood comes out. Thicker. Nastier.

My mother clicks her fingers for the maids, but he lets out a bark that has her freezing. “Leave it, woman,” he says, his voice strong when he addresses her. “It doesn’t fucking… mat-matter…”

I glance behind at my mother. As usual, there’s not a hair out of place. The only flaw in her appearance is the spray of blood staining the front of her cardigan.

Stone-faced, she gives me a nod. “I will leave you both to say your goodbyes to your father.”

Then she walks out, the confident click-clack of her heels hitting the wooden floors like a fast-paced dirge.

When I turn back to my father, he’s staring at the door with his bloodshot eyes. I feel Bogdan move to my side. He kneels down in front of the bed, next to Otets and leans in.

“This isn’t the end, Papa.”

Otets smacks Bogdan’s face lightly. A gesture that’s more affectionate than anything he’s ever done before.

“You,” he rasps. “Become stronger. And acc… accept reality, instead of… running from… it.”

Then he pushes Bogdan’s face away in a clear sign of dismissal. Chastened, Bogdan moves aside and allows me to inch closer.

I don’t kneel like he did. Instead, I stand at my dying father’s bedside and look down at him.

He’s looked down on me my whole life.

But in the final moments, I’m the one looking down at him.

Funny how savage the end of the circle can be.

“I know,” he sighs. ‘I’ve earned your… h…hatred. But it was… necessary… to make you…str… strong.”

I glance down at the line of neat silver scars that line my right forearm. Thirty-seven in total. One for every lesson I failed to learn.

“Love is unimportant,” I tell him. “Moye uvazheniye I moya predannost’.”

You have my respect—and my loyalty.

Father nods, his hazy eyes glowing with something that looks suspiciously like pride.

Then, Bogdan and I step back and we watch our father die.





When I leave his room, Father’s men are standing in a line, their heads bowed in respect.

No, not his men.

Not anymore.

Now, they’re mine.

“Call Andrei. Tell him his presence is no longer required,” I order the man closest to me. “And you two, see to his body.”

Vlad steps forward, waiting for his instructions. I survey the line of men. Of course, the one I’m looking for is not here.

“Find Oleg and bring him down to the cellar,” I tell Vlad. “If he fights back, break his knees.”

If he’s surprised, he hides it well.

Bogdan flanks my right. “What do we do now?” he asks as I turn and stride away.

“We take the reins, just like Father trained us to do,” I say. “But first, we have to avenge his death.”

I head straight to the cellar. Bogdan shadows my footsteps. On the way there, we pass the open door of the second floor living room. Mama is standing in front of the window, her arms wrapped around her slim frame.

I stop short in the threshold. Bogdan brushes past me and joins her at the window.

She turns to him with a weak smile. “I’m a widow, then?”

Bogdan nods, resting a comforting hand on her shoulders.