Page 3 of King’s Promise

Morning dawns. Dad’s body is cremated and in three days we hold a small service. The Brigadiers and close associates join us in attending my father’s burial. The rain is fitting of the occasion, even God is crying Mom murmurs.

We have a simple wake at the house. Mom is busy with food and has her share of vodka. I can’t deny her the comfort of numbing oneself. I’m sure she blames herself in some way. I partake in paying homage to the man who molded me into the man I am today even though I carry my sorrow in my heart. I’ll deal with it later, maybe never.

There is no news of who ambushed his car. The local police don’t give a damn. I’m sure they’ve been paid off or it is a cover up by the government; every elected official is corrupt. It’s impossible to tell who has been paid to do what, not that it makes any difference. Dad is gone.

I resign myself to the fact my marriage is now set in stone. It makes no difference if the killer is found. Collectively, we agreed it must be linked to Igor, and Dad was involved or remotely attached because no one has stormed us or our men’s houses in a bid to take over what is known as the Volkov Bratva.

As the pakhan, I put Dmitry in charge of our Russian operations with Roman serving as our utility man to fill in where needed. We’ve increased the guards around the house. When no gunfire erupts, I assume the hits on Igor and Dad took care of whatever issue there was to settle. Life goes back to normal, if this is what one calls normal.

We can’t ask too many questions. Here, we swallow the propaganda the government officials feed us in order to not draw attention to ourselves which will cause us to end up in prison, or worse, dead. In reality, we may never know the truth. I assembled the top echelon of the Bratva along with my brothers, and we all agree this reeks of government retribution.

Dmitry is our tech man, and he might find something in the weeks to come which will explain why our father is dead at fifty-two. Mama is having a hard time coping with the loss. They were in love as teenagers and her heart is broken. She’s taking sleeping medications prescribed by our doctor who makes house calls. Our staff at the house waits on her and Roman visits often but she’s reluctant to leave her bed.

“Mama, I have to leave for London. We need the alliance with Igor’s organization to keep London solidified, and I’ll see what I can find out. I know you’ll always miss Dad, we all will. I have to keep the Bratva going, so I’m doing my duty. You’ll have a daughter-in-law in a few weeks. The family will be growing and if we stay united. Dad’s death won’t divide our Bratva.”

Mom is always dressed to the nines, her hair coiffed weekly, so to see her as a shell of a person under the bedcovers breaks my heart. This is why I refuse to fall in love. It’s not worth the agony when death eventually delivers the fatal blow. I swore to never love; I fear putting anyone in danger due to my stature in the organization. It’s one reason I was happy Anya moved to London even though I was pissed at her parents for taking her away. The wall around my heart is a fortress no one can break. Plenty have tried, and they’ve been disappointed.

What will it be like to see her again?

I stand, then lean over the bed. I give Mom a hug.

“I love you, Nikolay. Take care. I can’t lose you too,” the sorrow in her voice makes me want to stay an hour longer, but my obligations are elsewhere.

“I’ll be fine. We’re being vigilant. I need to reinforce our organization in London. It can’t wait.”

She nods. A true Bratva wife knows no one will hold her hand in a crisis. The Bratva comes first. Everyone is on deck to protect it at any cost.

2

Anya

Two days later Mum still mopes around the house in a fog of grief, she’s as like an apparition; only a ghost would move. She’s not. I wish she had more of a backbone. She’s not one to assert herself and because of it, I learned at an early age I had nothing to lose by speaking my mind. I wanted a different life for myself swearing to never marry a man in the mafia.

Many arguments took place with Papa, but he paid for my college education, and a flat to get me out of the family house. I must have pissed him off royally. Blimey, father daughter arguments are a pain in my ass. I can do without the drama. I’m sure it was Papa’s decision I move out, it made his life easier even if he had to part with money. He abhors doing that!

“Mum, you have to eat,” I implore Mom to no avail. She sniffles, raises her handkerchief to her red nose and blows. I’d laugh if I could, she sounds like a ship’s horn, but under the circumstances, I’m sure we won’t share a laugh for months. Meanwhile, Papa’s body isn’t being released due to an investigation because they are looking for further proof he committed suicide. Numerous investigators have inquired with us as to his state of mind. Konstantin warned us to not say too much, telling us the outcome has been paid for and if we make waves, we could be next to meet an unfortunate accident.

Papa is gone; our guard, Sergei, sweeps the house daily for bugs. I can’t help but check out how smoothly he moves about the room. I had a crush on him when I was younger. I like when he smiles at me. He shouldn’t, but when no one is looking he does. He’s tall, with golden-blond hair. I find tall men attractive. I like the attention I get from him as Papa’s less than stellar reputation keeps men at bay. With Sergei, I have a male around and never for a minute do I think he’d act on anything physically. Besides, I promised Papa to save myself for marriage in exchange for school.

The house is quiet without Father’s loud voice. He loved to be in his office, talking loudly on the phone as if to show off his importance. I suspect Konstantin, Papa’s Bratva advisor, is preparing the our soldiers for a war because he hasn’t been around today.

Papa kept us out of his dark world for our safety. My sister, Katerynia, is not one to be trusted with secrets because she’s immature for her age. She’s into videos, and posting the fancy food she eats with Mom on her social media accounts. I consider her to be more like an American teenager. However, she’s twenty and isn’t prepared for the real world. With Papa gone, our lives will change drastically. I wonder who take his place as head of our Bratva.

Women aren’t allowed to rule, it’s a patriarchal society. We’re to be seen, not heard. I feel like a character in one of those fictional romance books where only men can have power and I resent it with all my being. I like breaking molds designed to keep the status quo.

The only information I have on Dad’s death is from what is posted in the papers. If it’s a hit, it will be covered up. Few governments want to admit to organized crime on their watch even if many of the elected officials are on our payroll. The fact of the matter is, they are on other mafia payrolls as well. That’s why the truth of hits and turf wars don’t show up on mainstream TV. I’m not naïve enough to believe Papa died by his own hand. I’m also smart enough to know I can’t speak publicly without the fear of retribution.

Mama says even the walls have ears and right now. I’m scared shitless. Is it over, or is there more to come? The Russian military has many mercenaries, and the government is known to use Interpol to track anyone adverse to popular opinions in the old country. I don’t have to be told we’re in a vulnerable situation, as members of the Petrov Bratva we can’t risk a threat from inside our organization, but it’s usually what happens when a true successor, like a son, isn’t there to fill the void.

Mama’s voice raises as she argues with Konstantin on the phone, wanting in inquiry into the death, but he talks her out of it as it has already been ruled a suicide. Papa would never kill himself, no matter what darkness might befall him, or his business; he wouldn’t give up like a coward. He would never choose to leave us even though he treated us with contempt. He was too vain to disfigure his face.

Papa was tough, making me use an alias for my last name in college to be safe because we live in Red Square. It’s notoriously linked to Russian oligarchs. I’ve blended in well. My presence at school, and Papa’s payments for it, depended on me keeping in line with his rules. When it was determined I seamlessly blended in, I no longer required the guard who followed me daily.

Now, the family name will be in the news, and everyone will think he hung himself in his office. My ass. England loves a low crime rate, and they love to hide the fact they let wealthy Russians into the country as long as they are willing to invest millions here as their ticket to freedom. Without the multiple billions Papa had, we would still be living in Russia.

The ironic part is how these Englishmen keep the patriarchal order and are themselves cogs in the government. How do they think we’ve all made this money in a communist country conducting legitimate businesses?

It’s absurd but it’s what gains us unfettered access to the European and western world. I find it repulsive these two-faced politicians are often as corrupt as the ones Papa finds in the underground world of criminals and thieves. It’s as bad as it is back home, only here we get to dress nicer, and say what we want in public within limits regarding or homeland, for sure. But everything else is fair game.

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