Escaped With The Bratva’s Heir

“What the hell are you talking about, Lily? You know that name is a taboo on these streets. Don’t let anyone hear you.” Maria, a poor market vendor, whispers as she bends down and picks a piece of rotten tomatoes that had fallen out of her bag.

Lily laughs scornfully, raising her perfectly arched eyebrows.

“And what do you think will happen? Will he magically materialize out of thin air and slice our throats? Please be serious, Maria.”

“I don't want to get into trouble, Lily. It seems like you are not from this side of the city, which is why you feel so comfortable mentioning his name so well.” Maria says, stacking her goods which she brought to the farmers market for sale, promptly ignoring Lily.

“Why won't I be, I told you, he cannot do us anything.” Lily says, rolling her eyes.

“When that boy was barely out of diapers, I heard he killed one of his nannies and even right now, rumour has it that he killed his parents to take over their fortune.” Maria whispers once more, not able to resist the allure of gossiping about a man who seems to be a terrorist on these streets.

“And what did he use to kill the nanny? Baby shit? pozhaluysta, bud' ser'yozen.” Lily says scornfully, switching to our native tongue.

‘Dimitri Gusef’, that's who they were talking about. The name alone caused a shiver to run down my spine. He was the scariest and most ruthless mother fucker that has ever walked these streets. And to crown it all, he was the Pakhan and leader of the bratva.

I walk away from them not willing to let a single name ruin my day, and having purchased all that I needed to get the borscht stew ready. These days, we can barely afford any other things aside from stew or soup which we serve with potatoes.

It was all my father's fault, if he hadn't gambled away all our money and properties, we wouldn't be in this situation but alas who was I to have an opinion? I was good at nothing apparently. Only taking care of the household and giving birth to babies.

I walk down the windy paths to our house, it was so huge I feared one day it might crumble atop of us. I could barely keep it clean, working every day on my hands and knees to ensure the floors were sparkling.

I wonder why my dad still kept it, it was nothing but a liability, we could sell it and move to a smaller house but my dad was so caught up in reclaiming the lost glory of the Fedorov family that he refused to see reason.

I absently touch the newest scar, just above my wrist, the memory of this one is not as painful as all the others. Yet another evidence of my father's intention to strip away my wilfulness, his words not mine.

To him, I was the devil's spawn, otrod'ye d'yavola, and he never lets me forget it, not even for one second.

As I get closer to our house, I see a lot of people standing in front of our pretentious front yard. I take in the rows of cars and I wonder what they're doing here.

“Papa, what's wrong?” I ask my father with my heart in my throat when I step inside our grandiose foyer and see him on the floor with his head in his hands.

“Anya.” My father says in a whiny tone that has me collapsing on my hands before he utters another word.

There is only one thing or rather a person that could cause him to sound like that. Alina. My twin sister was given away by my father as repayment for a debt.

“What happened to Alina? Where is she?” I ask in a grave voice, not in the least bit concerned that the tomatoes I had bought were all squished and their juices were dripping onto the floor.

“She's….. We tried all we could but she's dead.” My father says grabbing my fingers tight in his.

It suddenly dawned on me, I knew what this was. He wasn't holding my hand to offer support. It was a promise of pain if I refused to cooperate.

I take a good look at the men around me, and I find out that there are politsiya, the cops. I look back at my father, cursing him straight to hell for causing the death of the only person that ever loved me.

I feel my heart squeeze in pain. I cannot describe the feeling, it's like I'm in another realm, watching my body breakdown at this news.

We had promised to find ourselves, she told me she would always be safe and that she would kill our father with her bare hands if he ever subjected me to her fate.

I could not even cry, the tears would not come. I feel myself gasping for breath at the voices of the officers surrounding me.

“It's so pitiful. Her body was found battered and bruised outside the motel.” A cop says in a whisper.

Another cop makes a pitiful sound, clicking his tongue. “Very pitiful indeed, I heard her mother abandoned her and her sister and now the sister is dead.”

“It serves her right though, why would she run away from her father's house? Especially one with this amount of money.” Another cop says scoffing with no respect whatsoever for my dead sister.

I want to scream and thrash on the ground. I want to pull my hair in agony, most importantly I want to tell the world it was my own father who sold my sister to such fate, but as always, the words remained stuck in my throat.

The pain was so bitter I could barely breathe through it. I look around the room and find everyone's eyes on me.

I eventually find my voice but not to say anything meaningful that could implicate my dad. I let out a blood-curdling scream that has everyone covering their ears. The last I see of the room is a female cop running towards me, with concern etched in the lines of her face.

——————————–

I stare out the window of the moving car and breathe in deeply. It's been a week since the death of Alina and I still haven't spoken a word to anyone.

One of the officers who has been in and out of the house since the news was delivered to us recommended therapy to my father. I barely withheld myself from telling him not to waste his breath.

A man who caused the death of one of his daughters would not be so concerned about the other.

This past week would have been the best week of my life if not for the tragedy that occurred. My dad has left me alone for the most of it.

It's almost like a silent apology for his part in Alina's death, but it could also be because he didn't want the cops to suspect him of playing a part in Alina's death.

“Straighten your dress, Anya. There's no need to expose that amount of skin.” My father says while straightening his black tie.

I guess I was right about the latter. I look down at my black dress which was hiked up a little bit due to the rough ride. We had gone to bury Alina, or what was left of her.

When everybody had demanded that the coffin be closed, I had made sure to visit the burial house where the body was being prepared, and I stared at her beautiful angelic face for so long that the purple bruises and scars etched in her skin were all I could see for days.

But something wasn't right, Alina didn't have a mole on her shoulder but that body did. I didn't know whether or not to voice my concerns to my father. But what would I really tell him?

That the body that was buried wasn't Alina? How could I also tell him that I still felt it deep in my bones that Alina was alive? It had to be the twins' bond. It wasn't broken. I could still feel her at the other end.

“O chem , chert voz'mi , ty govorish' o?” My father says to the person on the other end of the call, interrupting my thoughts.

He always does this, switching to our native tongue when he's having a private conversation or a confidential one.

I sit up straight wondering what could be the problem this time.

“Oni ne mogut byt' tam, ya im zaplatil.” They can't be there, I paid them off, My father says angrily to the person on the phone.

Who can't be there? What was my dad talking about? Who did he pay off?

We were close to our house now. I couldn't wait to get back in bed and think of what I intend to do with the possibility that Alina might not be dead.

The car slows to a stop in front of our big oak door but before we step out of the car, the doors are thrown open and a rifle is pointed at my head.

“vyyti iz mashiny.” Step out of the car, a growly voice says beside me sending slivers of fear down my spine.

My limbs start to tremble and when I turn to my father, I see that all the blood had drained from his face making it as clear white as a sheet.

I step out of the car slowly with shaky limbs, anything to tip him off the edge because then maybe he will kill me and I will join Alina in nebo where there are no evil people like my father.