Page 5 of Cruel Existence

My father had one ear in my direction. “Go,” he ordered sharply.

“Yes, sir.” There was no other option. His tone snapped me back to my reality. We weren’t a normal family.

I stepped out of the line and followed Maksim, slipping behind the church. “What is it?” My jaw clenched.

We rounded the corner into the parking lot. I spotted two of Maksim’s men from his Bratva, arms folded, standing at the back of an SUV with dark windows.

Maksim pointed and they popped the rear hatch. I stared inside. It reeked of urine and sweat. The man inside was bound, and his mouth gagged. He began to thrash when he saw me. His fear created its own stench.

“Who is this?” I asked.

“He has information,” Maksim explained. “They brought him to me, and I’ve brought him to you.”

The sun beat down on us. It was the beginning of summer, but New Orleans didn’t care. The heat was unrelenting.

“Then, I’d like to hear it. Let him talk.” I motioned toward the gag.

He wrestled against the men’s hands as he pulled the gag from between his teeth. “Water,” he pleaded. His voice was strained.

I nodded, allowing the request.

They dribbled water over his lips. “Now what’s the information?” I needed to return to the receiving line.

“He saw something.”

I reached inside my jacket and checked my phone as if this was mundane. Boring. I drew the sunglasses down my nose and tucked the phone back inside.

“What did you see?” I asked the prisoner.

“It doesn’t matter what I saw. They’ll kill me,” he pleaded. “If I say anything. I can’t, I can’t, I can’t…”

I huffed. I looked at Maksim. “I don’t have time for this shit. Not at my Uncle Ivan’s funeral. Get rid of him.”

I said it casually. With cruel intention. I knew things would be different once my father’s only brother had been killed. I didn’t expect it to change me overnight. Despite the heat, it was as if ice had coated my spinal cord. I hid the instinct to shiver from the other men.

I turned to walk away. Maksim’s hand reached for the top of the trunk. The man screamed.

“I’ll talk. I’ll talk,” the man pleaded.

I took a long pause before turning around. “What do you know?” I asked patiently. This was his last and only chance before I walked away for good.

“I saw who shot Ivan. I can tell you everything. All of it. Please!”

I knew I wouldn’t return for the wake at Aunt Duscha’s. “Start talking,” I demanded.

“Only if you promise not to kill me.”

I had to give him credit for attempting to negotiate. He was surrounded by my father’s Bratva and yet he wanted mercy.

I snorted. “I don’t make promises to men I don’t trust.” I eyed him.

Maksim watched me. I knew he would sit down with my father later, after Ivan’s wake and give him this entire exchange in great, descriptive detail. My words mattered. My expressions. My attitude toward the snitch. All of it would combine as a grade my father handed down to me. Whether I checked the boxes he required to step in and take Ivan’s place.

No one bothered to ask if I wanted Ivan’s seat at the table. That was part of being a Novikov. I was expected to fill the role even if I didn’t want to slide into the open spot of a murdered man. Nothing sounded less appealing to me right now. There was a target on our family. Ivan had made enemies we hadn’t even unearthed yet. Throwing a spotlight on myself and sitting in his chair before his body was cold in the grave was one of the more fucked up plans, I’d had to stomach.

“But if I tell you and you kill me anyway…” he stuttered, spittle pooling at the corners of his chapped lips.

I shrugged. “What would you have me do?” I leaned toward him, trying not to breathe in the foul odor surrounding him. “Let you go?”

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