Page 19 of Escaping the Bratva

V

Twelve Years Ago

I cross the dark street to the empty building and slip inside. Alek is meeting me here before we leave to do the job. Alek came to the US with me. We’ve been friends since we were babies, but we’re obviously taking very different paths in life. We both came to the states to earn money so we can send it back home. Growing up poor, we know how important it is to build a better life…we just have two different ways of going about it. The Russia mafia, Bratva, is powerful in our home neighborhood. They control everything from businesses to infrastructure. When my mom and sister were hungry, I’d walk down to the pub where they’d hang out. The next day, there’d be a basket of bread and fruit sitting on our doorstep. The Bratva takes care of the community, but I was never blind to the violence. I saw it splashed across the newspaper.

Alek stands next to a white foldout table covered with AK-47s and Draco Pistols.

He looks up as I approach. His blond hair is cut in a short mohawk, and he wears a button-down shirt over a pair of slacks. The watch he wears on his wrist is probably enough to pay the rest of my tuition alone. His role in the Bratva is a Bratok, which means he’s a low-ranking soldier in charge of finding new recruits. I can’t lie and say I’m not a bit jealous of the amount of money he makes while I’m surviving off ramen most nights. This job alone will give me half the money I need to pay off the rest of my tuition. Now I’ll just have to find another way to pay the rest.

I slap his hand and pull him into a hug.

“How’s it going, brother?” Alek asks, chewing a piece of gum.

I slid my hands into my pockets. “Good. Just trying to finish out the last few months of school.”

Alek nods. “I hear you.” He reaches next to the side of the table and tosses me a big black duffle bag. I catch it.

“They should be here any minute. Once they check out everything, I need you to disassemble everything and load it into the duffle bags. Giovanni Marino doesn’t like to get his hands dirty, so I need you to drive them across town. I’ll text you the address.” He pulls out his phone and looks down at it.

“Giovanni Marino?” I ask.

“Yeah, he’s the underboss of Cosa Nostra. It's a big deal to do business with him. I need to talk to him for a while about some other shit. By the time we’re done talking, his guns should be waiting for him at his nightclub. Here.” He tosses me a wallet.

I open it and look inside to see a fake driver’s license with my picture.

“In case you get pulled over,” Alek explains. He grabs a pistol from his waistband and hands it to me. I take it, feeling the heaviness of the gun. I’ve never used a gun in my life, but maybe I should learn now.

The warehouse door opens, and I quickly tuck the gun into my waistband. I turn to see a man dressed in an Armani two-piece suit. He’s tall with broad shoulders. He has the classic Italian features: narrow nose, olive-toned skin, and eyes as dark as night. Tattoos decorate his neck, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s covered in them. He’s flanked by two other men dressed similarly.

Alek’s face breaks into a smile, like a car salesman. “Giovanni, it's nice to see you again.”

“Alek.” Giovanni nods, his eyes showing no emotion, like he’s hollow on the inside. His presence sends a chill through the air, and I’m just happy I’m not in Alek’s position.

“All the AKs are here and ready for you. As soon as I get your go-ahead, Vladimir here is going to pack everything up and take it to your club so you won’t have to worry about that.”

Giovanni’s cold eyes turn to me. “Is that right?” he asks.

“That’s right,” I say, putting as much confidence behind my voice as I can muster. The last thing I want to show is fear. I get the feeling this guy can probably smell fear from miles away.

The side of his lip lifts into a half-smile. “So if anything goes missing, I should come looking after you?”

My muscles tense.

“That won’t be a problem,” Alek assures him.

A wave of relief washes over me as Giovanni turns his attention away from me and back to the table. Alek and Giovanni talk back and forth about the guns; most of their conversation is foreign to me. I don’t know shit about guns.

Once they finish, Alek turns to me. “Pack everything up. Gio and I have more to discuss.”

They both walk away, and I get to work earning the money that will guarantee I won’t have to do this shit again.

---