Page 30 of Blinded By The Sun
Ciro
Stepping in Russia and breathing that Russian air feels odd. It feels different. I haven’t been back to Moscow for about 8 years now. Tatyana didn’t want to come here anymore because being here made her feel odd. I didn’t ask, and she didn’t tell.
I look around as we get escorted to the funeral. I didn’t bother appearing when we first landed because… Fuck the Petrov family, that’s why.
We drive up to the Catholic church that her family has in their pockets. It’s one of the many ways they run the drugs and clean their money. Guess they were smart enough to take my advice. I step out of the car when it stops in my all black attire. I should at least honor the dead, even if I killed her. I walk into the church and people turn to look my way. Some gasp and others snarl at the audacity that I’m even showing my face. I walk up to the front where her family is knowing that my brother, my Dad and my cousin are right behind me. Watson is right outside with another guard.
Her father is giving the eulogy in Russian and I know he’s glaring at me but I don’t give a fuck. If he wanted me not to show up then he shouldn’t have disrespected me. I sigh, we’ll be here longer than I thought, and it sucks because I truly enjoy waking up to pussy. I roll my eyes as I take in the picture of Tatyana. From her perfect smile, her bright eyes and everything fake.What did I ever see in her?
* * *
When it came time to bury her casket. I stood there, just watching. There is nothing inside of me that wants her to come back. She’s better off dead. I know it sucks that I can hold a grudge, but that’s just who I am.
“I’m so sorry for your loss.” Tatyana’s babushka says to me.
I look down at her. “Thanks, but maybe you haven’t heard, it didn’t end well.” I say, sparing her the details.
Babushka shrugs. “She was a bitch.” sshe says in her heavy Russian accent.
I snicker. “Baba, seriously?” I ask.
She cackles. Yes, cackles like a witch, then she coughs hard as if she’d been smoking since she was 5. “What? Did you kill her because she told you she can’t have any little rabbits because she couldn’t have any since before you married her? You know that, eh? I was the only one who knew it. She threatened me not to say. My granddaughter, the sneaky bitch, told me to shut up, or she’d kill me in my sleep.”
There’s a ringing in my ear, and I lose myself in my memories. I can’t think of when Tatyana didn’t turn this shit out on me.
“We can’t have babies!”She said. “It’s because of you! The results are yours, not mine. If I knew you were sterile, I would have never married you!”Those words I’ll never forget.
That year we hit a rough patch, and then we had an open marriage. Now, it’s all hitting me hard. We fell out of love a long time ago and I could never forgive her for talking to me like that. I kept saying that she withheld pussy from me, but some nights I couldn’t get it up to fuck her. We met in our 20s, married in our 30s and now, I’m 40, realizing that I should’ve let this bitch go a long time ago. Usually the guilt is there to feel guilty about calling her out of her name but she deserves it. She blamed it all on me.
I face my Babushka and I hug her tight. “I need to go, Baba before I piss on her grave.” I admit.
She hugs me back and laughs. “You should. This shit is boring. I’ve missed you. Maybe now that you’re a widower, I’ll get my chance.” She teases.
I kiss the side of her head. “Anytime, Baba. Come whenever you want something else than this air. Don’t bring your son or else I’ll bury him right next to his lying ass daughter.”
She lets go of me and looks up at me. She caresses my cheek. “You go be happy without this miserable hag. Ding Dong, the witch is dead.” She winks at me and signals for me to go.
I smile at her, kiss her palm and walk off.
“Say the word and we spray the town with Petrov blood.” My father says when I meet him by the car.
I chuckle. “Papa, please. Let’s just proceed with the takeover. I’m guessing Mama would never come to Russia?” I inquire.
My father, me and Boston look the most alike, while Adriano looks like Mama. Boston’s father was my Dad’s younger brother but he passed when Boston was young so my dad raised him too. My father, Fabrizio Sarkozy, never leaves home without wearing a suit. It’s clean cut, and he looks like he’s ready to throw money at you, but he’s one of the humblest yet cutthroat guys I know out there. I learned from him.
“Mama wouldn’t be caught dead outside of Italy but hey, maybe now that she knows Tatyana is dead, she’ll come visit you,” he winks.
I laugh. Why didn’t I see the signs? Nobody fucking liked her, especially my Mama.
* * *
