ZAKHAR
I spent last night with Aria in the building, listening to the traffic pass by the building. Locked in the office, we made love again and again. She looked beautiful, even wrapped in a shipping blanket. I told her I would risk her coming out to Long Island for the weekend. I often spend weekends alone in a rented house to wind down from the city. I must have smiled like an oblivious fool when she agreed.
I enter the penthouse, and instantly, I can tell that something is off. It’s too quiet though the staff are about. Sure, they work in silence, but today, they’re taking great lengths not to make any noise, as if they’re tiptoeing past a sleeping lion. I glance over at the living room couch, and little Mikhail is sitting slumped against it. He stares at a screen in his hands. His sketchbook is closed and untouched, and he has a worried scowl on his face.
“No greeting today, Kolya?” I ask him.
He looks up with a green gaze on the verge of tears. He looks quickly away and swallows hard. “Dad doesn’t want any noise,” he says.
I shrug. I was that age once. A brief knock and I enter the office.
“We have a problem.” Ippolit Tsarnaev and Gennady eye me suspiciously, and my blood runs cold.
I don’t immediately notice Gennady’s son Desmier sprawled on the couch.
“What is it?” I ask sternly, ready to go on the offense.
“The thefts are still occurring, and they’re getting bolder as if they don’t care if they’re caught.”
Damn. Why did I assume Aria would lie low?
“We have a quick solution,” says Ippolit. “Kill D’Artello and stop the theft. Their death will collapse the entire Lanzzare scheme.” He faces me. “You have the address in Secaucus, yes?”
I nod. “Then I’ll go?-”
“No,” Ippolit interrupts me. “This would be a good test for Mikhail. He should be the one to kill Raymond as his initiation rite.”
I picture the scrawny boy on the couch, his thin legs longer than his torso, shooting imaginary attackers on his screen. “The boy is nine,” I protest.
“And I was ten when I made my first kill,” Gennady points out. “He’s been coddled by his mother long enough. She wants him to be a creative. Well, drawing a picture isn’t contributing anything to the Bratva.”
Desmier is the only one who dares to stand in his father’s presence. Seventeen and already built like a grown man, he stands up and narrows his gaze on Gennady.
“It’s a bad idea, Father,” he says. “This job is too big for him. You want a clean kill.”
“You and your mother have to stop protecting him,” replies Gennady hotly.
“Just because Granddad whipped you into shape doesn’t mean the tradition needs to continue.”
Desmier smirks as his father scowls. Gennady told me once that Desmier looks too much like Tanya, and that’s the only thing that saves him from getting smacked in the mouth. That and he’s a mean SOB like his dad. The boy is fearless, while the other is too sensitive. Maybe Mikhail should be made to toughen up, but not like this.
Not against Aria.
“Maybe you’re right,” Gennady says slowly. “I’ve heard what Ippolit thinks. Zakhar, what do you think?”
I’m caught in my thoughts and not quick to reply. I hesitate, and the words stay in my throat a half a second too long. “I need more time, my pakhan. I need to be thorough. If you kill D’Artello without enough proof, they’ll just replace him.”
Ippolit shakes his head. “Killing D’Artello sends a message regardless of the proof. We don’t have to prove anything. They know what they’ve done.”
“It’s too dangerous to send either of your sons,” I argue. “The Lanzzare aren’t stupid, and this sideline is too profitable for them to allow someone to walk in and start shooting.” I look at Desmier. “It’s a suicide job.”
Desmier puffs out his chest. “I can do it, Dad.”
“No,” I say with force. The word is sharp as it cuts through the conversation. “There are too many unknowns, and that makes it dangerous. When I finish my investigation, I’ll deal with Raymond D’Artello. I promise.”
Ippolit eyes me as if he knows I’m lying, but that’s impossible. Yet … I sense something is wrong, and he knows too much. But what? I can’t allow them to carry out this hit. Not only will it reveal my deceit, an affair with a member of the Lanzzare, but what happens when they discover the truth?
Aria is Raymond, and they won’t think twice before shooting a woman.
Or worse.
“I won’t make a decision today,” Gennady says, walking toward the office door. He scowls when he opens it. “Kolya,” he shouts. “Idi suda!”
The boy walks in, looking lost in a forest of towering trees, keeping his gaze on the floor.
“Go with your brother and practice shooting,” he says. “With a real gun.”
“Come on, Kolya.” Desmier takes his brother’s hand. “You hit the target, and I’ll give you a prize.”
Kolya’s frown lifts into a smile. “What kind of prize?” he asks breathlessly.
Desmier laughs. “We’ll go to the Met, and you can hide from Father.”