Under Control: Chapter 35

Nikkita sets the formal dining table with white linen and real silver. She pours champagne in crystal glasses and makes sure everything is perfect. Valentin sits at the head of the table, while I sit at his right hand. There’s one other place setting at the far end.

“Bring him in,” Valentin orders.

Anton enters followed by Arsen. The young Armenian is cleaned up and dressed in a button-down shirt and slacks. He looks older and harder than he did when he was taped to the chair, and his expression is laced with suspicion and worry.

“Sit,” Valentin says.

Arsen hesitates but sinks down into his place.

“What’s all this?” he asks, glancing over his shoulder at Anton. “The basement was the stick? And now I get the carrot?”

“Something like that.” Valentin glares at Arsen, and I get the feeling my husband will draw the gun he has in his lap at any moment and kill my cousin for picking up his fork the wrong way.

Nikkita serves dinner. First is smoked salmon tartare and beluga caviar. It’s unreasonably delicious, and even the usually stoic Nikkita shows a bit of pride when Valentin effusively compliments her skills. Arsen is standoffish and hesitant, but he nibbles at the appetizers and sips his champagne.

“It’s not poisoned,” I tell him, kidding around. He glances at me with alarm and I laugh. “Seriously, if we were going to kill you, you’d be dead by now.”

His smile is slow, but it comes. “That’s a good point. I’m worth more alive.”

“For now,” I say, wagging a finger at him. “Eat something, okay?”

He seems slightly less reluctant when Nikkita brings out a short rib and bone marrow soup. It’s rich and fragrant, a deep red broth with a dollop of sour cream on top. Arsen tucks into it and even seems like he’s enjoying himself.

“Ever have a Russian meal like this before?” Valentin asks. I can tell it’s taking all his willpower to remain civil.

“Never,” Arsen admits. “I think coming within spitting distance of a Russian-owned shop back home is basically treason.”

“I’m guessing your father has a lot of rules around treason,” I say casually.

Arsen doesn’t answer. He gives me a strange look and goes back to eating. I let the moment pass before making small talk with my cousin: I ask him about his life, about school, about girls, about jobs, about what he does with himself.

The picture he paints is bleak. He grew up in the Brotherhood, and the Brotherhood is his life. He runs a crew that specializes in protection rackets and small-time sports gambling. He fixes horse races, robs small stores, and commits murders where applicable.

I get the sense that my cousin doesn’t particularly care for his prospects in life at the moment.

The next course arrives once the soup is done. Sturgeon in champagne sauce with risotto. The smell is unbelievably delicious, and even Arsen tells Nikkita how incredible everything is. He finishes his third glass of champagne, and I can tell he’s beginning to loosen up, when Valentin casually asks him who is next in line for control of the Brotherhood once his father is gone.

Silence falls over the table. Arsen stares at Valentin with flared nostrils. “I know what you’re doing,” he says.

“What are we doing?” I ask sweetly.

“You’re trying to turn me. You want me to be a traitor.”

I shake my head. “That’s not it at all.”

“I won’t turn against them. You can feed me all the good meals you want and talk about how mean my fucking father is, and I still won’t do it.”

“Not even if you were the one atop the Brotherhood?” I’m the one who asks it. Coming from Valentin, it would feel all wrong. Arsen would recoil from it simply because he has history with the Russians. But coming from me? From his own cousin?

He still flinches and looks away. The room’s dead silent. Nobody’s eating anymore. Valentin drinks from his glass and pointedly doesn’t speak. We discussed how we wanted to play this earlier today and now we’re sticking to the script, but my body’s jangling with nerves.

We’re playing a game. It’s a dangerous, terrible game, and this could backfire at any moment. But I’m desperate to make a change, and Valentin’s willing to see if this goes anywhere, though I know he isn’t optimistic at all.

Arsen’s mouth opens, closes, and opens again. “My brother wouldn’t like it.”

“But you’re the oldest, aren’t you?”

“Tigran’s loyal. He loves our father.” His face spasms slightly like he’s warring with himself. “We both have a thousand reasons to want our father dead, but I’m the one with the scars. Tigran has his reasons and I have mine.” His fork drops to the plate and he leans back. Valentin tenses, but he doesn’t move. I can see his hand gripping the gun tightly, ready to pull if Arsen tries anything.

“You’re loyal too, aren’t you? To the Brotherhood, but not to your father. He’s the reason we have this war. He’s the reason you’re here and my mother’s there. But if your father was no longer in power, and you took over for him, we could reach a deal. No more killing. No more revenge. Our organizations could be at peace, and maybe even allies one day.”

Arsen’s shaking his head. He pushes back from the table. “It won’t happen.”

“There’s no reason to do everything your father tells you to do. You can think for yourself.”

“No, you don’t understand. It will never work because I won’t ever trust you.” He stands, staring at Valentin. “You can make threats. You can make offers. But nothing will change my mind.”

“Think about it, Arsen,” I say gently, already despairing. This was my one move, and it’s already falling apart. “We can change things together. No more lives have to be lost. Only your father.”

He turns to the door. “I want to go now.”

“Anton,” Valentin snaps. The door opens and Anton enters to take Arsen away.

“Think about it, cousin,” I call after him.

And then he’s gone.

Despair washes over me. I didn’t think he would immediately accept the offer, but I hoped he’d at least consider it. Instead, he’s still stuck in the same old patterns making the same old mistakes, and I don’t know if we’ll ever get past it.

“You did well,” Valentin says. He reaches over and covers my hand with his. “It was always a long shot.”

“He wants it,” I say, still desperate to feel sure about something for once in my life. “He just doesn’t know how to make the leap.”

“Men like him are consumed with the circumstances of their birth.” His hand tightens on mine and his expression is clouded with memory. “Believe me. It’s hard to change.”

I kiss him and we finish eating together, but I keep wondering what might’ve happened if Arsen had said yes, what world we could’ve built together.

Instead, there will be war and agony, and there’s no way to escape it.