Page 4 of Vows of Blood
Pavel just stares at me. My brother is always so worried about what our father thinks about any given situation. I used to joke that he doesn’t take a piss without asking for his permission first.
He rolls his eyes and says, “You didn’t hurt someone because you’re still upset about this thing, are you?”
I don’t really know how to answer that, so I don’t. I just look at the guests around us, who all seem to be blissfully unaware of us. I suppose I should be thankful for little favors.
“You know,” Pavel goes on, “you’re always the one telling me about how childish I am for using my fists when I should be using my brains. You’re the big brother, remember? You’re supposed to be setting an example for me.”
“I’m fine,” I say in English to break up his tirade. “In case you care.”
“I don’t doubt it,” he scoffs, then in Russian, “Did you at least leave the poor bastard alive?”
“He was breathing when I left him,” I respond, also in Russian. “Someone should probably call an ambulance, though.”
“You see, this isexactlythe thing Father was telling us about. We are guests here. A dead body in—” He stopped, knowing better than to utter Pecora’s name in mixed company. “A dead body here will make problems for our host. We don’t want problems. This entire situation is delicate enough as it is.”
“Well, then, the body should have behaved himself.” I look over at the bartender who’s standing at the end of the bar, trying not to pay attention to us. He’s the only one who seems to be remotely aware of our presence. “A beer, please,” I say to him in English. The bartender nods, reaches behind the bar, and slides a beer bottle over to me. He then turns his back to me and starts wiping down wine glasses.
Pavel sighs and leans against the counter. “At least you’re putting alcohol on it,” he jokes in English. That gives me a chuckle as I take a swig. We sit in silence for a moment, thenI tell him in Russian, “One of the waiters was attacking his daughter.”
Pavel looks at me, his eyes studying my face. “The younger one?”
I nod.
He scoffs and says, “That one’s like an alley cat. You were probably breaking up her date.”
I don’t respond to that. I just take a drink from my bottle. Pavel wouldn’t get it if I did try to explain it. In the moment, it didn’t really matter whether she’s the town slut or not. No one should get beaten and raped in an alleyway.
The lines between right and wrong have always been a bit blurry for my brother, even in this business. Not that I blame him. The rules we play by in the brotherhood aren’t the same as the rest of the world. It’s easy to get your morals mixed up.
“Oh, great,” he says. He straightens up, his eyes looking off toward the room’s entrance. I follow his gaze to see that our father has seen us… or rather, he’s seen me with my hand in ice.
He walks over to us as casually as he can with rage in his eyes. “Do I want to know?” he asks as he looks directly at me.
I shake my head. My father sighs as he regards us both.
“What am I going to do with you,Medvezhonok?” He says that without any of the love or humor that he has in the past. What I’ve done, whatever it was, is a big deal and we all know it.
He straightens his suit jacket and says to me, “Our business is done here, anyway. Let’s go.”
And with that, we leave the home of Anthony Pecora.
When I first heard about Pecora’s son meeting his end, my first thought was what a tragedy it was. I know that with the Italians, the son or sometimes a nephew is usually the one to take over when the boss dies or retires or whatever. I can’t speak for how things run with the Italians in terms of whether that’s a hard rule or not, but I know for us—at least for my father and his father before him—the firstborn son is the one who will carry on the legacy of his father when he’s gone. If my father one day found himself with no heirs, whoever was unfortunate enough to take our lives would never know peace.
Judging from Pecora’s demeanor when he greeted us today, vengeance for his son’s death didn’t seem to be the chief thing on his mind. Or maybe it was and that was why he and my father were talking peace now after all these years as enemies. Maybe whoever killed his son is someone out of his reach and within ours.
If that’s the case, I wonder what Pecora is offering for that. He and my father went into his parlor and talked, leaving me and Pavel to wait for him with the other guests. Neither of us have any interest in Pecora’s family and they don’t seem to have any interest in us. They’ve been our rivals since I was a boy. I don’t even really know why Father is extending an olive branch now.
Well. My interest in them is piqued slightly. When I walked in, I spotted his daughters. I’ve never seen or met either of them up close before, but I knew them the second I saw them sitting together in the living room. The redhead, Analisa, was just as beautiful as everyone had been saying all these years, tall and slim in a simple black dress that somehow made her look like a little princess. I’ll bet her entire bedroom was drenched in pink, fluffy bunnies when she was a girl.
The other one is just as beautiful. Dark hair and blue eyes, not as thin from what I could see. She’s got nice, shapely hips on her, and while I couldn’t tell for certain at the distance I was standing, I’m willing to bet she has a nice ass. There’s a part of me that understands the kind of trouble a woman with a body like that could get into.
But other than her reputation, I didn’t think very much of her until I happened to go outside for some air and see her getting attacked in the alley.
Something clicked inside me the moment I saw that asshole throw her into a wall. Just like that, nothing else that I heard about her mattered. All that did matter was that she clearly didn’t want to be around that guy and that guy was ready to take what he wanted from her just the same. My legs were moving before I had any say in it. I was going to make sure that no one ever hurt her again.
We’re riding back in the car now. Pavel’s up front with the driver and I’m in the back with Father. Out of the ice, my sore and bruised knuckles are starting to throb now.
“It’s been some time since Kira passed,” Father says to me suddenly. I glance over at him and frown a little.
