Sasha
I drive my car off the street and pick up speed, keeping my eyes on the silver car a hundred feet away from me. These goddamn rats are good at sneaking away.
“Sasha, do you see them?” I hear George’s voice from the speakers and nod before it occurs to me that he can’t see me.
“Yes, they’re in front of me,” I report automatically and glance to the side before gripping the steering wheel tighter. “I’m driving past Costco.
The bastards want to get to I-94.”
The freeway will give the Mexicans a chance to slip out of our grip, and I don’t know why but the thought pisses me off. I’m tired of the Escarra family and their relentless attempts at stealing our resources and claiming our territories. They behave like actual rats, showing up in groups, sneaking right under our noses, and showing their tiny claws as soon as we smoke them out of their hideouts.
I want to get back at them and force them to surrender, so I focus on the road in front of me and honk at the car trying to make a turn at the intersection. Get the hell out of my way! I guess the driver gets the hint when I shoot right in front of his windshield at eighty miles per hour. But I’m still in the Bratva’s territory, and there’s nothing that can stop me.
“Okay, Sasha?” George checks on me after a few seconds of radio silence, and I hum.
“Yeah.”
“Boris is following you.”
I glance at the rearview mirror and see his red car making its way through the intersection. Who drives a red car during a chase? I barely keep myself from rolling my eyes and turn my focus back to the Mexicans. God, what an arrogant dude.
“Make sure the Mexicans are out of our borders and turn back. We-”
“Turn back?” I can’t help but exclaim in annoyance. What is he talking about? I wanted to stomp those rats into the ground!
But of course, what would George know about it? He’s probably spent the whole day in his huge apartment, checking the monitors, sending messages, and drinking gin. His actual name is Georgyi, and he’s my distant uncle or whatever, the Pushkov family is too big to keep track of everyone. All I know is that we are blood relatives and he knows nothing about the real meaning of being a Mafia member.
George’s main task is to keep track of each member’s location and coordinate our movements so that we don’t bump into each other. Don’t get me wrong, it’s very helpful to have someone out there who can give me directions and deliver my words to others. But sometimes, his orders just make no sense at all!
“George, we can get them, just give us more time.”
“No, your task is to clear the territory. Don’t get involved in anything outside our borders.”
His voice gains strict notes, and I purse my lips, trying to keep my protests at bay. An argument won’t get me anywhere, and I can’t disobey him without a good reason. No matter how annoying he can be, George still ranks higher than me, and if I step out of line Father will hear about it very soon.
“Got it,” I grumble, keeping my eyes on the Mexican car. It’s too far away now, and I know I can’t reach it before they escape through the freeway. Goddamnit!
It takes them just another minute to reach the ramp leading to I-94, and I exhale sharply and shake my head as I watch the Mexicans merge into traffic. It’s so tempting to follow them and force them to drive off the bridge just to remind Gerardo that they should stop playing their damn games with the Bratva.
The Escarra family has gotten too brave lately-it’s time to teach them a lesson! But I only clench my jaw harder and drive past the ramp, slowing down to make a turn back into our territory. Disobedience is considered one of the worst offenses in my family, and I don’t want to attract more attention now, when I’ve already messed up with Louis.
As soon as I turn around and make sure that the border is clear, I get back to my call with George. “They left. It’s all clear.”
“Good job.” He pauses for a moment, and when I’m already reaching for my phone to hang up, George suddenly adds, “You know we have to be careful with the Mexicans, right? We don’t have even a formal truce with them…”
Unlike the Italians, he doesn’t say, but I hear it all the same-and he’s right. The Messinas have been sneaky enough to get themselves a piece of cake from both sides.
“So if we go too far, they might as well declare war. And Yuriy
Viktorovich doesn’t want that. At least, not now.”
Ah, of course, how could I forget about Yuriy Viktorovich? I shouldn’t even think about making him upset-or else.
“But haven’t they gone too far already?” I murmur, unable to stop the bitter feeling in my chest. But before George can say anything, I clear my throat and raise my voice over his. “You’re right, of course. My bad. Let’s forget about it. I’m going back to the store to check how much they’ve stolen, okay?”
It sounds like George wants to say something, but I’m already tired of this bullshit, so I hang up before he can say anything and focus on the road.
Of course, I know that he’s right. Our life is tough as it is, and being in an open conflict with another clan is nothing good-trust me, I know from firsthand experience. Ever since Elena married Riccardo Messina and our families agreed to stop this pointless brawl, things have gotten so much better. We stopped losing our men and resources, and it allowed us to grow even stronger.
Nobody wants another war, including me-but I can’t help the feeling that our self-restraint has made the Mexicans too confident. Like rats emboldened by the lack of resistance, they’ve been trying to get deeper and deeper into our territories. Isn’t it enough for us to do something about it?
I huff under my breath and shake my head. It looks like nobody really cares, especially the Italians.
Of course, the Mexicans are our problem, not theirs, especially since they struck a deal with the Escarra family. But what about our deal? What about the marriage between Riccardo and Elena that was supposed to become the symbol of the alliance of our families? When the Messinas needed us, we came to help them-but they’ve never returned the favor.
I come to a stop at the red light, staring ahead with annoyance and resentment bubbling in my chest. God, can you imagine the audacity? Instead of following their own promise and joining us to beat the Mexicans, those damn pigs turned around and shook hands with our enemies! Well, I shouldn’t be surprised really. The Messinas know nothing about honor, and
–
A sudden honk interrupts my thoughts, and I blink. What, is it green already? But no, it’s still red, and a moment too late I realize that the honk came from my right side. When I turn my head, I see Boris grinning at me through the window. A moment later my phone starts ringing, and I only have enough time to answer before the light turns green.
“Hey, Sasha.” I hear his smooth voice through the speakers and grimace, trying to get rid of him in the traffic. “I like your new color.”
My color? I frown, and it takes me a moment to figure out that he’s talking about my hair.
“Well, thanks.”
“You know, I’ve always wondered if it’s true that redheads are beasts in-”
“Bye, Borya.”
I finish the call even before he finishes the sentence and let out a loud huff. I can’t believe he’s doing this again. We are literally relatives! Even if very-very distant. But it doesn’t matter, really. Even if he wasn’t my goddamn-what cousin, what girl would ever fall for…this?
I shake my head and glance in the rearview mirror. It looks like Boris got the hint because I see his car make a turn far behind me. Good for him. I breathe out in relief when my phone rings again, and I almost growl under my breath.
“What now?” I answer without even looking at the screen, and a secondary pause on the other side already tells me that it’s not Boris.
“Sasha, this is Irina. We’d like you to stop by The Red Bush as soon as you can, thanks.”
Irina hangs up even before I can say anything, and I curse under my breath. She couldn’t have chosen a better time to call me, could she? But without any further questions, I drive past the demolished store where we caught the Mexicans earlier and take the next turn to drive toward the bar.
No matter how discreet Irina was, I know that behind her politeness is hidden Yuriy’s impatience. Otherwise, why would they call me instead of sending a message through George? I drum my fingers against the steering wheel, trying to keep down the jittery feeling in my chest. Could it be that they found out about my fuckup with Louis?
The Red Bush is an old and modest bar in the middle of West Town -a neighborhood that’s been a home for Russians since our greatgrandparents settled in Chicago over a century ago. Perhaps the bar itself is just as old-it definitely looks like it-but it has changed and expanded under the Pushkov family’s control.
These days, The Red Bush is one of our main locations for meeting dealers and shaking hands with buyers. It has an underground facility for packing and storing drugs, weapons, and whatever else Yuriy is hiding beneath our feet. Irina is the administrator and coordinator for all deals that take place there. On top of that, she’s my cousin and Yuriy’s favorite niece who firmly holds one of the highest positions in our family.
When I get to The Red Bush, I notice that the parking lot is rather crowded. Is that Elena’s car? I hum. If the Italian Queen is here, it means that there’s an important meeting inside, and I don’t think I want to be a part of it. The tip of the Pushkov family is swarming with people obsessed with power, and as a daughter of one of them, I despise them with all my heart.
Irina meets me at the entrance of the bar, looking flawless and completely out of place with her white blouse, tight skirt, and blonde hair tied in an elegant bun. She fixes her glasses, eyeing me with a strict look that doesn’t make her smile any warmer.
“Sasha, hi. It’s good to see you. Would you like to join the game?” She gestures at the thick purple curtains at the back of the bar. Behind them is a billiard room where Yuriy likes to play pool and discuss important matters in, as he calls it, a warm and friendly atmosphere.
I hate billiards, but that’s not what Irina is asking, so I give her a tight smile and nod. “Of course, it would be my pleasure.”
She guides me past the tables with a few actual visitors scattered between Yuriy’s guards. I recognize most of them, whether from the family tree or shared patrols, but each of them meets my gaze only for a second before looking away. Cordial greetings are not a common thing in my family.
“Ah, Sashenka, here you are! I was wondering if you’d make it in time.”
Unless they are as fake as this one.
As soon as I step into the room, faintly illuminated by the wide lamps above the billiard tables, Yuriy straightens up next to one of them and gives me a wide grin. He acts as if I’m actually glad to be here, but I’m not dumb enough to complain. I only smile back at him and nod, walking closer.
“I drove here as fast as I could, Uncle.”
“Good, good,” he murmurs, returning his attention to the pool cue in his hands, and I stop a few steps away from him and look around. The room has gone uncomfortably quiet since I entered.