In which Lucya was not expecting this.
Alexi…
Earlier that night…
“What happened?” My fist tightens on the phone hard enough to crack the glass.
“Motherfucking Rurick Dubrovin happened,” my father roared, “he stole fifty million dollars’ worth of our weaponry and eighty men died when he torched the warehouses!”
“How do we know it was the Dubrovin Bratva?”
“Are you questioning your Pakhan, boy?”
Ah, now I’m “boy” and no longer “son.” Our usual dance continues.
“No, Pakhan,” I say steadily, “I only need the background and a target.”
“That’s better,” he snaps. I can hear the clink of a glass and know he’s filling it to the brim with his favorite vodka, a 192-proof Polmos Spirytus Rektyfikowany from Poland. His go-to beverage when things are dire. “The fucking idiots aren’t that bright. We intercepted the transmissions from their men on the ground back to Dubrovin’s compound.”
“Have we tracked where they’ve taken the gun shipments?”
“Not yet. But your placement happens to be convenient,” he says. His words are already slurring a bit, so I suspect this is not his first glass. “The Dubrovina daughters. You have their location?”
“Da, yes.” I already know where this is going.
“Pick them up, and hold them in two separate locations. I want video.” His tone is brighter as if the very thought of two terrified, innocent girls is making his day.
“In what condition?” Sweat’s breaking out on my forehead. Why should I care? Still, the memory of Lucya’s sweet, happy face twists my gut.
“Crying, scared to death, tied up,” he says, smacking his lips with satisfaction. “No visible marks, but you may enjoy yourself.”
Fucking bastard.
“Do it tonight,” he says. “I’m sending your brother to take out Dubrovin’s Obshchak. That should destabilize them enough for him to come crawling when word that we’re holding his Bratva princesses.”
“There’s no greater loss of face than not protecting your women,” I agree woodenly.
“Get it done,” he says, “I’ll be waiting for that video. If Dubrovin even hesitates, the next one will be from a whorehouse.”
My mouth twists in disgust. “Da, Pakhan.”
Looking down at the bottle of Scotch I’d just opened, I throw it across the room, watching it shatter against the brick wall, dripping down to puddle on the floor with the broken glass.
It looks like Dima was correct. Though the motherfucker did neglect to mention my family’s Bratva was the target.
Currently…
“Wake up.”
Lucya’s head was drooping, she’d managed to fall asleep, even handcuffed to her chair. I kicked it lightly and she tensed, eyes wide and furious over her gag.
“I will remove your gag and you will not say a word until you’re allowed. Do you understand?”
Her eyes narrow but she gives me a short, jerky nod.
“Khoroshaya devochka, good girl.” Oh, that gets her going, her face red, fists clenched. But aside from a brief flinch when I rip off the duct tape covering her mouth, she stays quiet.
“You and your sister have been taken because your Pakhan violated the agreements of the Six Families and attacked ours.” I know she’s terrified, even if she’s trying to hide it. I know my cold, emotionless tone is doing nothing to help her, but she’s no longer Lucya, she’s collateral for negotiation between our bratvas.
“When your fool of an uncle agrees with our Pakhan’s terms, you and Inessa will be released. Until then, if you do not follow my instructions exactly, I will punish your sister.”
Now, tears course down her cheeks and I shove away my self-disgust.
“If Inessa does not behave, you will be punished. Do you understand?”
If the fury in her eyes could set me on fire, the entire room would be ablaze right now.
Leaning down, I yank her chair sharply. “Do. You. Understand?”
“Da! Yes, I understand!” she gasps. “Where is Inessa? You didn’t hurt her? Please, please don’t hurt her.”
I think about the fact that her precious sister didn’t once ask about Lucya when she was given this same information and shake my head. “She’s fine.”
“Thank you,” she says. “Wh- what happens now?”
She’s trying to wipe her wet cheeks on her shirt and suddenly, I can’t stand to be in the room, watching what I’ve done to her. “You’ll be moved to another location shortly,” I check my watch. “Your Pakhan should be receiving video evidence of you and your sister within the hour. We’ll see how he responds.”
Bitterness twists her pretty face. “If you’re expecting him to do anything to bargain for us, you will be deeply disappointed. We’re nothing to him. We never were.”
Folding my arms, I study her for a moment. Could she be this naive? “You both have been under his surveillance from the moment you landed in Boston. Your Pakhan allowed you to stay here until he found a use for you.”
Lucya shakes her head, clearly confused. She really didn’t know. “Uncle Rurik hasn’t thought of us since our mother sent us here.”
I chuckle. “No Bratva releases its assets willingly. Now, he has no choice but to bargain to get you back. When the Six Families discover what he’s done, no one will do business with the Dubrovin Bratva.”
“You’re wrong,” she hisses, “this big show of yours means nothing.”
“We’ll see,” I nod toward the camera over the door. “You’re handcuffed to this chair in a dark concrete room with a single light illuminating your sweet, teary-eyed face. This is live-streaming in St. Petersburg as we speak.”
Her gaze darts from me to stare up at the camera in horror.
“Be a good girl,” I pat her cheek gently before walking away, “and hope that stupid bastard acts sooner than later.”
“Why?” Now, she’s well and truly terrified, “Why? What happens later?”
Turning at the doorway, I force myself to meet her gaze. “Pray you never find out.” Turning out the light, I leave her in the pitch black, ignoring her pleas.
“What Bratva?” Lucya screams. “Who are you?”
I shut the metal door and lock it before pulling off my balaclava.
My fury and self-hate cyclone inside me and I slam my fist into the concrete wall until my knuckles are bloody and raw. It’s not enough. I could carve a thousand lines into my skin and it wouldn’t be enough.
