Page 73 of Savage Beauty

I offer my hand, and Oleg shakes it. “Now,” he says, eager to move on, “we have the matter of thekomissiyaleadership. It’s mine by right, but I don’t want the top job; I’m too old. We need some younger blood.”

Everyone knows what he’s going to say. There can be no other.

“He means you, Vlad,” Sasha laughs. “Can you be head of thekomissiyaand lead our family?”

“Of course I fucking can.” Vlad finishes his drink and pours another. “But after this nightmare, I can’t see you hurling yourself back into the fray. So the question is: whatareyou gonna do?”

“I’ll figure it out,” Sasha says, “but tomorrow is Christmas Eve. The future is a New Year kind of problem. We’ll get merry and bright tonight, and in the morning, you,” he points at Vlad, “need to jump back on that jet and bring everyone home, Dulcie included.” He grins broadly at me. “Because I sure as hell aren’t gonna cook the Christmas dinner!”

48

Two weeks later…

Sasha

Remodeling is hardly my forte, but I’m a quick learner, and finally, the end is in sight. I’m spattered head-to-toe in red, but for once, it’s not blood. It’s the ruby satin emulsion that Josie saw fit to choose for the restaurant’s walls.

Tosca’s asset list wasn’t much to write home about, but I took a shine to this place. It was run-down, and the previous’ owners’ couldn’t call a single inch of it their own; Tosca effectively bought the joint by lending them money they couldn’t repay. We wrote it all off and gave them an above-market rate so the poor old bastards could retire home to Sicily in peace.

Josie has been gone a while, and familiar anxieties are flaring up. I don’t know if I’ll ever believe we’re safe, but it doesn’t matter—I’ll always be ready to fuck someone up if they dare to mess with my wife. It was bad enough before she was pregnant, but now her curves are beginning to fill out, and I’m like a caveman. I totally understand why Vlad stuck to Morgana like glue for nine months, except when he came back to stand at my side and face the horror I’d accidentally wrought.

I’m removing the dust covers from the furniture when Josie rushes in, looking like a crazy person. “Oh my God!” she cries. “We have to get to the hospital, Sasha! Now!”

I haven’t been out of the daily life of the bratva for long enough, and old habits die hard. “Why?” I reply. “Who’s hurt? What happened?”

She laughs and pulls my arm. “No, no. Morgana’s having the baby!”

I grab my phone from my pocket, and inevitably, there are eleven missed calls from Vlad. This is the problem with playing the radio so damn loud while I’m working.

“Everyone else is already there,” Josie says as we head for the car. “We gotta hurry.”

She takes out the keys, and I snatch them from her hand. “My wife may drive herself, but she sure as hell does not drivemeanywhere. When I’m with you, I’m your chauffeur. Understood?”

We’ve had this debate a thousand times, and she understands just fine, but she likes to bring out my dominant side. I find as many ways as I can to remind her that I’ll always protect her.

* * *

By the time we grind through the evening traffic, the drama is all over. The private maternity suite is quiet and tranquil, but our arrival breaks the peace, and it takes me a good five minutes to reassure the hysterical duty midwife that I haven’t come fresh from a murder.

Morgana is in a comfortable room, which is more like a good hotel than a hospital, with a crib and double bed set up and ready so Vlad can stay. She sits in an easy chair, eating a burrito while Vlad holds his new baby daughter.

“Madonna.” Vlad’s earlier panic has drained away, and he speaks as though hypnotized. “A little girl of my own, Sasha. Come and meet her.”

“Vladi’s head over heels in love,” Morgana says, gazing adoringly at her husband. “Don’t expect much sense out of him.”

Josie sits beside Morgana, and I join Vlad at the window to meet the newest Kislev. She’s wrapped in the receiving blanket Signora G made, and I feel warm inside when I remember the old lady’s diligent knitting, day after day. Despite her bad memory, she got it done, wonky stitches and all. Her carers now are fantastic, and keeping her in her own home is worth every cent. I never told her what happened with Igor; she wouldn’t have remembered it, but the pain would be real, and she deserves peace. She has been through enough.

“My girl’s name is Stefania,” Vlad says. “No other name was ever in the running.” He hands the baby to me. “Careful,brat.”

The name suits this little princess. Her eyes are bright and alert, the same amber shade as her mom’s. But she has the unmistakable, intense look of our Italian mother, Stefania. She’ll be a heartbreaker, that’s for sure.

I cradle her, her weight so slight in my arms. It’s a good feeling, and I turn to watch my wife chatter to Morgana.

How blessed I am to have Josie in my life. It still frightens me to think how close we came to disaster. From what Josie told me, I would have suffered a contrived, supposedly accidental death, leaving Igor to raise my child and abuse my wife at his leisure.

Baby Stefania is falling asleep. I hand her back to his father, watching my brother’s face as I do so. He’s smitten, and I know he’ll be the polar opposite of our own father. Despite the hard work of running our family and thekomissiya, Vlad is more than up to adding parenting to the mix; the man has boundless patience. I should know.

Lilyana and Avel enter the room, wrestling with flowers and a ridiculous pacifier-shaped helium balloon. Arman is bringing up the rear, looking flustered.

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