Alina
I roll onto my back and sigh, closing my eyes. Maybe if I open them again, I’ll be back in my room in Southampton, and everything will be
exactly as it used to be.
But of course, when I open my eyes again, I’m still in my bedroom in Mom’s house, and out the window I can see the outline of Chicago’s downtown. It’s been a few days since I stepped foot into the city, and the
sight that amazed me at first now looks almost daunting. I know I’m a stranger to this city, and at this point, I don’t know if it will ever accept me.
I let out a deep breath and sit up, looking around. Who would’ve thought Mom would keep my childhood bedroom unoccupied? I can’t say that nothing has changed here since I left-they definitely got rid of my old bed and obnoxiously bright posters with princesses-but the walls are still painted soft yellow, and I’ve found an old doll in one of the drawers. These small details are the only things that connect me to the past and remind me that I used to live here.
I used to be a part of this family-but why don’t I feel like it anymore?
I purse my lips, staring down at my knees and fiddling with the sheets. Well, the answer is obvious, isn’t it? It’s been too long. I’ve
changed, my family has changed, and nothing is the same anymore. I feel like I’m a character that ended up in the wrong movie, and I can’t help but wonder if I’m gonna fit in.
This feeling of uncertainty and anxiousness has been following me since day one, but it was the clearest when I met Aunt Olga yesterday. Even in my old memories, she was always somewhat strict and aloof. When I was a child, I was intimidated by her-and it turns out that she still has the same effect on me.
Actually, Olga didn’t say anything bad or demeaning to me; she
even gave me a small smile and a nod when she first entered the house. But for some reason, I still got stiff and nervous in her presence, and knowing how much power she possesses only made it worse. I mean, my Aunt Olga is the woman in charge of the second biggest Mafia family in Chicago, if not the whole United States. If that doesn’t intimidate you, I don’t know what does.
All I could think about after she left was that I didn’t feel any connection with her. I didn’t feel like I was talking to my aunt-I felt like I was talking to a stranger who could kill me with a snap of their fingers. And the more I think about it, the better I see that everyone else in this city makes me feel the same. Even Irina, who used to be my role model, is now a completely different person.
Can I get over this initial awkwardness and stress? Can I find my place in this family? I sigh and shake my head, getting up. I don’t know anymore. Perhaps I shouldn’t have come here in the first place.
I go out of my room and look around. I’m not sure if Mom has any plans for today. She’s told me to have some rest and enjoy myself-but at the same time, I can’t leave the house. Apparently, it’s too dangerous for me to be out there on my own, so I have to either spend my time staring at the walls of the house or request someone to accompany me. And I thought things would be more or less normal here, huh?
I’m not in the mood to be followed by one of Olga’s men-most of them are big, silent, and kinda creepy-so I decide to stay at home and talk to Mom instead. I have a couple of questions on my mind, and I think it’s a good time for me to learn the answers.
I find her in the living room, reading a magazine with the TV playing news on mute. I catch sight of the words Chicago and another gunfight in the headlines, but before I can think about it, Mom flips the page and notices me from the corner of her eye, looking up.
“Oh, hi, sweetie. I thought you were taking a nap.” She smiles at me, placing her magazine on the coffee table, and I almost regret coming to her. Mom is the only one who genuinely tries to make me feel at home-but even with her, I feel like a stranger.
And I guess that’s why I came to her.
“No, I was…thinking.” I give her a tight smile and walk closer to take a seat on the couch next to her.
Mom quirks an eyebrow, making me feel like she knows me better than I think. “Yes?”
“Yeah.” I nod and, after a moment of hesitation, turn to look her in the eyes. “Mom, what happened when I was a child? What happened to Dad? Why did you send me away?”
I didn’t even realize how many questions I’d been carrying with me through the years, but as soon as I open my mouth, I can’t stop myself. The old wounds open up in my chest, filling me with hurt and anger, and I suddenly feel like I’m ten years old again, struggling to understand why my own parents have left me.
As soon as I finish, Mom sighs and looks away, shaking her head with a sad chuckle. “I knew you’d ask me about it very soon, and I guess the time has come. You’re already an adult, you can handle the truth.”
I say nothing, waiting for her to continue, but her words leave a bitter taste in my mouth. I’ve been an adult for a while now, yet Mom has never brought this up before. I don’t think she’s been keeping it away from me for my own sake-I think she just wanted to pretend like it never happened. Like I wasn’t separated from the rest of my family because of her.
“You probably don’t remember it,” Mom finally says, after gathering her thoughts for a moment. “But your dad was always loyal to Yuriy and the Bratva as a whole. Ever since we got married, Anatoly did all he could to earn his place in the family. He never turned away from a difficult task, and Yuriy liked him for it. They were friends, in a way.”
She glances at me as if to check that I’m following her thoughts. I nod, but I don’t understand why she’s telling me this. Mom can probably read the confusion on my face because she smiles joylessly and nods as if telling me that she’s getting there.
“But when you were a child, Yuriy came up with something horrible even for a Mafia family-and he wanted Anatoly to do it. At the time, the rumors had spread that Yuriy’s daughter Lydia was plotting against him, and…” Mom glances at me. “I don’t know if you remember Lydia, but she used to visit us sometimes. She was Irina’s close friend, such a smart and sweet girl. Anatoly and I always treated her like our own daughter. Do you remember her?”
I nod slowly, narrowing my eyes in thought. I have vague memories of Irina and Lydia doing homework together or listening to loud music in
Irina’s room. But Lydia rarely played with me, so I wasn’t particularly fond of her. I knew she was my cousin, but for such a big family like ours that wasn’t anything special.
“Well, Yuriy ordered Anatoly to kill her,” Mom says with a sigh, and I blink in surprise. What? “She was a threat to him, and his first reaction was to eliminate her.”
“But Lydia was his daughter!”
“It never stopped him.” Mom shrugs, giving me a sad smile. “But it did stop your dad. He refused to kill Lydia-and Yuriy saw it as a betrayal of his loyalty. He thought that caring about his daughters made Anatoly too soft and he needed a good lesson. So without thinking too much about it, Yuriy ordered his men to kill you.”
I part my lips, but I don’t even know what to say except for… “What the hell?”
“I know.” She shakes her head and turns to me, and I can see the darkness of anger in her eyes. “If Olga hadn’t warned us over the phone, I…I don’t know what would have happened.”
I swallow through the sudden tightness in my throat. My own uncle wanted to kill me after my dad refused to kill his daughter. God, what’s
wrong with this family?
“We only had enough time to explain it to Agatha, grab the most important things you might need, and take both of you to the airport.”
I blink through the sudden haze in my mind and clench my jaw, holding tighter to the edge of the couch. “What happened after?”
I can hear Mom sigh, her breath trembling, and it takes her a few seconds before she finds her voice again. “After Yuriy found out about it, he came to our house and told…he told Anatoly he couldn’t trust him anymore. He said Anatoly was a traitor and had no place in our family, so he-”
Mom doesn’t finish the sentence, but I don’t need anything else to paint the image in my head.
“Did he kill him?” I mindlessly ask out loud, unable to believe it, but Mom only nods solemnly, and I have to swallow the thickness in my throat. I feel sick just thinking about it, but I’m glad my uncle is already dead.
“Why did you never tell me about it?” I turn to look at Mom, but she avoids my gaze, looking somewhere behind me. Does she feel guilty? Well, it’s too late for that.
“You wouldn’t understand it. Our life is different, and…it would only scare you away.”
“Of course it would. Your brother-in-law killed my dad!” I can’t help but raise my voice with the force of emotions bubbling inside of me.
It finally forces Mom to look me in the eyes, and I can see sadness there, but it doesn’t change anything. I don’t care if she understands how much it hurts, I don’t care if she wants to protect my feelings. She was the one who kept the truth away from me, she has no right to act all nice and innocent now.
“And do you think it would be better for you to hear it when you were ten?” Mom tilts her head, offering me a look of sympathy, but it only makes my chest tighter. The sensation chokes me from inside, and I feel like I need to get out of here. I need some fresh air.
“But I’m not ten anymore, right?” I glance at her before getting up on my feet. “Yet you kept it away from me.”
I don’t know if there’s anything else she wants to tell me, but at this point I just don’t care. I storm out of the living room in desperate need to be on my own. Where should I go? What should I do?
It feels like all the tension, insecurities, frustration, and fear of the last few days are finally breaking free, and I need to do something. I burst out of the house, run across the lawn, and get into the car Mom has given to me. The first thing I need to do is get the hell out of here, all their rules be damned.
It looks like Mom understands because, when I finally drive away, nobody follows me. Thank god. I breathe out, feeling some of the tension letting go, and focus on the road. Okay, where am I now, and where am I going?
I turn into the closest parking lot and take out my phone. There’s one thing that always makes me feel better-photography. I haven’t taken
any photos of Chicago yet, and I think it’s time to fix that.
Who knows, maybe this night will show me a new side of this city.