Page 38 of Mistaken
“Your children are very badly behaved,” Lucya informed him.
“Oh, no???????,when they are bad, they are definitely yours,” Alexi said, with a soft expression I’d never seen, aside from when it was directed at her. Some arranged marriages did turn out to be love matches, even in the Bratva.
Sitting at the head of the table, I swirled my wine as I watched everyone take pleasure in the meal; traditional Russian fare like Oliver Salad, Pirozhki- tender buns stuffed with savory beef or mushrooms, flaky Kulebyaka with a perfect salmon center. Ella tried the Pirozhki, and reached out for three more.
I’d always thought gatherings like these were unthinkable for people such as us; blood-drenched with dark souls and black hearts. But these same families came every year to celebrate at my table. I’d made sure Lucya was seated next to Ella at the other end, and my friend had her laughing through the entire meal. By the time the Kyiv cake and pampushky were served for dessert, Lucya’s youngest had planted herself firmly on Ella’s lap and she was absently stroking his hair while she talked with his mother.
Groups of people began forming little islands of conversation post-dinner, settling into the long couches in the living room, or venturing out onto the heated terrace to look over the city. My wife had disappeared, but I knew her hiding spot. Walking soundlessly near the open doors of our dressing room. I could just see her curled up on the window seat with Lucya.
“No! That really happened?” Lucya couldn’t stop laughing, “Look, you have to try this. This vodka is the best of the best, darling. It’s so smooth that you’ll never associate it with the swill I’m sure you’ve had in the past.” I shook my head as they both downed a shot of my DIVA Premium Vodka.
“Okay,” Ella allowed, “that wasn’t bad. So how expensive is this best vodka?”
I heard a clink of the shot glasses as Lucya refilled them. “Oh, this bottle retails for half a million or so.”
A spray of vodka came out of Ella’s mouth. “What the- damn it woman! You can’t just drop something like that when I’m mid-swallow!” She brushed around $50,000 worth of spilled vodka off her dress as Lucya poured her another one.
“Eh, cares? It’s Christmas! Also, I took this from Maksim’s liquor cabinet.”
Silence, and then they burst into raucous laughter.
“So,” even Lucya’s words were slurring a little. “What would you be doing on Christmas if you weren’t married to the most annoying Russian in Manhattan?”
“Oh…” the laughter died from Ella’s words. “My folks are gone, but we used to go ice skating at Rockefeller Center and then have dinner at Grand Central’s Oyster Bar. It probably sounds pretty touristy, but-”
“I think it sounds wonderful,” Lucya interrupted. “Where are your folks now?”
“They passed away in a car accident a few years ago.”
“I’m so sorry.”
Lucya was the most soft-hearted of women, particularly in the Bratva world.
“Yeah, so my friend Tania and I keep the tradition going every year…” Ella’s voice was flat again. “Well, we did.”
“Marriage is always a time of great transition,” Lucya said with empathy, “but even though you are going to have some huge changes in your life - there’s no way around that - you should still hold onto some of the things that matter to you. You can’t lose yourself to Maksim, the man is terribly overwhelming as it is.” She started laughing again. “My god, Ella, you should see your face! That bad already, huh?”
Enough of this,I thought sourly, clearing my throat to alert them before I walked into the dressing room.
“Hey, Maksim!” Lucya was red-faced and valiantly trying to suppress her laughter while swiftly putting the vodka bottle behind her. ”We were just talking about you!”
“I see that,” I drawled, eyeing their empty glasses. “I believe Alexi is buried under your offspring and calling for you to save him.”
Ella had quickly and silently exited the room while Lucya was still trying to hide the desecrated remains of their half-million-dollar vodka binge.
Ella…
As exhausting as this was, I was very sad when the last guests bid us goodbye, holding sleepy children on their shoulders and toting gift bags.
Lucya hugged me as she left. “Let’s get together here before I see you in St. Petersburg.”
“I’m… going to St. Petersburg?”
She glared at Maksim over my shoulder. “I think your new husband needs to work on his communication skills. Most of the Bratva families also celebrate the Russian Christmas holiday in St. Petersburg, on January seventh.”
“It sounds fun,” I’m forcing my smile, and it seems she’s not buying it because she gives Maksim the stink-eye again before leaving with her kids and her hot, scary husband.
I might have clung to Yuri just a little, the last one to leave. He had something planned. By his expression, I suspected it involved a woman and it had better not be Tania. I was going to have a very stern talk with her. I don’t care how many pearls Yuri has sewed into his-oh, my god, I’m thinking about my brother-in-law’s junk. That just killed my buzz.
