When I left the study, lured by the smell of bacon, Roman found me. His expression was bleak and his nose had doubled in size, blood dripping.
“Dmitri?”
My byki sighed. “Dmitri.”
“Where?”
Roman’s face warped. “Are you sure you want to deal with him, boss?”
The meaning behind his words wasn’t hard to decipher. To him, I was a powder keg ready to explode, and pairing me with a drunk Dmitri would only end in disaster.
“Where?” I repeated.
He didn’t bother hiding the worry in his eyes as he said, “His bathroom.” He looked like he might say something else, either a warning or piece of advice, but he fell silent. Roman wouldn’t dare risk my temper these days, but then again who would?
She did, a voice whispered in my mind.
I ignored it and went to find Dmitri.
I found Dmitri on the floor of his bathroom, discarded bottles of vodka placed around him like a bizarre ritual. His head hung low, hair matted and sticky. His right hand was bleeding, the swelling around the knuckles indicating that Roman’s face had been the reason for the injuries.
“Dima?”
Dmitri had been raised in the States and hardly ever used Russian pet names. He even forgot to add the -a suffix to women’s surnames when speaking to Russian-born women. But in this moment, he replied, “Kostya?”
I bent down to his level, glancing briefly at his hand. The wounds weren’t deep–he wouldn’t need medical attention. “What’s the matter?”
Dmitri lifted his head. He’d always had cutting features, like he was made up of straight lines. Danika had once pressed her finger to his cheekbone and asked him if it could cut her it was so sharp. Anton used to reach up and yell ‘spiky!’
Now, his features made him look gaunt and hollow, all the life drawn from his body. The once electric blue eyes were now deep and dark, filled with nothing but pain.
“Brother,” he said, voice heavy and slurred.
“Brother,” I cupped the back of his head, squeezing hard. The pain momentarily cleared his brain. “You know the bottom of the bottle is not a cure.”
“Miss my wife,” he grumbled.
I briefly closed my eyes. “I know you do.”
“Miss my son.” Dmitri gestured into the open air. “Miss my daughter.”
“I miss them, too.”
“It’s not the–” he hiccupped “–same. You got yours back.” Dmitri put his hand to his heart, like he was showing me where it hurt. “I’m never getting mine back.”
I resisted the urge to go ballistic, to let my madness take over. I could feel it on the fringes of my mind, like mold that was slowly growing over my hypothalamus and cerebellum. Even the slightest mention of that woman and the secret she had kept from me was enough to ignite the beast that roamed beneath my skin.
In a rare moment of control, I merely said, “Your son is downstairs now, waiting for his father.”
Anton was waiting for his father. Even if physically they were only one floor apart, the two of them were separated by a canyon of loss and misery.
Dmitri shook his head. “Can’t…I can’t be what he needs. What he deserves…” His chest rattled with an unspoken sob. “God, we’re all just our parents. Just repeats of the same fucking story over and over until the trauma is in our fucking genetics.”
“None of us are our parents.”
“Artyom said you look like your mother sometimes,” he grumbled. “When you’re in your…madness, when Elena left…”
My grip on his hair tightened. “We all look like our parents. It can’t be helped.”
“Anton looks like me…Nikolai looks like you. Poor boys.” Dmitri gave me a sarcastic smile. “What will we do to them before our time is up?”
“I’m not sure what you mean.”
“Evva will be fine but the boys? Oh, our sons, the boys. Maybe Elena had the right idea…not letting him be raised here. Not letting him be raised by you.”
“Now I see why Roman was so angry with you.” I tried to smother my temper, tried to remind myself that Dmitri was sad and drunk. It was easier said than done.
Dmitri shrugged. “I told him the truth.”
“I can imagine.”
“He needs…” His trail of thought dropped off before he found it again. “Danika will not wait much longer.”
“I always assumed Roman was the pursuer and Danika was the denier,” I said.
Dmitri shook his head. “Danika has loved Roman since she laid eyes on him. She told me not to say anything so…don’t tell her I told you.”
“I won’t.”
“But not much longer…she is a woman now. Puppy dog crushes do not stand the test of time.”
“No, they do not.” I gave him another squeeze. “The worst part is all we can do is watch them. These people we practically raised. Let us hope they won’t make too big of a mess of each other?”
Dmitri smiled blearily. “Good practice for the babies.”
“Good practice for the babies,” I agreed. I almost cringed with the next thought that came to my mind. “I don’t want to even think about them dating. Roksana will need a tranquiliser for Artyom.”
He grumbled. “I already pity the boy who tries to date our niece.”
I laughed. “As do I. But let us not worry about that now. They are children. Anton is a child. He needs his dad. Go be his father, Dmitri.”
Dmitri leaned forward and rested his forehead against mine.
We stayed in our embrace for a few moments, both breathing quietly.
I recalled the day he had shown up at my doorstep. He’d been raised by a Vor and had known no other life than one of crime. His entire youth he had gone from Bratva to Bratva, Pakhan to Pakhan, looking for someone to serve.
Dmitri had knocked on my door. He had been younger but darkened by life. A worthy soldier of my empire.
I am here to serve the one they call the Russian Gentleman, he had said.
That is what they call me, yes.
His dark blue eyes had sized me up. Alright then, he had said finally. I am Dmitri Gribkov.
I didn’t shake his hand. Konstantin Tarkhanov. Come in.
Artyom had nearly burst a vein when I had recounted the tale to him later. He couldn’t believe I had let a stranger into our home like we were old friends. Roksana had calmed him down, assuring him that sometimes you just knew when to let people into your home.
Dmitri hadn’t stood out the makeshift foyer. We had been living at a temporary home while ensuring a more permanent place of residence. In fact, Dmitri had stood there and assessed the place like he had been there a thousand times.
Dmitri, I had broken the silence. Consider this your job interview.
Sir.
I had walked around him, a lion circling its prey. Tell me about yourself. Father?
Soldier for Smirnoff Bratva.
Mother?
Teacher.
You?
This is all I ever known.
How did you find my address?
Someone…told me it was in this area. I figured this was yours.
How so?
This is the only building armoured to the teeth.
I thought we were being discreet.