Anastasia
For a moment, I look at the sweet and sour pork and noodles in front of me, and then I sigh. “It’s vague, almost like a dream that goes in and out. I remember being on the ride, and I remember loud bangs. My father shouting. My mother on the ground in a pool of red.”
I look up at Luigi, fighting back the tears. “I had insisted we go to the carnival that day. We could have gone any day, but I wanted to that day. I know I was little, but still, I feel as though if I hadn’t asked, my mother wouldn’t have died.”
“It’s not your fault,” Luigi says, but that’s what everyone says. “In our line of business, there are always casualties.”
I shrug. “My mom dying, Mila Volkov, broke my father in ways I’ve never seen someone break. For the longest time, he was a shell of the man he had been. He became cold and overprotective, and every time I mentioned my mother, he’d look at me with this crazy expression. Maybe he blamed me too. I don’t know. But one day, it just came to a point where we knew we were never allowed to speak of my mother again in our family. We couldn’t mourn her, celebrate her, we couldn’t mention her because every time we did, we broke my father all over again.”
I didn’t want to continue but nodded slowly, clearing my voice, “I’d already been holding myself responsible for my mother’s death. I didn’t want to torture my father anymore.”
“He must have loved her very much,” Lugi says quietly, and I shrug.
“I don’t remember much about her, but I see how fiercely he loves Tori, and I realize that when my father gives himself, he gives his whole being, which is dangerous.” I pick up my food and stab at it with the chopsticks. “That’s why I wanted vengeance. I started researching a couple of years ago, and after some digging. I found out Mateo Catalan pulled the trigger on my mother.”
I look at Luigi, feeling stronger. “Maybe if I get my revenge, that part of my father can heal.”
“It’s not that easy,” Luigi says. “It’s somewhat wishful thinking, Ana. You grew up in a Bratva family. Mob bosses know what they’re getting into. You know the dangers that come with dealing with other families, with dealing with us. Sometimes you have to lose someone you love, sometimes at your own hands. Also, your father is the head of one of the most powerful families. He is watched and scrutinized. His every decision is measured against whether he is a good leader or not. He’s almost been killed once because of someone in his own family. He can’t show emotions or weakness the way you want him to. That can be used against him in the worst possible ways.”
“You don’t know him,” I snap angrily. “He can show emotion. It isn’t a weakness. My father is passionate and loving. He is also a great leader.” I set my food down. “Has my father not done enough for you and your family?”
Luigi sets his food down and stands, holding his hands out. “Relax,
Ana. I am just saying that you’re probably misreading the situation…”
I cut him off. “Because I’m a woman? Because I’m a princess? You men think you’re so much better than us, but you forget who brought you into this world, kicking and screaming. My father is not like other heads of families.”
“All heads of families are the same,” Luigi snaps. “Their focus is to advance the family, secure their future and leave a legacy. No matter the cost. You’re playing in a game, and don’t even know the rules.”
“If you think I’m so useless, why are you helping me?” I demand to know.
Luigi runs a hand over his hair. “Because I know if I don’t, you’ll still try on your own and probably get yourself killed.”
“What would you know?” I sneer. “You’re not a decision-maker.”
“Ana…”
He calls after me as I storm off, slamming the bedroom door behind me. I fall onto the bed, hugging my body and curling up. I half expect him to storm in and drag me home, but it’s quiet. Minutes turn to hours, and I just lie there fuming. He’s a man-child. What does he know? He thinks he’s a hot playboy, but really he has commitment issues. Something I don’t struggle with.
I will wait until he’s asleep tonight, then I will grab what information he has, and I will leave and do this myself. I never should have asked for his help. That was a moment of weakness.
I must have drifted off because I jump slightly when there’s a soft knock on the door. It’s dark outside, and I reach for the lamp, turning it on. I sit up, but I don’t say anything. He knocks again. “Ana, I know you’re pissed, but I’ve heated some pasta and thought you’d like to come have some.”
My stomach, the biggest traitor, growls in anticipation and I cross my arms as he says through the door, “Even if you’re pissed with me, at least come have something to eat.”
I get up and walk over to the door. When I open it, he’s not there. I
glance around and see him walking to the armchair to sit down. A steaming plate of pasta, spaghetti with a saucy mince, sits on the table. I slowly walk over and shift on the sofa as far away from him as I can.
He eats, keeping quiet at first. We’re about a quarter way through our delicious meal when out of nowhere, he says, “I’m sorry.” I don’t look up, but I pause while eating.
“You know… I also lost my mom to a family-related shooting,” he says softly, picking at his pasta. “I used to be like you. I was so angry and emotional, and I wanted revenge so badly.” I look at him out of the corner of my eye, ready to give him a tongue lashing as he continues, “I remember what that felt like. I remember how my father changed. He was so hard on us. He wanted us to be tough and guarded. He was way overprotective. Then my sister got pregnant, and he shipped her off to Italy, and I was told to know my place in the family.”
I now turn my head to look at him as he speaks. “I was never allowed to get revenge, and killing other people didn’t help. I guess I just tucked that anger of mine away, letting it simmer. I don’t know if I will ever find the man that shot my mother, but if I knew who it was, I would probably want to kill him too.” He looks up at me.
He swallows. “I was always told having emotions like that made me less of a man. So I’m sorry, Ana. I’m sorry for judging your decisions when I probably would make the same ones. If you still want to kill Mateo, I am happy to help you. That is if you’ll forgive me?”
I look back at my food and then at him. “Do you promise to teach me how to shoot a rifle? And to include me in everything?”
“I promise,” he says, and I know he’s being genuine, just from the way he’s looking into my eyes.
“Okay, I accept your apology then. I’m sorry about your mother, too,” I say quietly, turning back to my food.
We eat in a more comfortable silence after that. I guess I’m staying after all, but I don’t want him to think this makes me weak or reliant on him. I will leave if he pulls any shit.
After dinner, I retire to the bedroom to grab a few things, and then I shower. I scrub off the layer of epidermis that had contact with those grubby cartel assholes. I feel so much better after washing away the feeling of being violated.
On my way back to the bedroom, I pause and look at Luigi.
“Goodnight, Luigi. I hope you get some rest tonight.”
“I hope you do, too, because tomorrow, the really hard work will start,” he says.
I nod and shut the door after myself. I slip into bed and sigh, letting myself relax. I think about how Luigi was gentle when he told me the story of his mother dying and what he experienced. I resolve to help find the murderer of his mother when he’s helped me kill Mateo. That way, we can both have our revenge.
My last lingering thought as I drift off is about how amazing, gentle, and kind Luigi is and how he would make the perfect husband.
Luigi
Before the sun rises, my eyes open and I stare at the ceiling. I struggled to get to sleep, but eventually, pure exhaustion lulled me into rest. My brain is awake, though, and ready to overthink what I did. Why did I tell Anastasia about my mother? I’m condoning what she is doing even though it could get us both killed. Our families will become targets. Whatever tenuous peace is currently held together by a thread will snap, and if anyone from our families dies, that’s on us.
I get up and shower because there’s no point being in bed. I might as well do something useful. Maybe put the coffee machine on. I have promised Ana to teach her how to shoot a rifle and to include her in everything.
I don’t think this situation is as simple as that, and she’s clearly naive about what happens in this life. This isn’t a movie where someone learns to shoot over a week and is a crack shot all of a sudden.
As I stand under the hot water, I think about the other reason I didn’t fall asleep straight away. I almost had a heart attack when she called out sleepily for her mother, and then I heard her crying. I didn’t want to open the door in case I woke her.
I wash my hair. I’d always found Ana attractive. I’d always wanted her, but that cry… that cry did things to my heart that I didn’t think were possible. Thousands of tiny needles, all stabbing at the same time. I wanted to hold her and go in and comfort her, but I can’t start something that isn’t allowed.
I’m in enough trouble with the family without falling for my brother-in-law’s daughter. If she cries like that again, though, I don’t think I will be able to control myself.
Dry and dressed, I walk into the kitchen and turn on the coffee machine. I take out two cups and set them up on the countertop before I scratch through the cupboard for something to eat.
I’ll have to order something, maybe a toasted breakfast bun from down the road.
I go to my laptop. It’s not traceable, even by my family, who think they know everything about me. First, I order groceries and more supplies. That’s number one off my list. Then I make a fake social media account, using a nifty software a friend gave me to appear on people’s friend lists. I don’t need that, but if someone comes across it, it will look like I’ve been here a while. I backdate the profile to a few years ago. Then I pull specialized software to link it to my internet browser and search for all photos where East Harlem is tagged as a location. Thousands come up, and while that search finalizes, I grab my coffee.
I then spend a long time tediously going through the photos. I just need one. My eyes scan each image before I hit the right arrow to go to the next. It takes an hour and a half to find one with Mateo Catalan caught in the background.
I smirk.
I screenshot the photo, crop out the part with Mateo so I have a shot of him, and drag it to the software’s right panel. The picture is grainy when I initially pull it over, but the software clears it to crystal. Then I hit find in East Harlem.
I sit back as the software finds all the photos of Mateo in East Harlem that it can.
I get up to get more coffee, and as I do, I hear the shower going.
Anastasia is awake, and I try my best not to picture her wet, naked form.
God.
I cannot fall for her.
Can I?
There’s a knock at the front door, and I touch the gun tucked in the back of my pants. I creep to the door and peek through the peephole. It’s a delivery guy.
Still wary, I open the door. I hand him a tip without speaking and take the parcels from him. Shutting the door, I go to the kitchen and start making breakfast. Leaving a few cans on the counter, I throw on some toast and pack everything else.
Ana comes through with sopping hair, wearing the baggy clothes from the cabin. I chuckle, and she raises an eyebrow. “I want to wash the touristy clothes.”
“I got you some better clothes. They’re on the table.”
She picks them up and smiles. “Thanks. I’ll go change.”
She leaves, and I open up the cans. I empty some fish and preserves into bowls, and I set some margarine on the table. I make a few more slices of toast before she’s back.
I go to the laptop and check the search.
“What are you doing?” I glance over my shoulder at her face right beside me and smile. “I’m searching for pictures with Mateo in East Harlem, so I can generate a timeline to establish a pattern, if there is one.” I look at her. “Make sense?”
“It’s genius,” she breathes, leaning over my shoulder.
My email goes off, and I click on it. It’s Dominic.
Lui.
Need to come home.
Anastasia Volkov is missing, and we need every man to look for her.
Dom.
I look at Anastasia and sigh. “I’m going to have to tell him you’re with me.”
“Do we have to tell him what we’re doing?” Anastasia asks. I see the desperation in her eyes.
I shrug. “I mean, I could say I found you, and we’re lying low. That I didn’t want to say anything in case people were watching.” “Is this email safe?” she asks.
“It’s encrypted in a way that would alert me if anyone other than Dominic looked at this email at a certain location,” I explain. “It’s the only way to reach me.”
I sit at the laptop, and Anastasia pulls a chair beside me and watches me type.
Dom.
Line not encrypted-can’t call.
Found A. She is safe with me. She was the woman from the auction. We’re lying low until it’s safe to come home.
Lui.
Anastasia looks at me. “Is he going to be pissed?”
“The man types faster than anyone I know. We’re going to get a lecture,” I sigh. We both sit there for a moment before another email comes through.
Luigi Sorvino.
I am going to kill you personally. Why didn’t you say that from the beginning? Ivan is going insane looking for his daughter. You will spend your days cleaning out the toilets at the family estate every hour if I have a say when I’m through with you.
Come home immediately.
Dominic.
“Yeah, he used my full name, so he definitely means business,” I say with a chuckle. “This guy…” Dom.
I’m sorry! As said, couldn’t get encrypted line. Wasn’t sure who was listening or watching. Family homes under observation. Better to lie low and be safe than risk it, and more people get hurt.
I pause and look at Anastasia. “I don’t know what else to say.”
“Say whatever you can to get him to let us stay here,” she pleads, looking at the screen. I delete the email.
Dom.
As explained, couldn’t get encrypted line.
Mexicans are watching family home.
Not safe to return.
It would be easier for me to keep her safe in a secret location than to bring her home.
Can arrange encrypted call between A and dad to show she is unharmed.
Confirm instructions.
Lui
I send the email and look at her. “He’ll probably have to discuss it with your father and Alessandro, so we might as well have breakfast.” I stand and lead her back to the small table.
We sit down, and she eats preserves on her toast while I tackle the tinned fish. We don’t talk. We’re each nervously waiting for the beep bloop of the email notification on the laptop.
She is picking at her food when I say, “Either we’ll get to stay here, or we’ll have to go home. Either way, we’ll figure something out.”
We’re done, and I’m cleaning the dishes when the notification goes off. We look at each other, then hurry to the laptop, where I open the email.
Lui.
Fine.
Return end of next week and not a day later.
Dom
I look at Anastasia. “We have to work quickly and efficiently. If our families find out what we are up to, your father will lock you up for the rest of your life, and my cousins will probably shoot me, or worse.”
Anastasia nods. “Agreed.”