Nikolai
It’s been a long day, but for once, I feel accomplished and satisfied with my work rather than being stressed and overworked to my limit. My job pays the bills, but it’s incurred more risk than I ever thought, even
knowing what I was getting into when I was hired by Viktor.
Millie was right. I should try to get into something that would show more of my skill, or I’ll spend the rest of my life feeling inadequate. It makes me feel good to know that I am good at something.”
I’ve had a few beers, and I’m lying on the couch drifting off listening to music when I hear a loud knock at the door.
I quickly scan my living room for contraband just in case it’s the cops coming around. I know that Viktor and Stepan smoked the guy who shot me, so I’ve been jumpy about the cops ever since.
When I answer the door, I see Stepan on my front step. He greets me casually and walks right into my house, nearly pushing me out of the way to keep me from interfering.
“Uh, hey, what’s up?” I ask him, noting his particularly hostile demeanor. This isn’t unusual for him, but it typically isn’t directed right at me. Something is up.
“Did you hear the news?” he says in an unnaturally cheery tone.
“What news?” I ask, maintaining my distance from him. I don’t know what he’s here for, but it’s not good. I have to be vigilant about this. He smells like he’s been drinking, making matters worse.
“You’re going to be a daddy,” he exclaims, his eyes wide and reptilian with no empathy behind them. He walks over to my fridge, staggering a bit, and grabs himself a beer, popping the cap off with the edge of the countertop.
“What the fuck? What are you talking about?” I ask, being genuinely uncertain of what he could mean. It’s been far too long for me to have recently gotten someone pregnant, much to my embarrassment.
“Viktor’s bitch, Millie, she’s pregnant, and Viktor thinks the baby is yours,” he says as he slams half the beer down his throat, as easily as taking a breath.
“There’s no way. He knows I would never do something like that,” I reply, feeling the cold chill of terror washing over me like freezing rain.
“Oh, that’s not how he feels about you at all. He knows you two spend time together. Where were you when you were supposed to be at the meeting today?” he interrogates me, stepping up close enough for me to smell the moonshine and gin on his breath.
“What? I didn’t even know there was a meeting, and Millie was teaching me how to cook,” I protest, backing up into the wall behind me.
“So you were there, though? You were with Millie when you were supposed to be reporting to Viktor? Do you even know what we’re up against right now?” he continues accusatorily.
“I have no idea what the fuck you’re talking about, but you need to get out of here right now,” I order.
He’s clearly not afraid of me, and given my track record with him, this doesn’t shock me one bit. He steps back up to me, pushing me into the wall deliberately. “If you were a smart man, you’d be the one leaving the fucking house. You think Viktor won’t send people after you? You’re lucky I’m here to warn you,” he snarls.
I thought I knew Viktor. I thought he trusted me enough to allow me to spend time with his girlfriend. Had I known he was the jealous type, I would have stayed away from her. Now I might be fucked.
“You’d better get out before Viktor comes to his senses and comes after you himself. Imagine what he would do to you if he found you right now. Killing you would be an act of mercy,” he says.
If Stepan is telling the truth, then I know I’m in deep trouble if I don’t leave as soon as possible. Maybe someday I’ll get the chance to redeem myself, but for now, I need to cover my ass.
*
Viktor
Stepan was right about going to see the other leaders. That much I can give him credit for. We sat down and discussed strategies, and I feel much more confident in my men’s ability to fight alongside another
gang of violent men.
In the meantime, Stepan vanished, leaving me to get everything else done. I suspect he just wants a few drinks, considering how long he had to go without alcohol at the hospital. Unironically, I’d consider him an alcoholic.
When I arrive back at my apartment, I’m so excited to see Millie after such a hard day that I want to wrap her in my arms and keep her there for seventeen hours. I can’t wait to feel her soft body, to smell her skin, and finally feel like I’m home.
But before the elevator doors even open, I have this nagging feeling that something isn’t right. There’s something coiled in my gut and prickling on the back of my neck. My instincts don’t often lead me astray.
When I step into the living room, I notice that Millie has been cooking. There are dishes and ingredients strewn about, and when I investigate further, I see that she’s been making ravioli.
I realize a few moments later that Millie hasn’t emerged from wherever she’s been, running up to me with open arms like she always does. She’s allowed to do what she wants, but the absence of our little ritual is upsetting to me.
I opt to go looking for her instead, wondering if she just needed a break from cooking, and decided to take a nap. But upon entering the bedroom and not seeing her there either, I start to get worried.
It takes me a few minutes of deliberation before I want to fully commit to the idea that she’s gone.
Where would she go? Why would she leave a mess like this?
Upon further examination, I notice that her dresser is open partially, and her usually meticulously arranged clothing has been gutted and tossed about as if she were searching for something in a hurry.
Before I panic, I have to search the rest of the apartment, but I don’t see her anywhere. I call her phone at least five times, and it rings endlessly each time.
No messages from her.
Nothing to indicate that she’s just stepped out to buy some ingredients she forgot.
I’m beginning to truly panic.
Where is she? She never leaves. I know she isn’t working because the bakery is closed today. She closed it specifically so that she could prepare this surprise for me.