Is this too much too soon?
Usually, I studied the moon and all of its magical presence. Tonight, I had other things to ponder.
I gave her seven men. Now, she has thirty.
I stared at Emily’s new headquarters. The last of the light was draining through the leaves. The security lights had come on, surrounding the building in a haunting glow.
I’d also given her the old servants’ building on the east for her little headquarters. No one had used it in years. I knew she’d been intrigued by the underground service tunnels that led from the building to our house.
The next day, she’d begun construction.
A chilly breeze traveled through the open window. Fall had come to Moscow. Temperatures had already dropped, but the chilly winter months were still far away.
What is she doing over there?
Emily’s building stood far out, but close enough for me to see. It was the other reason I’d given her the property. My office window had the best view of the building, not that it helped. I only caught who went in and out, and that was only the front entrance.
I directed my attention to the new moon.
I always looked forward to full moons. Most people did. With that round, glowing rock hanging in the sky, it was hard not to believe in the power of nature. The possibilities of wild enchantments supercharged within a full moon’s glow. The world felt more magical when the full moon appeared.
But the new moon held significance too.
While the full moon represented completion, the new moon pointed to the beginning.
For me, the moon was a constant symbol of birth and death. The new moon showed its birth, and then it embarked on a journey in the waxing phase, growing and maturing. At pure ripeness, the full moon appeared, but not for long. Then the waning phase would begin, and the full moon would slowly dissolve night by night, shifting into a thin crescent. Birth transforming to death to only be reincarnated the next month.
Like the new moon, tonight would mark the true beginning for Emily. I’d invited the top officials in the brotherhood over for the party. It had been short notice, but necessary.
It’s time for them to meet her.
Pressure built in my chest.
I gazed up at the sky and breathed in the fresh air. No noise came besides the distant movement of my men securing the property. Calm hung in the night sky.
The party will start soon. Is she ready? Will they understand how important she is to me? That she must be protected?
Many in the brotherhood already had their attention on Emily, intrigued with the lion’s new lover. Her guards had reported back and let me know a few had sent their men to monitor her from afar. Others had noted the Afro-Russians surrounding her. Her thugs from Kapotnya would now be living the good life. My mouse had given these men the opportunity to rise in power. Many would not like that.
They’ll have to deal with it. If my mouse wants to play with her little soldiers, then let her.
Of course, I would have to maintain some control over her.
It was a feat I still had not learned.
From the very beginning in New York, she’d disappeared and reappeared at will. She’d followed her own rules even back then, when she should’ve feared me.
In Prague, she’d raced after men who’d come to assassinate me gun in the air, no fear in her heart. No bullet in the barrel. Completely reckless. Wild, she’d wrestled one down. Thank God he’d already been injured. I’d sent Emily to her room like a pissed father. She’d responded by disappearing. When I found her and tried to bend her to my will, she’d cursed and slapped me.
Such a feisty little mouse.
I grinned at the moon.
Now, she listened to me out of love. It was somewhat of a compromise. And listening and following my orders were broad and flexible definitions for my mouse.
I let out a long sigh.
I shouldn’t be thinking about her. I have enough to worry about.
Many had died with my war. Sasha had been my number one and Luka my number two. Both had betrayed me.
Now, I had positions to fill. Two men to surround me and a third to maintain a sense of checks and balances. Three men to provide their wisdom and protection. Loyalty needed to be at their cores. There could be no more betrayal in the days to come.
Now, I have more to lose.
I didn’t know who would fill the three positions. So far my cousin, Pavel, had the best chance at being number one.
I don’t doubt his loyalty. He’s like me.
During the Soviet Union’s communist rule, they deported entire criminal communities of various ethnicities out of their homelands. Many were my ancestors who were forced to live in the Southwest of the U.S.S.R.
The government thought it was a solution to crime, but that area quickly developed into powerful ghettos corroded with criminals. It was snow-covered roads flanked by shacks, and among the poorest were my father’s clan—Siberians. Rough and raw and damn near unstoppable. Many times, blood stained the snow, and most of the time the corpse wore a uniform.
I was born there.
Pavel too.
He was a cousin on my father’s side. Same age, we’d grown up together and gone to the same unorthodox school—the type of school that had no walls or ceiling. No books. Just bloody roads that led to mischief.
At eight, I learned how to stab a person properly from my mother. She’d hung dead animals from the ceiling, and I’d stabbed them, learning the right organs to puncture first. Hearing the sound the right cut would make against flesh.
At ten, I’d already had a little gang—my young sister, Valentina and five cousins. They gave me my few happy memories of winter. We would stand around a trash can full of fire and sip vodka we’d stolen from our uncles. There, we boasted about all the money we would one day have.
Pavel had been one of the cousins from my first gang. Tonight, I’d invited the other four too—Zahkar, Abram, Tisha, and Roman. We would all be reunited. As we laughed and chugged vodka, I would assess who was truly loyal enough to stand by my side.
Are they the same men?
By our teens, we stole from the rich and gave to the poor. Anything taken or gained, no matter how big or small, was brought back to the neighborhood—generations of casted out criminals living together. Food and money went to the mothers. Weapons and drugs went to the men.
Anybody on the outside was the enemy, and I hated them. From that disgust, a rage of violence lived in my eyes.
I might’ve continued with the gang had Sasha’s father not come to our area when I turned fifteen and fell in love with my mother. Still married, he moved us to Moscow and his wife died under mysterious reasons. My mother took her place and some of the connections to my old gang ended.
Once I rose in power ten years later, I reconnected with my cousins. I gave them high positions in the Bratva, but we’d never returned to the way we were.
I should’ve listened to Valentina. She said to surround myself with my most loyal.
I’d realized, in my rise to power, that people died. I’d watched enough men fall at my side. Perhaps, I didn’t want to personally witness their deaths.
Someone knocked.
I glanced over my shoulder.
Pavel stood in the doorway in a pearl white tuxedo. Black fur covered the lapels. Tiny rubies pierced both ears.
Same old Pavel.
His black hair fell in waves past his shoulder. Pavel knew the women loved those strands. He never let it get too short. When he gained power, he began traveling with two stylists.