Vladimir went for my neck and I let him come, bracing for my chair tipping over before we sailed backward with his momentum. He expected me to flail and try to remove his hands, but I yanked him close by his shirt and wrapped my legs around his back. Up my skirt was a knife, and it would be so easy to grab, so easy to have it at his throat.
I wanted him to suffer, though, wanted him to feel the damage, the pain he’d inflicted on the dream I’d grown to love. The women in the busses were my daughters, my mother, me. They were who I was and who I would always be. The little girl in me screamed for torture and punishment.
My red-bottomed shoes had been custom made for blood. It took just the right angle, but the sharp blades sprang from the sides when I pounded the back of my shoe into his spine. I stretched my legs out and brought them down again hard.
The chortle from him and then the guttural scream satisfied the mother in me.
His hands flew from my neck to scrabble at his back, but by then, I’d latched on. My arm had wrapped around his neck too, and I clung tight as he stood up and tried to shake me off while I kept bringing my stilettos down on him.
“No, stop! Stop!”
“You’ll be dead when I do,” I whispered in his ear, and his face paled. “The last thing you’ll think of is my name, Vladimir, and howthis whorefucked you. Fuckedyouinto submission.”
My legs were wet with his blood now, the spattering and gushing making it clear to me why he’d fallen to his knees. I pulled us backward and he fell on top of me, mumbling curses in Russian. As his eyes glazed over, I knew what the end result would be and didn’t need to witness it.
I shoved him off. Silence stretched over the room. I didn’t spare him a second glance as I got up and righted my skirt. “Who’s cleaning?”
“I will, Katalina.” Another member of the bratva on my left said quietly. There were a few here that had let the show play out. I didn’t blame them for that. This was the queen making her mark to them. They had to know I could lead and defend myself.
Maksim had two dead bodies near him and was straightening his clothing too.
“Don’t save his body. Burn it and throw the rest in the river. Tell his family the manner of his death left no remains, and set up the wife with an account.” I walked to the door, and the only sound that could be heard was the shoes clicking across the floor. When I looked back, the blood stains were prominent on the cement, imprints of a mother fighting for her daughters.
“I’m so sick of this bratva thinking I’m a whore. Is this what you all want? Me to fuck you all into submission? Pick you off one by one and bleed the fear from you? Do you all want fear rather than mutual respect, friendship, love?”
“No, ma’am. I just think they’re all scared of change.” Maksim answered.
“They should be scared of death, of sacrificing their place in the family because of what they’re used to.”
Maksim nodded. “Many are under the impression God will save them once they do die.”
“God couldn’t save the innocent daughter in my stomach, let alone any of you. We’re all sinners. Born to the blood of our ancestors and we chose this place. My baby will not. She’ll be born with the blood of this bratva and the Armanelli blood flowing through her. She won’t be able to wash her hands of it, no matter how hard she tries. So you change what you can without relying on what you cannot.”
“Are you saying we can’t make God save us?” Maksim lifted a dark eyebrow.
“No, you can’t. And you can’t rely on an afterlife either. But you can change the life you have here. If you don’t work for change, you’ll never see it.”
“Katalina, we’re all trying to push change.” The man at my left murmured.
“How? You didn’t say a goddamn thing.”
“It wasn’t the right time. You can see that, can’t you?” He answered, like that was a good enough reason.
“Wasn’t it Martin Luther King who said that your silence becomes your betrayal?”
He stared long and hard at me. I let my words sink in. The moments ticked by. He could either stand with me loudly or fall back silently. “You’re right.”
“That I am,” I said and proceeded to walk through the door, ready to slam it shut behind me. “Tell your brothers that. And make sure they understand that Vladimir just secured his seat in hell. If anyone else wants to go with, I’m happy to send them.”
23
Rome
Her eyes, as silver and beautiful as the moon, were hollow. I immediately scanned her for injuries, for something that was wrong. I looked at her straightened hair swishing with each step, the strong jaw against the hoodie that shrouded her neck, down to where she’d sliced off the bottom of it to showcase her small waist. Her black jeans hung low on her hips and were frayed right above those designer heels, the ones I’d gifted her.
They were stained.
I knew those stains better than anyone else.