Page 4 of The Twins

“I’d like to discuss a few things. Text me your address, I’ll have a driver pick you up.”

“A driver?” I snort. “I have a car; I can drive myself. What did you need to discuss?”

She smirks, pulls her purse strap over her head so it lays across her chest, “An offer you can’t refuse.”

A bark of laughter escapes me, “You sound like the Godfather.”

She walks to the door, glancing at me over her shoulder, “Nah, just the gefilte-mother.” She points to the card in my hand, “Don’t forget to text, Vandy, see you Friday!”

Gefilte-mother? What just happened? Who are these people?

Tevye 3.

“I’ma fuck you up.” Yakov grits out, his body coiled for a fight. “Don’t give a fuck what your problem is, but Iknowit ain’t mine.” He steps toe to toe with me in my office at Makabim Security. Out of everyone in the Kosher Nostra, Yakov is the only one who can best me in a fight…besides Tovah, but my twin doesn’t fight fair.

I’d deserve the beat-down his tone promises. I’ve been a fucking asshole for days. I left that support group, stomped to my SUV and stewed in anger until Seril joined me. She didn’t say a word the entire drive home, and I was grateful. As the Sarai Ima, she’d have every right to put me in my place, but that woman in the meeting already did and Seril knew that. She gave me time to process without adding fuel to the dumpster fire.

And I was a raging inferno by the time we pulled into the family compound. Consumed with fury…at myself. Logically, I understand and can agree with the harsh truth that woman gave me. I provide Arlo with everything he needs; medical care, food, shelter, clothing. He is a defenseless child. He didn’t ask to be born. He didn’t ask to be sick. He isn’t at fault…

Something shifts in Yakov’s eyes, and it makes me uneasy. Fucker is wicked observant, which works well in business, but I don’t like being on the receiving end. “Arlo’s sick. It ain’t your fault. It ain’t his. Man up. You and Tovahbub are the product of satanic intervention, but you were raised by empathetic, compassionate parents. Mimic them until it’s second nature. Arlo is going to grow up and while you can’t change his DNA, your actions and words now will determine the kind of man he becomes.” He pulls his right arm back and lodges his fist into my stomach, punching the breath from my lungs and leaving me gasping. “Don’t ever fucking come at me again like you’ve been doing, like a fucking bear with a thorn in his paw. Next time, I put you down like the rabid animal you are and mount your taxidermied head on my wall like a trophy.”

“That’s fair,” I manage to wheeze out. He nods curtly, then leaves my office. Sitting behind my desk, I stare at the blank computer screen for who the fuck knows how long. Yak’s right. So was that woman the other night. But I’ll be honest, the disappointment in Vandy’s expression as I spoke hit so much harder than Yakov’s fist moments ago. It hit like my father’s. I grew up in the Kosher Nostra. I’ve known this life and nothing else for almost 30 years. And everyone knows Tovah and I, they accepted long ago that we aren’t wired like everyone else. And I realize now, I’ve grown…complacent.

For a second, I saw myself through her eyes, and I didn’t like what stared back. I could give a fuck what others think of me, but Arlo…he deserves better.

“MOTHERFUCKER!” I grab my desk phone and hurl it across the room. It crashes into the wall and breaks apart. Elbows on my desk, my chest heaves as I lay my head in my hands.

They were right. The support group is helpful. I’m acknowledging, processing, and feeling. Ugh. Mom, Seril, and Aunt Esther are never going to let me live this down.

I slip my cell phone from the inner pocket of my suit jacket. With a heavy sigh, I find the contact I need, my thumb hovering over the call button for a few seconds, before I find my balls and tap the screen. It rings three times before the sweet voice of the heart of the Kosher Nostra answers.

“Tevye?”

“Ruthie…I need your help.”

“Ooh!” She’s excited and confused, and a small smile tugs at my lips. “Is it time again for Tovah’s rabies booster?” I laugh, shaking my head.

“No. Next year.”

“Hmm. Ok. What can I help you with?”

I take a deep breath, close my eyes, and just say it, “I need you to teach me how to emote.” There’s a long, pregnant pause, then a thud. “Ruth? Ruthie!” I’m on my feet, rushing out of my office.

“What the hell?” Zilv picks up the phone, “Who is this and why did my sister pass out?”

“Zilv?” Ruthie groans in the background. “I had a horrible dream. Tevye wanted to get in touch with his feelings. Wait. Why am I on the floor?”

“For fuck’s sake!” I bark, turning around to go back into my office. “Never mind. I’ll just download an app.”

Vandy 4.

I fiddle with the seatbelt across my chest in the back of the SUV. My head turns on a swivel as I take in the expansive grounds of Seril’s…home? Estate? Monstrosity?

Not for the first time, I wonder who the heck she is. I forced myself not to Google. I wanted to learn who she is from the woman herself. We aren’t the sum of other’s opinions. And what I know of Seril so far inspires enough comfort to allow a stranger to drive me to some unknown location…shoot, I might be an idiot.

The vehicle comes to a soft stop. My hand is on the handle when someone opens it for me from the outside. An older woman with a no-nonsense attitude greets me with a small smile. “Welcome, Miss Gibbs, if you’ll follow me.” I step down from the SUV and do as I’m told. “My name is Devorah, and I am the house manager. Should you require anything, please do not hesitate to ask.”

“Thank you,” I respond casually, like this kind of thing happens to me every day. Meanwhile, my eyes are wide as saucers, my fingers going numb from gripping my purse. Through gigantic double doors, Devorah leads me through an opulent grand foyer, past a large sitting room, and into an elegant dining room that holds the largest table I’ve ever seen. However, it’s the women who occupy the fabric seats surrounding it that have my heartrate accelerating quickly.

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