Under Control: Chapter 17

I wear the navy dress, just like he asked.

We barely speak on the long car ride down to the country club. It’s an exclusive members-only kind of place in a small town in the Maryland countryside, and it takes a couple of hours to reach it. I try to get Valentin talking more than once on the trip, but it’s like trying to make a rug laugh. He gives me moody, brooding stares, right up until Anton pulls down the long private driveway toward the clubhouse.

“We’re early,” I comment, glancing at the clock.

For whatever reason, that’s what finally gets him to speak.

“I’ve had men here for two days already,” he says and when I look surprised, he only tilts his head. “You think I would take any chances with this meeting?”

“Two days seems like a lot, that’s all.”

“I can’t risk the Brotherhood setting up an ambush.”

My stomach twists as I watch the manicured bushes and trees flit past. We pull into a parking lot and roll toward the two-story white building with pristine columns in the front and a gorgeous golf course spreading out behind it.

“You think they would?” I ask, not sure what to believe.

“Aram and I do not have a good history.” He’s glaring out the window like he means to shatter it. There are fancy cars parked in the lot already: BMW, Mercedes, Bentley. An Aston Martin’s left in the handicap space.

“What is with you and the Brotherhood? Why are we even doing this?”

“I told you. This is a part of my plan.” He turns to me as Anton parks the car in an empty space. More SUVs pull up, and Valentin’s men climb out. None of them are obviously armed, but I know they’re wearing body armor under their white shirts and have pistols hidden in their waistbands.

“What’s your plan, exactly?”

He turns to me, expression dark and angry. “You are going to get me close to your uncle.”

“And then? What are you going to do?”

“Make an alliance.” He touches my face gently. I pull back, afraid of the malicious look he’s giving me. “Then I’ll get my revenge.”

I open my mouth to press him for more, but he’s already getting out of the car. I have to hurry to keep up. He offers his arm and I take it, and he slows as we approach the entrance.

“Stay silent,” he instructs, hand squeezing my wrist. “You’re here to observe and nothing more. Understand?”

“Speak when spoken to, got it,” I mutter, wishing I could be angrier.

But a trio of men steps out of the country club and I can’t remember what I was about to say.

All three of them are tall and broad. They have the dark hair and dark eyes of my father, the cheekbones of my mother. The man in the center is around Mama’s age and grizzled with a salt-and-pepper beard and a hooked nose.

Behind them, more soldiers in dark clothes, and several women looking bored and put out, all in extremely fine dresses.

Valentin stops a few feet away from the welcome party.

“Aram,” he says nodding at the man in the middle.

My uncle stares back at him, showing nothing on his face. “Valentin Zaitsev. It has been a long time.”

“A very long time,” Valentin agrees. “I wasn’t sure you’d come.”

“And yet here I am. I was thinking, the problems we’ve had, they’re long in the past. We’re evolved men now, are we not? And besides—” He looks over at me and his lips curl. “It seems you’ve brought one of my stray dogs home.”

Valentin’s grip on my arm tightens. I feel the anger waft off him, but as soon as it appears, he pushes it back down. “This is my wife. Karine Zaitsev.”

“Yes, I know who she is. My lost sister’s little girl.” He leans toward me, bridging the gap between our parties with his chest. “The last time I saw you, you were this big.” He puts his hand down toward his knees. “And look at you now. All grown up and married to a Zaitsev. You’ve done well for yourself.”

I say nothing. Aram shows his teeth in what I think is meant to be a smile, but looks more like a murderous grimace. His whole vibe is off; everything about him is wrong. I think of Mama sitting on the floor with a black eye. I think of the fear infusing her body.

This is what evil looks like.

And Valentin wants to drag me back into that world.

I want to run. If I could pull away and take off, I’d do it. But Valentin’s got me tightly, and it’s much too late.

Aram introduces the men with him. Sons, as it turns out, one named Arsen and the other Tigran. Traditional Armenian names. There’s also his sister, a woman named Sona, who looks at me like I’m slime in her shower’s grout.

Nobody shakes hands. There are no exchanges of friendship.

But there’s no gunfire or screams of bloody rage, which seems like a good thing.

The party moves inside. The interior of the club is empty except for Bratva and Brotherhood members. Valentin, Anton, and several of the high-ranking Bratva members take up a large table in the very back of a wood-paneled room with a bar running down one end. I’m deposited in the corner and told to stay put.

“Don’t worry, this should be very boring.” Sona appears with a bottle of wine and two glasses. She doesn’t smile as she sits and pours the drinks. I don’t know what I expected from my aunt, but there’s nothing warm or kind in her right now. If she cares that we’re family, she doesn’t show it. “My brother has a soft spot for your husband, you know.”

She’s an elegant woman, in her sixties, rail thin and severe. Her hair’s dark and she’s wearing a conservative dress that highlights her straight waist and her bust. Jewelry glitters on her fingers and at her throat, and her face is heavily done up. I can smell her perfume from across the table. I try to find some of my mother in her, but I can’t see it at all.

“Why’s that?” I accept the wine and take a long sip, not sure what to make of this. I keep glancing over at the men, wondering what they’re saying. Valentin doesn’t look happy. Though Aram seems completely at ease.

“They have a past. Don’t you know?” She seems surprised when I shake my head and lowers her voice. “Aram and Valentin’s father knew each other. I actually met him a few times as well. I wasn’t a fan, but Aram—” She gestures vaguely in the air. “They got along until they didn’t.”

Until they didn’t. That’s one hell of a loaded statement.

“What was my mother like? Back then, I mean.” I don’t know why I blurt it out, but I can’t help myself—I’m too curious, and I don’t know if I’ll get a better chance to know my mother better.

“Young. Impulsive. Very… loud.” Sona presses her lips together in disapproval. “My sister and I didn’t always get along.”

I almost laugh. That describes my mother perfectly, or at least the woman before Dad died. Now, Mama’s like a depleted battery, but when I was growing up, she was a force. Nobody stood in Mama’s way, not for long. She got what she wanted, or she made everyone regret not giving it to her.

“What about my dad? Did you know him?”

She snorts and rolls her wine in a lazy circle. “I knew him. Everyone knew your papa. He was just as loud as your mama, the stupid idiot.”

“What do you mean?”

“This is all in the past now, but your father made trouble for everyone, especially for Aram. He hated who we are and what we stand for, and he convinced your mother to go along with his total idiocy. He turned your mother against her own family. Turned her into a traitor.”

My skin goes cold. I stare at my wine, remembering my father, and trying not to get angry at this woman’s characterization. “What do you stand for then?”

“Brotherhood,” she says simply. “The Armenian people. Our family, above all else. Strength and honor. Your papa didn’t understand that. He thought we were just some shady criminal organization, and he made his feelings very known. Which is not smart.”

“Papa cared about family more than anything else,” I say, voice trembling.

Sona doesn’t notice my distress. She’s busy watching the men and sounds more tired than anything else. “Oh, maybe he learned, but back then he was a nuisance. Always making threats and proclamations. Aram would say to me, Sona, if he weren’t married to our sister, I would cut his throat tonight. A stupid fool, if you ask me, a very stupid fool, and now here we are.”

“You have no right to speak of my papa that way.” The words come out soft, almost whispered, but they’re firm.

She glances at me, eyebrows raised. “Does it upset you? I’m not sorry. You asked and I’m telling.”

“My father was a good man. Better than your brother. What kind of monster hurts his own sister over money?”

Sona’s lips press together and she puts her glass down. “What kind of woman abandons her family only to come crawling back when life gets hard?”

“That’s not what happened.”

“It most certainly was. I know about your money troubles. I know your mother begged Aram for a loan, which he graciously gave to her, but with very strict terms attached. She agreed, she couldn’t uphold her hand, and Aram was forced to follow through with his promises. My brother is many things, but at least he’s honest.”

“He’s a fucking monster.” I shove my chair back, getting to my feet. “And you’re a horrible person, to talk about my parents like that. How could you be okay with abandoning your own sister?”

Sona watches me with an amused smile, and I’m suddenly aware that the whole room is staring. Even the men are looking over.

I could back down. I could sit and apologize to this horrible woman and let this outburst drift past.

But it kills me, to hear her speak of my father that way, as if she knows a damn thing about him.

“You’re as stupid as your mother is, aren’t you, little girl?” Sona sits back and sneers. “Don’t you understand what’s happening here?”

I don’t. I don’t understand at all.

But I’m too angry to care.

“Apologize,” I say, voice trembling with anger.

“What’s happening over here?” Valentin appears at my elbow. He touches me and I flinch back, staring up at him. I feel out of control with grief and rage, and I know I’m making a scene at the worst possible moment, but I can’t help myself.

I hate these people. My mother and father ran away from Baltimore to escape them. They gave my mother money, and beat her when she couldn’t pay them back on time. Their own sister. They’re rats and killers, and this garish woman shouldn’t even speak of my mother, let alone insult her. It disgusts me to think that I’m blood related to her.

“It’s okay, Valentin.” Aram’s standing behind his sister with a tight smile. “My niece here simply hasn’t come to terms with the way things are.”

“She’s a bore, Aram,” Sona says, crossing her arms with a very satisfied smile on her face. “All I did was talk about her parents.”

“Tell the girl to apologize, Valentin.” Aram looks at him with a steady, menacing smile. The pure image of a nightmare beast. “Go on, tell her, and we can go back to negotiating.”

“She insulted my parents,” I say to Valentin, desperation rising in me.

Valentin’s jaw works. “Nobody’s apologizing to anyone.”

“No?” Aram’s smile grows. “So you think it’s okay that your wife insulted my family?”

“Don’t play this game,” Valentin warns. “I know what you’re doing.”

“No, you don’t.” Aram steps closer like he’s enjoying this. “Tell your bitch wife to apologize. Tell that worthless stray dog that she’s not worthy to sit at the same table as my family. Tell her she’s lucky I didn’t cut her mother’s tongue out. Go on, Valentin. Tell the worthless whore.”

Valentin’s fist snaps forward. It smashes into Aram’s face with a vicious force, hard enough to crack the Armenian boss’s nose sideways. Blood spurts from his face as he staggers backward.

And all hell breaks loose.