Page 4 of The Bratva’s Monster

Oh… oh, my. It’s not just a coin. I kneel down and pick it up, turning it over in my hand. It’s scratched and the metal has darkened it considerably from all the rain, but the markings are still there. Little vines growing along the edges, a number ten, and underneath, the faintest impression of Russian writing.

It’s a ruble. And not just any ruble. This was Gedeon’s. He’d told me a million times about how he found the ruble on the street when he was in his twenties and the long story of how finding it led to him narrowly escaping being arrested and thrown in prison. His lucky coin, he’d called it.

I turn it around in my hand and smile. This is what I was meant to find, I think. I put it in my pocket.

It’s a wonder it was never found by the police. They probably thought the same thing I did. It was an old penny damaged by the elements as far as they ever knew. It’s been lying here waiting for me to grab it.

It seems fitting that this is what I find of his. The man who had a knack for losing money loses his lucky coin. I’d laugh at the irony if I didn’t feel more like crying again.

I’d better get out of this cold. I start the walk back to my car and right before I get in, the feeling of eyes on the back of my neck hits me. I turn around and look at the building I’m parked in front of. There’s nothing in the darkness. The door, one window from might’ve been a store at one point in time. Nothing.

I’m really losing it. I’d better just get home and get some sleep. It was crazy of me to come out here.

But… I’m glad I did.

3

RIKKI

“The fucking Bratva rumor mill is bullshit,” I say aloud. I’m standing over Gedeon’s grave in the cemetery. It’s been close to a month since he died and I can’t seem to shake the feeling that he’s still around.

And so I’m here at his grave, updating him on the latest, just like we used to do when he was alive. If I let myself, I can imagine that he’s listening, sitting next to the grave with his legs crossed, drinking a beer, the way we used to do together in the graveyard when we were teenagers.

Back when we laughed at death. Back when we thought that it was a thing that happened to other people. Not us, because we were bad as fuck.

“You know,” I say to his imaginary ghost, “Kostya usually says don’t believe anything you hear and half of what you see when it comes to the brotherhood. Some of them are just like teenage girls, the way they blab on about what they don’t know.”

He’s sitting there, smirking at me, pointing out how fucking angry I sound. You sound like a little bitch with your whining, man. What are you so angry about? You know how this shit goes. And I’d tell him that it was because I deserve to be angry. Why shouldn’t I be angry? Yeah, we get this sort of shit all the time, but it’s different this time. This rumor about him is actually bullshit.

“They’re saying,” I say to the gravestone, “that you’re the rat. That you’ve been in cahoots with the Irkutsks. That you’re Slavik’s bitch.” I laugh, and there is no joy in it. It sounds just as bitter as I’m feeling. “Don’t worry, though. Kostya already said he was looking into it. And Alex is on it, too. We’ll clear your name.”

I first heard this bullshit rumor a few days after Alex was confirmed as Pakhan. That piece of shit that I scraped off my shoe after I laid waste to him got everybody’s imagination going, I guess. Slavik, the Irkutsk’s Pakhan, is going to pay if he’s behind any of this, of course. But doubly so if somehow he’s behind this fucking rumor too.

“It’s all bullshit, though,” I say to the gravestone. “But you probably know that.” I sigh. It’s a sunny day, the first one we’ve had in a minute, and it’s starting to warm up. Pretty soon, it’ll be summer in the city, my favorite time of the year.

Well, it would be if Geddy were still here, anyway.

“I didn’t forget what you said to me,” I tell him. “I promise I didn’t. It’s just with this war and everything, I’ve been a little busy…”

I’ll never forget his last words to me. Stuck behind the car, bullets flying all around us, and Geddy bleeding out in my arms.

“Take care of Liz.”

He put that on me. I was his best friend in the world. Of course, he’d expect me to look after his wife. I haven’t seen her since the night I told her that he'd died, though.

And that night…

I’m an asshole for thinking about that. When she opened the door, standing there in a silk robe, her butter blonde hair hanging around her shoulders, the robe half open, revealing the black lace around the edge of her cleavage. Sleepy blue eyes, the color of a tropical ocean…

No wonder you wanted to take her somewhere warm one day, Geddy. He’d said that before he was shot. That he was tired of fucking spring in New York and he was thinking of taking time off. Taking Liz to California for a while, maybe.

The moment I saw her again, I got it. I’ve always had a little bit of a crush on her. The first time we both saw her was during a job where Geddy had to collect from one of his restaurant business contacts who was holding out on him. Liz was a waitress there. The moment she walked up to the table, we were both hooked. She wore a waitress uniform with the apron tied tight around her little waist, but unbuttoned at the collar just above her bra line. Her hair was short then, but something in her eyes drew us in. They were dreamy and dangerous.

Liz is one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen. Blonde and tan with an hourglass figure and a perfect ass. I’d heard through the grapevine that she was a model before she met Geddy. Don’t know how true that is, but as much of a ten as she was, I’d believe it in a heartbeat if the rumor were ever confirmed.

And standing there on her porch with my heart shattered in a million pieces, I wanted to take her in my arms. No, no. Nothing quite that romantic, actually. What I really wanted to do was rip her robe off, bend her over the couch, and fuck her hard for the next few hours or however long it would take to numb the pain in my chest.

I’m a bastard for even going there in my mind.