Page 67 of Mistaken
“Thank you, my friend.” My headache is ratcheting up again. “I’ll pass on anything I hear from this side of the pond.”
“As will I,” agreed Thomas. “Ah, Lauren wanted me to pass her greetings along to your Ella. She would like to speak to her when it’s convenient.”
“I will give my wife the message," I promised. "Be safe.”
Ending the call, I listened to the groans from behind the metal door. We’re being attacked from every direction. This isn’t just one enemy, and every time we kill their men, more pop up like toadstools.
Chapter 19 – Warm Moments and Chilly Rejections
In which there are more funerals, more disasters and a tender moment when Ella calls a toddler “the world’s most adorable barnacle.”
Ella…
“My sisters are coming to visit,” Maksim says one afternoon, straightening his tie.
“Oh? It would be wonderful to see them again.” I looked up from the row of black dresses on my side of the dressing room. Who knew these little fellas would get such a workout? Along with three more Beautiful People parties; we’d unfortunately also attended two more group funerals since coming home from St. Petersburg, and my frenzied work with Duolingo helped me overhear some of the mutterings from the families. Everyone was scared by how the Morozov empire was under attack, seemingly from all directions.
Warehouses - like the ones Maksim and Yuri mentioned - were torched. Another group went after Maksim’s bookkeeper and I’m guessing that man has all the knowledge of the Morozov empire’s financial doings. To add insult to injury, some spunky group of gang members went around to businesses under his Bratva’s “oversight” and collected the protection money before Maksim’s men shut that down.
While his Brigadiers were chasing these douchebags, whoever was behind this broke into his new club -Gehenna, where he and I had our “meet cute” - and tried to set it on fire, too. There was something about the activity under the club that was actually in danger, but the conversation broke off as Alina - still playing Bratva Queen Bee - waltzed over with cookies and commiseration for the widows.
There’s been muttering that all the other Bratva families are in on it, wanting to destroy Maksim and divide up his territory. The Morozov empire is bigger than the other Russians’ and according to Yuri, bigger than the territories held by the Italians and the Irish, too. So, it stood to reason that every rat wants a nibble. I couldn’t believe that Lucya and Alexi were involved, they were too honorable, even if Alexi was as cold as Maksim.
I was pondering the enormity of the problem as I struggled to zip up my dress, and I felt Maksim’s warm fingers gently push mine away and finish the job. His hands slid up to my shoulders, and we looked at each other in the huge mirror.
“You look really nice,” I offer, and he does. However, the lines of strain around his mouth and the dark circles from his utter lack of sleep are telling a different story.
“Thank you,” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “As do you. This is an unfortunate way to measure progress, but I saw several of the children and a few of the widows speak with you at the last funeral. They are beginning to accept you in your position.”
I felt a wave of sympathy for this man. I knew how seriously Maksim took his responsibility for the people in his empire. The wholesale destruction of his properties was bad, but losing people loyal to him? It was eating him up, I knew it.
“You’re right,” I agreed, “that is a terrible way to measure progress.” I watched him tilt his head to one side, obviously stiff. “We have a couple of minutes, if you want to sit down, I could rub your neck?” He looked at me, one elegant brow raised and I threw up my hands. “Not your spine! Not even your shoulder blades! But if you add your neck to the list of acceptable places to touch, I could work out those kinks.” I smiled, trying to lighten the words, and Maksim sighed, nodding and seating himself on the ottoman. The tendons in his neck were strung tighter than a violin string.
His low, relieved exhale made me oddly happy. At least it was something I could do to help. So small as to be almost insignificant, but… it was still something. I could spot the tip of one of his tattoos peeking out from the collar of his expensive dress shirt and another thick scar I’d not seen before.Of course,I thought sardonically,since I’m not allowed to touch 85% of his body, I’m sure there’s dozens of scars I’ve yet to map.But… my fingers worked without me as I pondered this. If Maksim was a regular human, one with insecurities and childhood trauma…
His dad.
I remembered Yuri's stories about the ‘tender, loving care’ their father inflicted on them as children. I’d thought the scars and burn marks scattered over his spectacular body were just byproducts of his life as the Bratva Death King. But there was something about how I was only allowed to touch certain parts of him, and even as carefully and lightly as I’d stroked his hair, his muscles initially went rigid, like he was prepared to endure it.
I knew his father was evil. But what did he do to Maksim?How horrible was it that he couldn’t tolerate anyone touching him?
***
The funeral was oddly lovely, the beauty of the cathedral, the practices, and traditions that were becoming so familiar to me, even the gentle kiss Maksim placed on the brow of every man he’d lost. I placed a flower inside the casket of each of the men, and noticed a little girl, three, maybe four, lingering by one.
“Hello,” I tried to look like a Pakhan’s wife, one who would know everyone and understand what they needed. “I’m Ella, what’s your name?”
Aaand there was the chin wobble. Her eyes were already filling with tears and I asked, “Is that your…?”
The little one didn’t answer, but she pointed at my flowers.
Oh. “Would you like to put a flower on the…” I offered the blooms, letting her pick one. How do you ask a toddler if they wanted to place a flower in their father’s coffin? Looking around at all these families again, it hurt, the young men’s stoic exterior, the weariness of the newly widowed, the confusion of children. How many funerals could these people attend without losing everything that held them together? Meanwhile, my flower girl was on tiptoes, trying to reach the casket. I looked around helplessly for her mother, for Maksim, hell; even for Alina but I was on my own.
“Would you like me to lift you up?” Nodding, she reached up and wrapped her arms around my neck once I had her perched on my hip.God, I hope this is the right thing to do,I moaned silently,am I traumatizing this child for life?
But I had seen family members lift the smaller kiddos before to look at their loved ones and say goodbye, so… Adjusting her again, I leaned over the coffin, her father in a dark suit and almost looking asleep, if you kept some distance. “Do you want to put the flower on your papa’s jacket?” I asked, “I think it will look very nice.”
How was this child not crying? How? How could even the smallest members of this community be so stoic? She reached out and put the blossom on his chest, straightening it a bit. “I’ll bet your papa is so proud of you,” I whispered into her hair, her little body smelling of warm skin and lavender.
