Page 3 of Escaping the Bratva

Marcello let out a sigh. “Whatever you say, man.”

It takes two hours to get to the city. Seattle is different than I remember, but it has been over a decade since I’ve been here. After leaving college, I never came back. There are too many memories here. Marcello parks in front of a decent-sized house. I grab my trash bag as we get out and throw it in his empty trash can on the sidewalk.

He chuckles. “Guess you had nothing important in there?”

“Nope.”

He unlocks the door and waves for me to step inside. The place isn’t huge, and there’s minimal furniture, but it’s fucking luxury compared to the cell I’ve slept in for the last five years.

“Your room is straight back. I redid the basement last year, so there's a fully stocked gym. I usually workout in the morning before going to work.”

Marcello is almost as built as me, so it doesn’t surprise that he takes his health seriously.

I nod. “Thanks, man, I appreciate it.”

“Get settled, and I’ll show you some of the business plans we talked about.”

“Hey, can I borrow your phone?”

He pulls his phone out of his pocket and tosses to me before leaving and heading towards the kitchen area. I head back to where he said my room was. It's a plain room with a bed, dresser, and TV. Marcello has been living the bachelor life for a while, if his house is any sign. I take a seat on the edge of the bed, and thank God, I can’t feel a metal frame underneath it. I dial a number I’ve memorized into the phone and listen as it rings.

“Maverick.”

“It’s Vladimir,” I say. I hate that name, and after today, maybe I’ll never use it again. Everyone from the underworld referred to me as Vladimir. That person is dead now.

“Holy shit, you just got out?”

Maverick was the last person to see me before they dragged me off to prison. The entire plan had been his idea. He needed to work with the FBI to take down a competitor, and I owed him a favor, so I helped. It also meant I’d spend five years in prison, but I’d take that deal over the alternative any day.

“I’m a free man,” I say, looking around the room. I had to get my shit together soon. Some people had trouble adjusting to life back to normal after prison, but I’m ready to move on and put my past life behind me. I just need to get settled first.

“Congratulations. I’m guessing you want your money?”

“You guessed right.”

“Alright. I’ve opened an account, and I'll transfer everything over. You got a pen? I’ll give you the banking and routing number.”

I grab a pen off the dresser and find a notebook in the nightstand drawer. I write down the information as Maverick reads it to me.

“Thanks, man. I really appreciate you holding on to that for me all these years.”

“No problem. You made an enormous sacrifice for me. But I ‌have to warn you about an old friend of yours.”

“Who?”

“Goes by the name Brighton. He came after me once you got locked up. I scared the shit out of him, but he’s still out there.”

Miles, an old associate, took Brighton’s money to buy a shit-ton of guns from me. That was five years ago, and it's not like I have a chance of running into him now.

“Fucking Miles. Thanks for letting me know.” I doubted Brighton would be a problem.

“I have to let you know I won’t be taking your calls anymore. I’m out of the life, and I will not let anyone suck me back in.”

I nod even though he can’t see me. “I understand.”

“I wish you the best, man.” He hangs up, and I set the phone down next to me. Next step, pull all my money out and build my new life.

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