Maria
No one tells me where I’m going. I am shuttled around like an unwanted child from relative to relative. My lips tighten into a scowl as the SUV heads south, and I know enough to know that they are not returning me to Mikhail. The SUV exits the Thruway and passes through a small town. Nothing is exciting or unusual to see-strip malls and fast food. I wonder if I will be kept in another warehouse like a cardboard box stacked on a shelf.
Sorokin’s estate received a lot of damage from Gunsyn’s ill-fated attack. Only a few men were able to penetrate the house itself, but they did serious damage to the exterior and, from what I understand, set fire to a few outer buildings. Sorokin didn’t experience the heavy losses that Gunsyn did, but Gunsyn got away.
In a sick way, he has emerged the winner in spite of a failed attack.
My brow furrows when I think about that coward escaping again. I wanted Sorokin to catch him. I would’ve demanded that I be allowed to watch while he was tortured. My nails bite into my palm, and I breathe to release the stress.
I only think I can stomach Gunsyn being tortured, but that’s a lie. I’m not that person.
I look out the window and notice that the scenery has changed dramatically. The SUV easily navigates a one-lane road, moving further into the woods. Signs warn trespassers that they will be prosecuted. A man steps out, blocking our path, and the SUV stops at a concealed checkpoint. We’re waved through, and my curiosity is roused.
“Where are we going?” I ask the driver.
He looks surprised to hear my voice. “To Zhanna Nikolaeva. Sorokin must make repairs on his estate. You’ll be here for a few days.”
I lean back in my seat, wondering what fresh hell awaits me. On one hand, maybe I can convince someone Mikhail and I should be together. But as we pass another man holding a rifle, I question if I have to convince myself first.
Zhanna’s house is different than I had imagined. I thought Zhanna would live deep in the woods in a cottage or an ancient Victorian house. But her home is sleek and modern, with expansive glass windows that provide a view of the surrounding woods.
I’m shown into an open-plan living room and find Zhanna seated on a mid-century-style couch. Her posture is straight, and she’s dressed in a simple tunic with leggings. Her gray hair is loose and full around her face. She looks nothing like the little old lady I met at the penthouse as she poses with two greyhounds at her feet.
She smiles warmly. “Maria Zakharovna, my dear. Come, sit.” She gestures to the empty couch across from her. “I hear there was quite some commotion at Radomil’s estate.”
I pause for a moment, unsure if I should tell all or keep my mouth shut. I stare at Zhanna like a deer, unable to move out of the road quick enough. It’s then that I notice she has a clear complexion, and her eyelids are covered in dark eyeshadow while long, meticulously applied lashes frame her violet eyes.
“It’s rude to stare, dear.” Zhanna sighs, folding her legs underneath her. “I was hoping for some conversation. My grandson Stepan is in Aspen with his friends.”
“It was awful,” I blurt out. “I shot someone.” My eyes widen when I remember why. “Natasha-she was shot. Do you know if she’s okay?”
Zhanna waves her hand in the air. “Natasha is fine. It’ll take more than a bullet to hurt that woman. Was there a lot of damage? Come, girl, tell me.”
I nod. “They burned some of the outer buildings. The garage and vehicles were torched. And Gunsyn got away.”
“Oh.” She eyes me, noticing the bitterness creeping into my voice. “How unfortunate, then.”
“I can’t handle seeing the violence,” I whisper, staring past her. “I don’t think I can be with Mikhail. I’ll be useless to him if I can’t handle it.”
She brushes her hair off her face, sighing. “You must understand that as women in the Bratva, we’re not the ones who get our hands dirty. Natasha is the exception to the rule. It is a shame that she set such unrealistic expectations for you.” She studies my face intently. “But you’re strong, like your mother. You can endure more than you think.”
I swallow hard. I need a change in conversation, something to take my mind off the danger that surrounds me everywhere I go. “You have a beautiful home.”
Zhanna laughs, ignoring my comment. “You look like her. And she was an enchanting creature,” she smiles at the memory. “Aria charmed everyone she met. I’ve never forgotten her.”
“How did you know my mother?” I ask.
“I met Aria Genovesi many, many years ago when she was around your age. Wives, mothers, sisters, daughters of pakhans and dons are allowed to mingle in certain places. It’s one of the privileges we have.”
“Privileges?” I question.
“The men may content themselves with bathing in each other’s blood, but it is the women who must be the olive branch that saves face. If you and Mikhail had exchanged vows, it would have been you who reached out to the Lanzzare.”
“But I did,” I explain. “I asked Mikhail to let me call.”
“Not as a wife, dear.” Zhanna shakes her head. “It’s different when you’re a wife,” she continues. “The dress shops and the restaurants where women congregate have ended more wars than these foolish men and their oceans of blood. That is where true power lies, Maria. It is in those spaces that messages are delivered, meetings arranged, and deals made on behalf of our husbands.” She looks at me with those eyes that seem to see everything. “But you don’t care about that right now, do you?”
I shake my head. “No,” I reply softly. “I want to know more about my mother. Was she … Did she …”
Zhanna closes her eyes for a moment and nods. “There was one restaurant, The Lucrece, and everyone wanted to be seen there. People had to pull massive favors to get in. Money couldn’t get you inside; you had to have something special. Your mother … well, she would walk into a place and bewitch the room. And all the men in it.”
“Really? How? What did she do?”
“And she knew how to flirt,” laughs Zhanna. “I used to smoke long ago. And one night at Lucrece, your mother asked me for a cigarette, even though she barely knew me and she didn’t smoke. Yet before she can even put the damn thing to her lips, men were lining up to light it. She had them wrapped around her little finger,” Zhanna chuckles at the memory.
I can’t help but smile at the image of my mother captivating a room full of dangerous men. “She must have been brave.”
Zhanna opens an ottoman and pulls out a photo album. She flips open a page, handing it to me. I stare at the picture of my mother and Zhanna dressed in evening gowns, sitting at a table covered with a white tablecloth. They smile radiantly at the camera while a full orchestra plays in the background. Zhanna is beautiful. Her long hair is piled on top of her head as she shows off her slim figure in an empire dress. But my mother’s beauty makes my jaw drop. Her catlike gaze latches onto the viewer as her mouth forms a plump smirk, as if she knows a secret that nobody else does.
And her eyes-the way she looks at the camera makes me forget that there are other people on Earth.
“She wasn’t scared to talk to people,” Zhanna continues. “She had a genuine interest in everyone she met. She judged everyone based on themselves, not what was whispered behind their backs. Aria spoke to me as if I were a friend to make, not a Bratva wife to sidestep. She knew how to make you feel like you were the center of the world while she was the center of ours.”
Zhanna sits quietly, and I look away as she wipes a tear from her cheek.
“Thank you for sharing that with me.” I hand back the photo album.
“Of course, dear. Remember, women have power and influence too, but we must use it wisely.”
“I’m still not sure,” I confess. “How can I control the Bratva when I can’t control my own life? I’m told I should accept the Bratva, but they haven’t accepted me. They stare at me as if I’m the enemy because of my mother. She loved my father, and that’s the only mistake she made.”
Zhanna gazes thoughtfully at the photo before responding. “It won’t be an easy path, and your journey will differ from any other woman’s. But you must be willing to fight for your place in our world, just as your mother did.”
“But my mother died.”
“All of us will die,” Zhanna replies. “But while alive, you must learn to use your intelligence and your charm to your advantage. You must be fearless, like your mother.”
“I met Paige Barinov,” I tell her hopefully. “She told me that her husband, Andrei, retired from the Bratva. Is that even a possibility for Mikhail?”
A sad smile appears on Zhanna’s face. “No one leaves the Bratva completely, Maria. Andrei may have stepped away from his position, but he is still very much involved. These ties are forged in blood, and they are difficult to sever. You will never be allowed to forget where you came from.”
I nod, taking in her warning.
“But will I marry Mikhail?” I ask.
“I cannot answer that for you. Only you can.”
“I don’t doubt my love for Mikhail,” I sigh. “But how do you do it? How do you stomach it? The violence. The killing.”
Zhanna doesn’t answer right away. She stands up and walks over to a silver decanter, and when she lifts the lid, her dogs begin to fan their tails.
“You never will,” Zhanna sighs. “But that’s the point.”
The slim greyhounds wait patiently before Zhanna tosses them a treat. The dogs snatch it up greedily and then rest their heads on their paws.
She sits down beside me. “A pakhan’s wife has the power to intervene before things get out of hand.” Zhanna gazes at her dogs. “It’s impossible to change the world from a distance. You can run away and pretend it doesn’t happen, but it will happen whether you are there to see it or not. Do you want Mikhail to change?” She stops me. “Not who he is, but his circumstances?”
“I do.”
“Then you will find a way. Or make one.”