Chapter 11

My father hated my mother. Every time I brought up her name loathing edged itself into every hard line of his face. He wanted her dead. No, he wanted her to suffer and die. A simple death wasn’t enough for him. As Pakhan he had the means to kill almost anyone, to make their last hours as excruciating as possible, and he certainly didn’t have qualms about it.

But my mother was in Camorra territory, at the very center of it in Las Vegas, under the watchful eyes of none other than the Camorra’s Capo: Remo Falcone.

Remo Falcone was only a distant memory of a young girl and he was what stood between me and my mother. Impossible to bypass, without help. My father wouldn’t help me. Not unless Remo handed him my mother so he could kill her himself. And Adamo?

Maybe Adamo could help, but would he? Using him to get information had been easy, but what I needed from him beyond that….I wasn’t sure if I should even consider asking. But did I have a choice?

This was too important to let emotions get in the way, especially when I wasn’t sure about their extent. Could anything between us even last?

But unlike Adamo I couldn’t let the past rest. It didn’t let me. And not pursuing revenge? Impossible.

The past was my burden.

Sometimes at night the memories were fresh and I woke with the scent of my mother’s sweet perfume in my nose, my skin covered in sweat. I hated those nights, those dreams, that made me feel small and weak, destroying everything I’d worked so hard for.

The past

“Come on, Mandy,” my mother said as she dragged me out of the car and toward a brick building. I didn’t like that name. But maybe it wouldn’t last. My last five names hadn’t. I missed my real name. Ekaterina, or Katinka, how Dad always called me. But it was bad.

“Mandy, hurry!” Her voice was tight with fear. Men had taken us with them, away from the house we’d lived in for weeks now. They had put us into a car and driven us to a place with a big neon sign above its entrance. A woman’s legs flashed in bright colors and between them the words Sugar Trap blinked. I didn’t fight her hold, only trudged after her. I lowered my gaze to the floor how I had been taught when we walked through a bar. It smelled of alcohol and smoke, but above all, of a heavy perfume, even stronger than the one Mom wore. I almost stumbled when we headed down steep steps. But a man with gray eyes caught my arm. He released me and Mom pulled me even closer.

We arrived in a room without windows. Another man waited inside.

He was very tall, with dark hair, and stood with his arms crossed. His expression terrified me. It promised trouble. But I knew that even a smile didn’t mean anything. Pain often followed sweet words and kind smiles. His eyes were almost black and so was his hair. He only briefly looked at me then he narrowed his eyes at Mom and her boyfriend Cody. Cody had a bloody nose. I didn’t know why, but I wasn’t sad. He was a bad man. A different kind of bad than Dad. Worse, even if Mom didn’t see it. Mom hated Dad. She said I needed to hate him too.

“You know who I am?” the tall man asked. His voice was deep and confident.

Mom tightened her hold on my hand. I glanced around. The gray eyed man leaned against the desk, watching me. He didn’t smile or glower. He didn’t do anything, only looked as if he could see below my skin to the dark parts of me. I stared down at my dirty feet in my flip-flops.

“Of course,” Cody said. His voice trembled. My head shot up and I looked at him. I’d never heard that tone from him. He sounded terrified. Sweat glistened on his forehead and he looked about to cry.

“Who am I?” the man asked. He wasn’t very old. His voice was low and calm, but Cody’s face scrunched up.

“You are Remo Falcone.”

“And?”

“Capo of the Camorra.” He swallowed audibly. “I’ve been dealing for you, Sir, for almost six months. But I’m nobody you would know.”

Cody sounded so demure. When he ordered me around, he was always confident and angry. Why was Cody so scared of Remo Falcone? If a man like Cody felt that way, I should be terrified.

“You were supposed to sell crack and weed, but I hear you build a little lucrative side-business with the help of the lady over there. Maybe you thought I wouldn’t notice because I was too busy establishing power.”

Mom’s hand around mine was painful. I’d never heard anyone say the word lady with more disgust.

“What’s your name, woman?”

My mother twitched. “Eden.”

“I’m sure that’s your real name.”

Mom didn’t say anything. Like me she’d had many names in the last few months. “How long have you been doing your side-business in my city?”

Mom looked at Cody.

“I didn’t know what she was doing!” he croaked. “Today was the first time, I found out.”

“What a coincidence that you happen to find out about it the same day we catch you.” Remo nodded toward the gray eyed guy who had set up a laptop in front on the desk and was staring at it. “My brother grabbed a few discs from your place. I assume they won’t prove your words to be false, right?”

Cody paled.

Remo turned to Mom again. “How much money did you make?”

“I—I don’t know. I never got money.”

“You got a roof over your head and enough drugs to forget the past and black out the present too, right?” Remo walked closer to Mom, towering over her and me. “In my city I make the rules, and no one goes against them.”

“I didn’t know,” Mom said. “It was Cody’s idea.”

Cody glared but lowered his head when Remo turned to him.

“How much further does your business reach? Are there others we should know about?”

“No, it was only us.”

“Is he telling the truth, Eden?” Remo asked.

“Y-yes. We only just started.”

“Only just started. Sounds as if you had big business plans without involving the Camorra.”

Mom tugged a strand of her beautiful red hair behind her ear and gave Remo that smile she usually only gave her boyfriends. “I could tell you about the customers. I’m sure you could make so much more money with it. We were never professional. If you and your Camorra organized everything, you could make millions.”

Remo smiled, but it wasn’t a nice smile. “You think so?”

“You should take a look at this,” the other man said. Remo turned and headed toward the desk. He looked at the laptop for a couple of minutes. Silence reigned in the room. The faces of both men didn’t show any emotion as they watched the screen. Remo shoved away from the desk. “Did you sell these videos on the Darknet?”

Cody didn’t react. He only blankly stared down at his feet. He looked as if he was praying but I doubted he believed in anything.

“Yes, we did. You could make even more money with it than with your racing and cage fighting,” Mom said. She reminded me of the mom she’d occasionally been back at home with Dad.

Remo only stared at me, not saying anything. Mom released my hand and touched my shoulder. I met her gaze. She gave me an encouraging smile. “Why don’t you show Mr. Falcone how nice you are.”

I nodded. I’d heard those words often in the last few weeks. I looked at Remo Falcone and he met my gaze. I forced the smile all the customers liked and padded closer to him. My flip-flops smacked loudly in the silence.

At first, I hadn’t wanted to do it, but it had only made things worse. Mom had told me I needed to behave then things would be better and eventually I had done what they wanted. It still hurt but Mom felt better when I didn’t fight.

“She’ll do whatever you want,” Mom said.

My cheeks hurt from smiling. Remo didn’t look at me like the other men had. He didn’t tell me how pretty I was and what a good girl. Suddenly his expression shifted to something dangerous, something wild, and he looked away from me.

He stalked past me and grabbed Mom by the throat. Cody had done it before. It had bothered me in the beginning, but now I felt empty too often. I knew I shouldn’t be okay seeing Mom getting hurt but everything in me was hollow.

“Remo,” the other man said.

“Are you really trying to give me your daughter for a joyride? You think I tolerate disgusting shit like that in my territory?” His voice became a low hum. “I bet you’d even watch me fuck your kid? You despicable whore wouldn’t bat a fucking eye, as long as you get your drugs and are far away from Grigory.”

Mom blanched.

“Remo,” Nino said firmly, nodding in my direction.

“You really think that shit’s still going to damage her after the shit that’s been done to her?”

“Dad?” I asked. Mom never talked about him and if she did only to tell me bad things.

Remo’s eyes slanted over to me. His fingers still held Mom by the throat. Cody was crying in the background.

“Nino, take the kid upstairs, give her food and decent clothes while I handle this situation.”

Mom sent me a begging look. I didn’t react. Begging doesn’t work, Mom, don’t you remember?

Nino appeared before me and held out his hand. “Come on, Ekaterina.”

My eyes widened. I put my hand in his and followed him outside. Before the door closed, I heard Mom whimper. “Please don’t hand me to Grigory. You wouldn’t believe what he’d do to me.”

“Probably the same thing I’d do to fucking scum like yourself.”

Nino led me upstairs. He picked up a Coke for me at the bar then we headed into a room with a bed and bathroom. I took a hesitant sip from my Coke, then gave him the smile Mom had taught me. He shook his head. “No need for that ever again, Ekaterina. Your father will be here soon, then you’ll be safe.”

I nodded, even though I didn’t know what safe meant anymore. I remembered feeling safe distantly. I remembered lying in Dad’s arms as he read me Russian fairytales. Mom didn’t allow me to say anything in Russian.

“You can take a shower and I’ll ask one of the girls to bring you clothes.”

I nodded again. He nodded too. “You’re not going to run, are you? I don’t want to lock you in.”

“No,” I whispered. I didn’t want to run anymore. Ever since Mom had taken me with her, things had been bad. I wanted them to return to how they used to be.

He nodded, then he walked out.

I looked at the bed, remembering the bed I’d been in less than an hour ago. A bed in Cody’s basement. I shivered. The old man who’d been in it with me hadn’t come with us. Nino had stayed with him for a while before he’d joined us in the car.

The look in Nino’s eyes afterward had reminded me of the look that I sometimes saw in Dad’s eyes, or even Remo’s eyes just now.

I sank down on the bed and tugged at my white, frilly nightgown. They all loved frills and white. Wrapping my arms around my chest, I waited. I hated the silence. Usually, Mom always allowed me to watch whatever I wanted on TV after the men left, for as long as I wanted. Falling asleep before the TV was better than listening to my thoughts, to the voices of the men my memory kept repeating. Now nothing drowned out the words the old man had said. They replayed over and over again in my head. “Sweet little girl. Good girl. Give Daddy what he needs.”

I pressed my palms over my ears, but the voices didn’t stop.

The door opened and a woman came in. I kept my hands over my ears. She looked at me, her eyes big and sad, and put down a heap of clothes. “They’ll be too big on you. But better than what you’re wearing now, right?”

I blinked at her. She left again and the voice became even louder. I hummed but they were deep in my head, louder than my voice. I rocked back and forth, wanting out of my head, out of my body, away from the voices. I felt so tired. But if I closed my eyes now, faces would join the voices. My palms hurt and my ears rang but I pressed even harder, my nails scratching my scalp. “Stop,” I gasped. “Stop.”

But the voices kept on whispering. Stop never worked.

The door opened again. Remo stood on the threshold. He stepped inside and I shut up. Humming loudly made people think you were strange. I slowly lowered my hands. Blood and skin stuck under my nails from where I’d hurt my scalp. My pink polish had peeled off in places.

I was momentarily distracted by a red stain on Remo’s gray shirt.

“Did you kill Mom and Cody?” I asked.

Remo raised his eyebrows. Dad had always tried to hide everything bad from me, but Mom had told me everything. Remo was like Dad. He had the same dangerous glimmer in his eyes. They were killers. Mom said they were bad, but neither Dad nor Remo had hurt me. The nice men Mom had brought home, they had.

“No, I didn’t,” he said.

He crouched before me, meeting my gaze. The other men preferred to tower over me. He didn’t look sad or as if he felt pity for me. He looked as if he understood me.

“Why not?”

He smiled a strange smile. “Because they aren’t mine to kill.”

I didn’t understand.

“Would you be sad if your mother was dead?”

I looked down at my hands. I loved Mom. But I wasn’t sad. Sometimes I even hated her. “I’m a bad girl.”

“You’re trying to be a good girl so people hurt you less?”

I frowned then nodded.

“Don’t,” he said firmly.

I looked up.

“Don’t ever try to be good to people who hurt you. They don’t deserve it.”

I nodded because that’s what I thought was expected.

“Your father will be here in a couple of hours, Ekaterina. He’s going to take you home.”

“Home,” I repeated, testing the word. I remembered warmth and happiness. It seemed so far away, like the fairytales Dad loved to tell me.

He straightened and looked at me. “Nothing can break you unless you allow it. If you ever return to Vegas, you’ll get your chance to end it.”

I didn’t understand anything. My body was screaming for sleep but I fought it.

“We ordered pizza. You can have some.”

I nodded. Then my eyes darted to the TV attached to the wall across from the bed. Remo headed toward the nightstand and took the remote before handing it to me. I immediately turned it on and raised the volume. It was late so all movies were for adults. I stopped when I saw a familiar scene from the movie Alien.

A woman came in with a pizza carton and put it down beside me on the bed. “You’re going to have nightmares if you watch something like that,” she said to me.

“I like those nightmares,” I whispered.

“Become the nightmare even your worst nightmare fears, Ekaterina,” Remo said before he and the woman left. I turned the volume even higher and took a slice of pizza. I wasn’t really hungry but I stuffed it into my mouth.

My eyes burned with exhaustion but I forced them open, focused on the TV.

A knock sounded. I didn’t look away from the second Alien movie. They were doing an Alien movie marathon, and I felt like only if I kept my eyes on the screen would the voices and images stay away.

“Katinka,” Dad said softly.

I tore my eyes from the screen, my heart beating faster as I spotted Dad in the doorway, dressed in a black suit and light-blue tie. His face was edged with sorrow. Behind him stood Remo and Nino.

“Katinka?” The name he always used for me sounded wrong. He said it different. It felt different. I didn’t know the girl it belonged to anymore. I wasn’t her.

Dad came closer. He looked at me different too, as if he thought I was scared of him. Mom had said Dad was a bad man, that he hurt people, killed them, that he’d eventually do the same to her and me. But Dad had never hurt me, not like the men that Mom had brought home so I’d be nice to them.

I dropped the remote on the floor and stormed toward him. The air whooshed out of my lungs as I flung myself against him. He still wore the same Cologne I remembered and his clothes smelled faintly of cigars. He stiffened and didn’t hug me back. “I was bad,” I gasped out, hoping admitting it would make Dad forgive me.

“Katinka, no,” he murmured and then his arms wrapped tightly around me and he lifted me off the ground, clutching me against him. I buried my face against his throat. I felt like crying but I’d stopped crying a while ago. Now I couldn’t do it anymore, no matter how sad I was. He cupped the back of my head and rocked me like he’d done when I was really little.

He didn’t know what I’d done. If he knew, he’d be mad. Mom had told me over and over again, that Dad would be mad at me, not just at her. He would think I was dirty and bad for what I had to do.

He turned with me on his arms and carried me out of the bar. A black car with Dad’s men waited in front of it. Before he walked toward them, he turned to Remo who had accompanied us. “You better keep your promise,” Dad said in a voice that held violence.

Remo smiled. Men never smiled when Dad used that voice. “It’s not a promise I made to you, Grigory. That promise is for Ekaterina.”

I peered at him, wondering what he was talking about.

Dad shook his head. “My daughter won’t ever set foot on Vegas ground again. I’ll make sure of it. Eventually, you’ll have to let me dish out my revenge.”

“Dish out revenge on that scum in your trunk. The rest will have to wait for her.”

“She won’t ever be touched by violence or darkness again, Falcone. I’ll protect her from it until my last breath.”

“You can’t protect her from something that’s festering inside of her. Tell her what’s waiting for her. Let it be her choice.”

Dad didn’t say anything, only held me tighter. He turned and headed toward the car. Dad’s men didn’t look at me. They’d always tried to make me laugh in the past. I hunched on the backseat and Dad took the seat beside me, helping me buckle up before he wrapped an arm around me. He gave me a look that reminded me of the one time I’d broken my favorite porcelain doll. Our housekeeper had fixed her but after that she was too fragile to take her out of the shelf ever again. Eventually I couldn’t look at her anymore because when I did, I was only reminded that I couldn’t play with her. She made me sad.

“What happened to Mom?”

“She’s dead and so are the men who hurt you.”

I ducked my head. He knew.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, Katinka. I’ll never let you out of my sight again. Nothing will ever touch you again.” He kissed my head. “Soon we’ll be home and then everything will be how it used to be. You’ll forget what happened.”

I never forgot. And things didn’t return to how they used to be. I’d become the fragile porcelain doll. Now, back at home in Chicago for a brief visit between races, I felt that way all the more.

I ran my fingertips over the edge of the shelf that held my Fabergé eggs. There were twenty-one of them. Dad had bought one for my birthday every year, even when Mom had taken me with her. He’d given me that egg the day I returned home with him and I’d put it in my shelf to all the others. Everything had been how I remembered it. Only I had changed. Surrounded by the prettiness of my past, I felt out of place, like an intruder in a life I didn’t belong anymore.

“Katinka,” I tested the word. It still felt as if I were talking about someone else. Tolstoy, our cat, a gorgeous Russian Blue, brushed up to my calf, maybe sensing my distress. I patted his head, causing him to purr.

Dad had tried to make me forget, had moved back to Russia with me for a little while, thinking we could leave the horrors behind, but they followed me.

Eventually, he, too, realized that I wouldn’t become the Katinka I’d once been. Every time he’d looked at me with pity or sadness in his eyes, I’d been reminded too. Now he didn’t give me that look anymore. I was stronger than I used to be. I didn’t need anyone’s pity.

I wondered if Adamo would look at me differently, too, once he found out what had happened.