Page 51 of Under Control

“And yet here I am. I was thinking, the problems we’ve had, they’re long in the past. We’re evolved men now, are we not? And besides—” He looks over at me and his lips curl. “It seems you’ve brought one of my stray dogs home.”

Valentin’s grip on my arm tightens. I feel the anger waft off him, but as soon as it appears, he pushes it back down. “This is my wife. Karine Zaitsev.”

“Yes, I know who she is. My lost sister’s little girl.” He leans toward me, bridging the gap between our parties with his chest. “The last time I saw you, you were this big.” He puts his hand down toward his knees. “And look at you now. All grown up and married to a Zaitsev. You’ve done well for yourself.”

I say nothing. Aram shows his teeth in what I think is meant to be a smile, but looks more like a murderous grimace. His wholevibe is off; everything about him is wrong. I think of Mama sitting on the floor with a black eye. I think of the fear infusing her body.

This is what evil looks like.

And Valentin wants to drag me back into that world.

I want to run. If I could pull away and take off, I’d do it. But Valentin’s got me tightly, and it’s much too late.

Aram introduces the men with him. Sons, as it turns out, one named Arsen and the other Tigran. Traditional Armenian names. There’s also his sister, a woman named Sona, who looks at me like I’m slime in her shower’s grout.

Nobody shakes hands. There are no exchanges of friendship.

But there’s no gunfire or screams of bloody rage, which seems like a good thing.

The party moves inside. The interior of the club is empty except for Bratva and Brotherhood members. Valentin, Anton, and several of the high-ranking Bratva members take up a large table in the very back of a wood-paneled room with a bar running down one end. I’m deposited in the corner and told to stay put.

“Don’t worry, this should be very boring.” Sona appears with a bottle of wine and two glasses. She doesn’t smile as she sits and pours the drinks. I don’t know what I expected from my aunt, but there’s nothing warm or kind in her right now. If she cares that we’re family, she doesn’t show it. “My brother has a soft spot for your husband, you know.”

She’s an elegant woman, in her sixties, rail thin and severe. Her hair’s dark and she’s wearing a conservative dress that highlights her straight waist and her bust. Jewelry glitters on her fingersand at her throat, and her face is heavily done up. I can smell her perfume from across the table. I try to find some of my mother in her, but I can’t see it at all.

“Why’s that?” I accept the wine and take a long sip, not sure what to make of this. I keep glancing over at the men, wondering what they’re saying. Valentin doesn’t look happy. Though Aram seems completely at ease.

“They have a past. Don’t you know?” She seems surprised when I shake my head and lowers her voice. “Aram and Valentin’s father knew each other. I actually met him a few times as well. I wasn’t a fan, but Aram—” She gestures vaguely in the air. “They got along until they didn’t.”

Until they didn’t. That’s one hell of a loaded statement.

“What was my mother like? Back then, I mean.” I don’t know why I blurt it out, but I can’t help myself—I’m too curious, and I don’t know if I’ll get a better chance to know my mother better.

“Young. Impulsive. Very… loud.” Sona presses her lips together in disapproval. “My sister and I didn’t always get along.”

I almost laugh. That describes my mother perfectly, or at least the woman before Dad died. Now, Mama’s like a depleted battery, but when I was growing up, she was a force. Nobody stood in Mama’s way, not for long. She got what she wanted, or she made everyone regret not giving it to her.

“What about my dad? Did you know him?”

She snorts and rolls her wine in a lazy circle. “I knew him. Everyone knew your papa. He was just as loud as your mama, the stupid idiot.”

“What do you mean?”

“This is all in the past now, but your father made trouble for everyone, especially for Aram. He hated who we are and what we stand for, and he convinced your mother to go along with his total idiocy. He turned your mother against her own family. Turned her into a traitor.”

My skin goes cold. I stare at my wine, remembering my father, and trying not to get angry at this woman’s characterization. “What do you stand for then?”

“Brotherhood,” she says simply. “The Armenian people. Our family, above all else. Strength and honor. Your papa didn’t understand that. He thought we were just some shady criminal organization, and he made his feelings very known. Which is not smart.”

“Papa cared about family more than anything else,” I say, voice trembling.

Sona doesn’t notice my distress. She’s busy watching the men and sounds more tired than anything else. “Oh, maybe he learned, but back then he was a nuisance. Always making threats and proclamations. Aram would say to me,Sona, if he weren’t married to our sister, I would cut his throat tonight. A stupid fool, if you ask me, a very stupid fool, and now here we are.”

“You have no right to speak of my papa that way.” The words come out soft, almost whispered, but they’re firm.

She glances at me, eyebrows raised. “Does it upset you? I’m not sorry. You asked and I’m telling.”

“My father was a good man. Better than your brother. What kind of monster hurts his own sister over money?”

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