Uncle Igor wiped the sweaty gray hair on his chest and leaned back against the marble wall. “You continue to be a legend, lev. You must tell me how you escaped this time.”
“It was from what you taught me. Pay attention to what’s around you. Take note of the meaningful coincidences and follow them.”
“And was your mysh a meaningful coincidence?”
“Yes. One of the most meaningful coincidences of them all.”
In fact, Sasha designed it that way.
“Hmmm.” He waved the towel. “She looks too delicate to be with you.”
“Looks can be deceiving. Especially in this case.”
Uncle Igor nodded. “This is good and bad.”
“Sasha’s betrayal?”
“No.” He waved that away and wiped more sweat. “Sasha is no match for you. He will be done with fast. No. Your mysh will be good and bad for you. Are you aware of that?”
“I see the good.”
“And you see the bad.” Uncle Igor closed his eyes.
“The good outweighs the bad.”
“Yes, but the bad can destroy every fiber of you.”
Uncle Igor had a wife named Frances. We’d called her Fanya. No matter how much money they made, she baked bread every day—fresh, crispy loaves of golden crust. No matter how many men she helped him kill, she danced at night and sung beautiful hymns in the morning. I considered her my second mother. She was the sun, and we all warmed from her light.
Then, one night, my uncle’s enemies settled a problem with him. They took Aunt Fanya from his home while he was away with me on business. They raped and beat her, mutilated and gutted her tiny frame.
When we returned, she’d hung from a tree. Her eyes had been dug out with a knife. Fox heads lay in a circle around her. She’d been dangling from the tree for a while. Worms, birds, and spiders had covered and crawled, snipping and snapping, feeding and nesting.
Uncle Igor shifted to madness after that. He buried Fanya inside the house, built a stage around her tomb, put a throne on top of the place where her body rests. There, he sat almost every day. Even today, he’d been sitting on her, probably thinking about those songs, and continuing to go mad.
He was no longer the same, never left Prague, never ventured away from his castle or that odd throne. As if to leave would be to leave her forever.
As if she wasn’t already dead.
I thought back to Em to get the nasty images of my beloved aunt out of my mind.
Uncle Igor spoke in Czech. “You love her?”
“I care for her. More than anyone else.”
“You should look in the mirror.”
“Why?” I turned to him.
His eyes remained closed. “You don’t look like a man that simply cares for a woman.”
I grinned. “Are you saying that I look rosy and in love?”
“As much as any lion can.”
I chuckled to myself and closed my eyes too, letting the steam soak into my skin.
“Yes,” Uncle Igor whispered in Czech. “This could be good and bad. I just hope that I am not here, if it ever goes bad.”
“Why not?”
“Because the world wouldn’t be able to survive your anger. Not the level of terror that would come.”
“Then, let’s hope the world doesn’t make me that mad.”
“Then, make sure you guard your little mouse.”
I will. No one will touch her. Already she’s safe and secure in her room. She understands now better than she did in New York. No wandering off. No getting in danger.
“And now…” Uncle Igor let out a long breath. “We must talk about Valentina.”
Dread filled me. Anytime my uncle brought my sister up, it would be a problem that I didn’t want to solve. My uncle enjoyed the old ways. In those times, women’s rights didn’t rank high on importance. For him, Valentina lived too free of a life and was involved in too much of our businesses. To me, Valentina was just as worthy to sit on the metaphorical throne.
For the first time in years, I considered who would take my place, if I left. Granted, the idea of leaving had never occurred to me. But if I chose to never let Em go, there would be a time when I would leave.
My world would keep us busy. There might be plans. My niece’s face flashed in my head. For the first time, I wondered if I would have kids too. Before, it had never been possible. There wasn’t a woman on this earth I could stomach for more than a few weeks. And then Em came into my life, and I couldn’t stomach being away from her for a few minutes.
I don’t know if I want kids, but I damn sure want to fill her up with cum and see what happens.
“Have you seen Valentina’s child?” my uncle asked.
“I’ve seen my niece. She’s lovely.”
Uncle Igor snapped open his eyes. “And who does the child look like?”
“Valentina.”
“No clue of a father?”
“None.”
“Misha thinks the child is his.”
Shocked, I admitted, “That is news to me. I thought Misha was taken with someone else.”
“Are you talking about that obsession with the black ballerina?” Uncle Igor waved the very thought of it away. “Although she’s unique, talented, and out of his grip. She’ll be a toy, if he gets his way. Nothing more.”
I don’t know about that. Misha’s obsession runs deep.
I considered what Uncle Igor had said about Misha’s confession. “I don’t think Misha would be the father. I’m sure Valentina would’ve said something.”
“No one knows what Valentina’s thinking.” His voice went strained. “I know you don’t want to talk about this, but Misha says that Valentina and he had a one-night stand. She was pregnant a few months later, but never said anything to him about it. Also, he tried to find out if he was the father and she refused to discuss the matter.”
“This is between Valentina and Misha.”
Uncle Igor kept himself calm, but there was annoyance in his tone. “Is it just between Valentina and Misha?”
I exhaled, understanding that my uncle didn’t want to have this conversation with me either. His son and my sister were doing what they always did, involving us in their bullshit. For me, it would be no problem if Misha was the father or not. Either way, my niece would be well taken care of and protected.
For my uncle, my niece would be his first grandchild. And while he was a lonely, old man, no one could forget that he was a murderous bastard too. Lonely and murderous never went together. He would kill for companionship.
My uncle continued, “Had she not been Valentina, your sister…well…”
You would’ve tortured the truth out of her, regardless of the fact that you helped raise her. Anything to stop the loneliness.
I loved my uncle, but his life scared me. We had so much in common. We’d both accomplished some of the same violent things at similar ages. We’d killed at the same ages too, right at fourteen. Both victims were greedy cops that had gone too far. We’d both escaped jail twice and built empires at the same age. While I’d surpassed my uncle in the theoretical ranking of the Bratva, I paid him the respect of one with higher authority.
My uncle and I had come from a long line of betrayed roughnecks. Ancestors that fought their way out. One had to understand that the roots of the Russian underworld went back centuries. Thieves robbed and murdered during imperial Russia. They’d been simple peasants climbing their way out of poverty. They hadn’t been just Russian Robin Hoods immortalized in songs and stories. They had also developed a strict code of conduct among criminals. This code stood the test of time.