Disclaimer: All Vampire Academy Characters mentioned are the property of Richelle Mead. There are original characters in this work of fiction. This is a story about a family in organized crime. There will be mature subject matter: violence, gore, child abuse, substance abuse, sexual violence and strong themes of sexuality, revenge and intergenerational trauma. The opinions expressed by the characters are not my own and are meant to reflect their world view/ how their minds work.
Chapter 1
Massachusetts, 13 years ago…
Rain poured down from the heavens and spattered onto the dumpsters of the Roxboroy ghetto, running down their grimy surface in rivulets and filling the alley with dirty puddles. They splash against his feet as the boy runs. Runs from his father, runs from his family, runs from himself. He barely knew anymore.
He just needed to get out of there.
So he ran, swerving from alleyway into alleyway. Past crowded tenements with whirring window air conditioner units and blasting TVs. Past crying babies and arguing couples. Past even more dumpsters and feral cats gnawing at wet rotting garbage, spattered onto the street from overflowing, black plastic bags. Past the filth, squallor and violence of his neighborhood till his feet skid to a stop and he hit a concrete wall; a dead end.
There was nowhere he could run. No escape from this place. He had known this for quite some time. Since he had seen his fathers brand new car while they relied on food stamps. Since he had gotten the cops to leave without a second glance on the occasions that the neighbors bothered calling in a domestic disturbance. Since he ran away from the house 10 minutes ago with his fathers blood still staining his knuckles and his threats still ringing in his ears.
It had gone too far this time.
He knew it when it had all gone quiet, when he couldn't hear the screams anymore. He had urged Vika onto Sonya's lap and signaled for Karolina to move from her vigil against the door. He had passed his grandmother on the stairs and she had let him through this time,almost like she knew what was going to happen, like she had been waiting for it. He had made it to the landing and he had seen his father throw his mother onto the floor. Seen him hitting her with the back of one of the kitchen chairs again and again and again. He was going to kill her. He honestly believed he was going to kill her.
Time stopped then. He ran straight at the man he was forced to call his father. The monster that would show up unannounced and bring fear, bruises and that sinking feeling into everyone's stomachs. The tyrant that took whatever he wanted when he wanted it. The asshole that made him feel about as tall as one of Vikas toys. He ran at him with his mamas frying pan clutched between both his hands and he hit him on the back of his head. The monster reeled, turned his bloodshot eyes onto him and he struck again, before he could think about it, before he had time to be scared. The frying pan hit him straight on the nose, blood spurting out like the fire hydrants did when he and the rest of the neighborhood kids would bust them open on a hot day. Behind him he could see his grandmother helping his mother to her feet, trying to get her to go up the stairs while she whimpered. If he could just hold him off, if they could just make it upstairs. But he needn't have worried. The monster was solely focused on him now.
'Come here' it growled
'Come here you little shit.'
It lunged for him but he ducked, shielding himself with the frying pan. He ran towards the kitchen door and threw it open, wanting to run from the storm raging inside his house to the storm raging outside of it. But the monster grabs the back of his shirt and drags him back inside, one hand on the scruff of his neck, the other wrapped around his belt. Everything inside him freezes, paralyzing fear grips him and he grabs onto the kitchen counter, holding the corner nearest to the door, the corner still wet from the dripping dish rack.
The knife is in his hands before he knows it and in a quick twist and lunge his father is roaring in pain,the knife that dripped with water now stains with blood too.
His hands are shaking as blood blooms out of his fathers gut.
'Dima.' A whisper from the stairs. His sisters look at him terrified. His mother is crying, his grandmother still supporting her, wearing a grave expression.
It had gone too far this time.
Above the thunderous noise of their judgment, the storm rages on along with his fathers bellowing threats. How he's going to ruin him. How he's going to the toughest juvenile prison, the worst military school. But the door is still open and so he runs, runs in the vain hope they don't catch him.
Runs on the plea that his life can't be over already, not at thirteen.
The cement wall that blocks up the alley is too high to jump over and the footsteps behind him are getting louder. He tries to pivot, tries to swerve into the shadows and run back the way he came from but a shiny black boot steps in his path.
"I think that is quite enough."
He freezes. His eyes travel upwards past the expensive suit, past the jet black cane with the bejeweled snake head to the sharp angled face with beady eyes. Zmey.
The serpent sees the recognition in the boy's eyes and smiles.
'Gentlemen' he calls back to the three other massive men filling up the alley.
'It seems my reputation precedes me.'
Laughter fills the night and the boy shrinks backwards instinctively, palms pressing into the walls behind him.
Zmey holds his hand up and the laughter stops, his gaze focused on the scrawny, shivering boy in front of him. Too tall for his age, a wild look in his eye and a split lip. Perfect.
'What's your name?' The boy shrinks further into the wall.
'If I wanted to hurt you I would have done so already.' The serpent reasons with him. 'I do, however, want to ask you some questions.'
He takes the boy's silence as an invitation.
"How do you know Senator Ivashkov?" He waits for the boy to confirm his suspicions, for the affirmation that they did, indeed, stumble onto a goldmine tonight. But the boy continues to stare at him, unmoving; almost a trained response to threat.
Interesting.
'Let me tell you how I know Senator Ivashkov. You see the Senator and I did business quite a while back. He bought some things of mine that are very expensive, promised me a lot of money. And so far, I have not seen one drop of that money. Now, I can be a patient man but I don't do well with two kinds of delays: money and information. Repeat that back to me boy. What are the two things I don't tolerate delays in?'
'Money and information' comes the sullen reply.
'Excellent.' Zmey smiles again.
'So you see, the Senator has placed himself very high on my list of…unfavorables for one kind of delay. I suggest…you don't follow his example.'
'He's my father.'
It was the idea of following that man in anything, more than the fear coursing through his body, that made the boy reply.
Zmeys face splits into a grin.
'Interesting' he drawls, dragging his syllables. There's a gleam in his eyes and his accent has thickened.
'Senator Ivashkov. Cum laude graduate from Harvard Law, founder of the Bellemonte Country Club and debonaire family man… has a whole other family with his Mistress and his four bastards in the Roxboro Ghetto.' The men are laughing again and the boy lurches forward, fists balled:
'DON'T CALL US THAT.'
The Men stop laughing. One steps forward but again, Zmey holds up his hand.
"I mean no harm by it, I'm a bastard myself. Wear that title like an armor and few things will hold you back. Besides, the insult here is more on your father, on his lack of morals, his failings.'
'You talk about morals but I know what you do.' The boy called back with attempted bravery, back still firm against a dead end, eyes fierce:
'You sell drugs. Drugs and guns and weapons. Everybody knows it. The Mazurs. The Serpent Gang and you're its leader. Zmey. The Yilan.'
The Serpent smiles.
'You know of my business then. Good. Makes things easier. Before you sit here and vilify me, boy, consider that morality is subjective. You will come to know this…intimately as you grow up in these streets.' He smiles and then raises his voice, the rest of what he has to say is not only directed to him, it is directed to every person looking at him in that alley, every person he wants something from:
'Senator Ivashkov sits in the hallowed halls of power. On a government held up by the supposed principles of honor, truth and justice. Yet where is his honor when it comes to honoring his debts? Where is his honor when he beats a woman and the child he's fathered.' The men are all muttering, nodding their heads, agreeing.
"Where is his truth?" Zmey continues
"When he pushes antidrug legislation so our brothers can rot in prison but is a slave to them himself? Where is the justice-' he paused as the men around him started cheering.
'Where is the justice that holds him up on a pedestal and our brotherhood, our business, our family, is vilified?'
He waits for the cheers to die down then narrows his focus back on the boy:
"You will come to see, boy, that right and wrong. good and evil are all far more intertwined than your narrow society is trying to make you believe.'
'For instance' he continues, closing in towards the boy:
'The women in my family are protected and revered, whereas your mother had to be helped off the floor. My children are all safe and sound. Tucked in their beds as this storm rages on with full bellies and unfearful minds, whereas you…' he reaches for the boy's chin with his cane and tilts his face up to the light. Catching the shadow in his jaw and his split lip. He frowns.
'You are in an alleyway, drenched, hurt and shaking. After stabbing and running from one of the most powerful men in Boston.'
'Yes' he continues, smiling slightly as he sees the panic in the boy's expression.
'Yes. Yes we saw the whole thing. Lucky for you, we were following the Senator to deliver a very similar message of our own only ours would have been a lot more… thorough.'
He waits for the snickering to die down before continuing.
'Given this, we're not really interested in taking his side on the warpath and believe me, after what you did there will be a warpath so why don't you tell us, everything that happened tonight, and we here will decide whether we'll help you and your family, or not.'
The boy knows nothing anymore. He doesn't know what to do. Who to trust, Where to go from here. He knows only two things. Zmey has money, lots of it. And he also does favors.
Maybe this is the only option he has left.
Quietly, haltingly, he begins to tell him.
When he's finished Zmey crouches down and asks him one thing.
'Why did you do it?"
The boy falters, To protect them. To protect all of them and yet somehow it does not feel like enough. Does not feel like the right answer to give to a Serpent who might have enough power to make this all go away. He closes his eyes and tries to think like them, Tries to give them something they can hoot and holler at himself.
'Because….because we protect our own.'
He opens his eyes. The men are grinning. Zmey claps him on the shoulder and says:
'Welcome to the ranks, kid.'
Wait-
"What do you mean?"
"You've successfully passed the test.' Zmey says, that cunning smile a permanent fixture.
"You're one of us now.'"
"But, I thought, you said I could have a favor-"
"And I'm giving it to you." Zmey cuts in again.
"I'm removing the threat of Randall Ivashkov from your life, from all of your lives, actually. Once he knows I have this information as well as his..accumulating debts, he will never darken your doorstep again."
The boy starts breathing sharply, more rapidly. It cannot be true. It's simply too good to be true.
"As well as this I'm offering you and your family my own protection. I am in charge of a considerable network. I can offer you security, make sure you keep your housing after the Senator stops even his meek payments and make sure your family is provided for. I dare say you won't find a better deal than that ever again."
The boy was hard pressed to agree. It felt like a dream. Like the alleyway had opened up and was now a winding road to a freedom he could barely dream of. And yet, and yet-
"This puts me in your debt. What do you want in return?"
The snake smiled, turning back to his pack and raising his eyebrows in approval as some of the chuckled'
'He's a fast learner! Unlike his father."
When that garnered no reaction from him the serpent continued.
" What I want in return, son, is for you to join me. You will stay in the barracks with the other will keep attending your school but in the afternoons we will teach you how to fight, how we defend our own, amongst other things and then, when the time is right, you will come and work for me.'
'What will I be doing?'
'That will be decided according to your skillset." One of the other men spoke this time blue glinting eyes and a scar cutting across his eyebrow.
The boy stared at the ground for a while, thinking. It's stopped raining, he noticed.
'My family…will I get to see them?"
Zmeys smile turns gentle
'Every weekend if you so desire. As well as some evenings after school, provided that you don't miss our lessons and that you sleep at the barracks a few nights a week without fail. Remember of course that should you accept, from this day forward we are your family too. And I like to keep track of my own."
He thought about this, staring at the ground so hard for a minute he thought he could see every little crack in the pavement. Finally he looked up, and cast his last doubt away:
'How do you know he'll leave us alone? How do you know he won't find me?"
Zmey smiled and ran his hand gently over the polished snake head. Its eyes seemed to gleam in the light.
'Let me tell you something about Randall Ivashkov; he is a coward. When your mother, I presume, breaches the topic of his delayed child support payments, he beats her to shut her up. When his son stabs him with a kitchen knife in an act of self defense, he threatens a life spent in Juvenile facilities and military schools because he's terrified of what else you are capable of. But that's all he is, a raging little man with beating fists and empty threats."
He scratched his beard, looking every bit like the thoughtful villain masterminds in his comic books as he continued:
" When I confront him about his debt, he will bluff and buy time. He will give me a pittance of what I'm owed to delay the consequence of his actions. When I threaten to expose everything you have told me tonight he will threaten to expose me,to weave a tale of addiction and falling prey to sin and temptation, stoking this city's fervor, making himself a victim of the big bad Muslim Yilan. That is when I tell him none of that matters; because we have his son now and he works for me. A boy who hates him, who can expose him to his wife, his job, the conservative society that reveres him. That boy has chosen to side with the power that can destroy him. That is when he will fall to his knees and beg at my feet. That is when he will, for once, be in your mercy. That is when he will forever leave you alone".
Silence followed his speech. The boy shakes his head.
'"It seems too good to be true."
Zmey laughs.
"At least we won't have to teach you mistrust. Fate is smiling down on you boy, for once. Do yourself a favor and accept your luck."
"I don't know."
"What on earth do you have to think about? Do you have any other ideas about what you want to do with your life? Any other grand plans my very generous proposition is disrupting?"
"I-no-"
"So? What's stopping you?"
Nothing , nothing was stopping him. He had just mapped out his whole life but he was so tired and so relieved, so so relieved that he couldn't bring himself to care about that.
The boy reaches out his hand and shakes the Serpents gloved one:
"I accept your offer."
The Serpent grins.
"Excellent. Welcome to the family. From now on, you can call me Abe."
He taps his cane once, twice and then as one the men behind him step forward and begin hugging him. They kiss his cheek, they ruffle his hair and they're not judging him, they're not yelling at him or afraid of what he just did. They're welcoming him, welcoming him into their family.
'How old are you son?" Abe asks as they begin to walk out of the alley, a long warm scarf draped around him now to fight off some of the chill:
'Thirteen.' The boy replies.
'Thirteen' Abe echoes smiling. "Only a couple of years younger than my eldest."
Before leaving the alley completely Abe turns back to him once more:
'You never gave me your name."
"Dimitri, sir. Dimitri Belikov"
The Serpent smiles.
"Not, anymore."
Massachusetts, 13 Years Later.
D POV
'Alexei! Grab that load off the truck for me. I can use some help with the heavy lifting''
'Yes boss' I call out to Pavel, smirking as he shakes his head at me. I grab the massive cardboard box and haul it towards the loading space by the warehouse, my breath misting in the frosty air. It was coming up to the middle of March but Winters in Boston are known to be mercurial. One calm stretch before they're back with a vengeance. I set the parcel down and get to work grabbing the remaining ones.
The warehouse located on Pappas Way was one of Abe's legal ventures. A timber company that exported wood prepped for furniture companies all over Europe and some parts of Asia. Of course, the warehouse was occasionally used to package other kinds of goods, but its proximity to the international cargo terminal ensured it remained one of the cleanest locations to conduct business.
Since signing on with Abe thirteen years ago, I had an unfailing roadmap of properties, trade routes, shipment schedules and persons of interest tattooed firmly into my brain that came almost as naturally to me as my fighting abilities. That combination, coupled with what Ibrahim calls a 'stunningly intimidating presence', had me rising in the ranks quickly and I now hold what is considered to be a high paid, more 'cushy' position on the job that brought in more money than my thirteen year old self would have known what to do with. Still, that does not mean that my days doing manual labor have ended. It also doesn't mean I'm safer than the other men. In fact my position, along with personal ties in the family, have placed me near the top of any rival's kill list.
Well, has placed Alexi Lyukov at the top of every rival kill list.
Dimitri Belikov entered that alley the night that I accepted Abe's offer. Alexei Lyukov exited it. A ghost without a paper trail. A member of the Serpents and a life spent fighting for and with the Mazur crime family.
A new name, new papers, passport and driving license. A paper trail all done authentically by inside guys in the government.
According to anyone looking into it, the only similarity Dimitri Belikov and Alexei Lyukov have with each other is that they both grew up in the Roxboro Area. Dimitri Belikov can be traced so far as getting his GED and working in some forgettable steel plant in Malden.
Alexei Lyukov on the other hand is one of Ibrahim Mazur's most wanted henchmen. With enough knowledge of the organization to bring it down from within and enough vendettas between himself and the families of those he's had to kill to cause a bloodbath. He's a man who's constantly on the radar of rival gangs, with a large bounty on his head and a constant search for his weaknesses.
Luckily with this name, they won't find them.
The idea of signing away your name as a thirteen year old boy was a jarring one and it took some getting used to but eventually, I came to savor it.
It was the safest option for my family. My name will not be used as a threat nor a weapon over the people I care about. Dimitri Belikov can still exist, with a paper trail that points to a mundane working class life, and Alexei Lyukov can exist in the sphere of my job, my duty. Someone once told me that what I do doesn't entirely define me and in that way, the separation in my identity has kept me grounded.
Let Alexei Lyukov be the one who lives a life of blackmail, bloodshed and blame. Let him be cold and methodical and work both connections and threat to achieve his means.
Let me be Alexei in this life and Dimitri to the people that matter. It keeps a piece of my life separate. It makes the memories I have with them that much more precious, times where I could shed my identity and just be myself.
It keeps Dimitri Belikov pure, unclaimed. At least as much as he had been at thirteen.
I finish the last of the boxes and dust my hands up. Pavel waits by his truck, foot tapping impatiently on the frosted gravel.
"You're at the club tonight?"
"Yeah I'm on the door" I tell him, grabbing his offered water bottle and draining it. "Anything I should know about?"
"Dragons have been hustling business on our street. Xiang Lin was spotted a block from Eden."
"Yeah" I repeat sardonically. "That's why I'm on the door."
"Good." Pavel nods once. "I'll consider it taken care of."
"As always boss"
He cuts me a look as he gets into the truck.
"The books for this warehouse need completing too."
"Sure," I reply, already turning away.
"See you later, kid." he guns the gas unnecessarily and drives off.
"Prick." I mutter to myself and head into the warehouse.
"At least pretend you're focusing in case my father walks in."
I swipe out of the Instagram profile I was staring at and look up:
"I am focusing."
"Right, except the ledgers upside down Dimitri."
Matthew walks over smiling slightly and swipes the work I was meant to be doing out of my hands. He plops himself in the cold metal seat next to mine and begins crossing out numbers.
I wait.
"So?"
He looks up.
"So what?"
"The meeting?"
"Ah." Matthew sets down the ledger and runs a hand over his face.
"Oh I see. That great."
"Better. Cornelius threatened to call up the President, he's still swearing they were college roommates by the way, and ask him to impose martial law…for his personal safety."
"It's Cornelius's fault for not reading the Constitution."
"It's his mothers fault for calling him Cornelius."
I laugh and clap him on the shoulder as I stand.
"Beer?"
"Hell yeah." I walk over to the mini fridge and take out two Stella's. From the corner of my eye I see Matthew tip back his chair as he rubs his eyes. He hadn't been sleeping well and the meeting today had cost him more than he's letting on. I'll just have to wear him down in time.
At twenty-nine, Matthew Emir Mazur is set to be the primary heir of all the Mazur…enterprises and is Second in Command for the Serpents. He is also the least likely person you would imagine for the job, mostly because the man is genuinely a nice guy. Calm, fair, thoughtful; it's almost laughable when you pair it with his job description.
In many ways, his existence paired with his role in life felt like an anomaly in nature. Like a seed you plant in a hostile environment and watch with amazement as it grows into something bright and totally incongruous with its surroundings.
He doesn't look down at the men and give orders from up high. He looks everyone in the eye and talks to them fairly and firmly if there is a problem. He never forgets important details about a person, no matter how insignificant to the business. The name of their children, their address, where they went on vacation last year. He shields the people he loves from harm, often at his own expense and, he has an apparently never ending well of patience, one that rivals mine entirely and I am not a man who loses control often.
That's not to say he's not good at what he does, just that I can so easily picture him being anything else. A Doctor, a Professor. Ironically I always thought he would make a stellar detective. Instead, life had placed him here. He doesn't necessarily like it, but that does not mean he's not good at it.
On the contrary he's well trained, charismatic and has a natural aptitude for business and strategy. It's that extra dose of straightforward decency, so rare in our world, that makes people trust him all the more. Business partners warm up to him, rivals trust his detentes and our men would gladly die for him.
I don't entirely remember the exact moment we became friends. I think it crept up on me. But, friends we became and now, he's the first person I think of when I think of my family
I expected to hate him when I joined. The Prince who'd had everything handed to him. The little king who probably eats with golden knives and a silver spoon.
But on the first day of training, Matthew quietly slipped in through the back, hands shoved into boxing gloves two sizes too small and began warming up next to me.
The boxing gloves must have hurt him but he finished the whole set silently, without complaint and when Stan, our instructor, wanted to demonstrate that there was no nepotism involved here, made him do an extra, brutal set while the rest of us cooled down, he did so barely flinching.
I found him later, nursing an ice-pack and cracking his knuckles with a pained expression.
"Why did you wear those?"
I had to ask. I was still nursing the last split lip my father had given me and could not understand why anyone would willingly put themselves in pain.
Eying my busted face, he handed me the ice pack and continued stretching his hands.
"My brother has mine. He lost his third pair this week and there's no way they'll get him another one. They'll make him train without so he can learn the value of losing them again and then, he'll end up throwing a hard punch and breaking his hand. So I borrowed my sisters and gave him mine."
He stopped then, looking kind of surprised he had given me an explanation, then shrugged and went back to cracking his hands.
I dropped the ice pack back to his hands and sat down next to him.
It was little moments after that. Laughing together or throwing darts at a picture of Stan. Filling Pavels car up with shredded paper. Eating burgers at the diner near my school and rigging the jukebox.
Inviting him to meet my family on the weekends and staying over at The House, where I ended up moving in at twenty. He had followed me to the barracks one night and saw how I slept a few nights a week. It was one of the few times I've ever seen him truly angry.
His mother had insisted there was no room, despite the three empty guestrooms and the guest house on the property, so Matthew had quietly picked up his car keys and left. He came back an hour later, carrying an IKEA box set for bunk beds through the door. His mother had relented immediately and the empty guest room next to his became my own. That's the thing about Matthew, he lets people know when not to push him.
I hand him his beer and swipe the ledgers back from him. We drink in companionable silence as I finish the ledger. After a while he takes out his laptop and continues developing the images he had been working on since last night.
If reading is the escape that keeps me grounded in this life, photography is his.
I wait a while before bringing it up again.
"Aside from the known theatrics, anything else of note happen at the meeting?"
He cuts me a look.
"The meeting was three hours long, Dima. A lot of things happened. I just don't feel like discussing them."
"Did they say what they will do with the Diablos Boy?'
Diego Don Riguez, leader of the Diablos cartel, was shot down a few weeks ago in neutral territory that was very very close to ours and his teenage son was on the warpath for revenge. Although no evidence other than a decade-long rivalry points to the Serpents as the culprits,the meeting with the stakeholders was held today in fear of potential retaliation.
"What part of I don't want to discuss it do you not-"
"Answer this and I'll let it go, for now."
He shakes his head but compiles.
"Emilio wants to kill Enrique proactively, before he has the time to build his rage with numbers and supplies and come after us."
"And you…"
Silence
"Vetoed it of course"
"You cannot use the brutalities of the past to justify the atrocities of the future."
"A wonderful message you can get tattooed but if there is a threat on your life-"
"There is always a threat on my life you ass. I'm Abe's heir and therefore his key weakness."
He stretches and reaches into the bag he had brought.
"Although personally, I think he would much rather take a bullet for Aidan."
"What a waste that would be."
He rolls his eyes but he's smiling slightly.
"Careful."
If Matthew was kind, patient and fair, his younger brother Aidan possessed all those qualities in reverse, and so so many more.
"I know you're not his biggest fan" Matt continues above the whir of the printer "But the guards outside love him."
"I'm trembling" I shoot back dryly and he laughs
"Don't act like you don't have favorites" I say, crossing yet another incorrect value from the import column. Frank probably did these. The math was abysmal.
"If I had said the same thing about Rose, you would have tackled me out of my seat and punched me in the face, Mattie"
"If you had said the same thing about Rose you would have punched yourself first." he muttered so low, I almost didn't hear him
"What was that?"
"Nothing, Comrade."
"That's what I thought."
There was no good comeback that would handle the nickname. That damned nickname.
Matthew continues like I hadn't spoken:
"Speaking of the devil, the photos I'm developing are from when I went to visit her and Ava for Thanksgiving."
At 17, Rose Mazur had declared that although she loved her family very much she had absolutely no interest or desire in their way of life. She would play her part where she could but she would take herself and her younger sister out of the equation. At 18 she followed through on that decision, packed them up and moved across the country to attend college in California, raising Ava away from the influence of the family business, much in the same way Matthew had attempted to do with Rose.
Ava had been nine when they left but Janine had not put up much of a fight when it came to assigning Rose legal guardianship. Ava Mazur had been the product of a brief fling between Abe and his former secretary when his marriage to Janine fractured after their fourth miscarriage.
The pair got back together eventually, after Ava had been born, and Janine did not begrudge him for it but that did not mean she developed any particular ties to the girl. She tolerated her and was polite, but maternal she was not. Nine years later, Hugo Mazur came along in what was probably a complete accident and completed the family unit once and for all.
"She's still in Venice?"
I knew exactly where she was. But how do you get a conversation to go somewhere without really taking it there?
"Yeah, they've really settled in there. She tried to get me to stay longer. Started bitching at me about my sleeping habits again. Told Ava to hide my return ticket. All in all a great time."
Rose's protectiveness for her eldest brother might rival my own. I was glad for it.
"You probably should have."
"I wish I could."
He picked two of the pictures up and walked over to the corkboard that took up most of the wall in front of me.
Since the Mazur family had amassed a sizable list of enemies over the years it was imperative for their security that each family member and their circle was constantly on our security radar. This cork board had pictures of all five Mazur children, with the members of their respective circles linked around them with red string like spider diagrams.
Smiling, he takes Ava's picture down and replaces it with a newer one in which she's drinking a milkshake bigger than her head. He takes Rose's picture down next, one from her college graduation, and replaces it.
She's on the beach, wayward locks windswept by the sea breeze, laughing as she looks back at the camera. He catches me staring. I glance down at the paper.
"Figured it was time for an upgrade. I took it in Malibu. What do you think?"
'It's a good picture.' I can't breathe when I look at it.
"It is." He agrees indulgently, coating my previous argument on favoritism with ironclad proof.
"Though you've barely looked at it."
"I'm highly trained in observation." I reply, flipping the page to another disastrous set of figures. The idiocy was never ending.
"You know you don't have to update the board constantly?" I continue, as I cross half the page out and start over:
"The images act as placeholders so we can do our job efficiently."
"Actually I do have to update it constantly because someone keeps putting Jessie's face through the paper shredder.'
Jesse Zeklos was Rose's current boyfriend. The son of a Californian Congressman and a douchebag extraordinaire if his Instagram was anything to go by. But he had poured a significant size of his trust fund into scrubbing Matthews' record after he was cornered last year, so naturally we were all very grateful for him.
I keep my eyes trained on the paper.
"Probably your father."
"Sure, let's go with Abe." He puts a photo of Jesse up,I can't help but notice he had not taken himself, then heads over to the fridge and grabs us both another beer.
"Well, whoever it is, is just reflecting public opinion. Mum can't stand him either."
"Your mother can't stand a lot of people." Me included.
He shrugs halfheartedly "She's got layers to her though."
I finish the second page and finally put down the ledger.
"You need to tell me about the meeting. Walk me through the whole thing. I've waited long enough."
'You're like a dog with a bone."
"I was aiming for concern."
"Stop it, you're gonna make me cry."
"Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit."
"No, the lowest form of wit was when Stan found Ketamine in Aidans bag after practice, snorted it thinking it was cocaine and spent our entire session in the fetus position, staring at the void."
I look up as the memory grips me and catch the glint in his eye. We both start laughing.
"He looked like he was having war flashbacks" Matthew says, still snickering as I attempt to calm my breathing.
We sit in comfortable silence before I turn to him again, all traces of mirth vanished.
"Enough stalling."
He sighs
"As you wish."
He walks me through the meeting with practiced thoroughness, Leaving out no detail. I make him do so twice more and by the time we've finished it's dark out.
"And you're sure nothing else was said?" He groans, tipping his chair back and closes his eyes.
"Yes."
"No other threat discussed?"
"No."
"Are you reverting to monosyllables until I finally drop this conversation?"
"Yes."
"Very well." I scan through the ledger again and glance up at the clock.
"I have to go soon anyway. I'm on door duty at Eden"
"Lin shouldn't bother you tonight. I had a talk with him this morning. He's on his way to Hong Kong as we speak."
I smiled. "Still, a shift is a shift."
"What time are you off tonight?"
"I finish up at midnight and then Castile takes the midnight to 3 shift.
"Great. So you'll be free to grab a drink."
"Depends" I reply warily: "Who's coming?"
"Just Ivan, Mark and Kosta. We're going to Spirit."
I groan.
He stands up
"You can attempt to be social, just once in a while."
"I'm plenty social."
"With me."
"What's wrong with that?"
"It is not healthy to have one friend."
"I have other friends. Even more acquaintances. I just don't look for opportunities to spend time with them."
"Getting to know a greater array of people can add meaning to your life."
"I'm not even touching that."
"Are you quoting the way your last date ended?"
I flip him off and he laughs.,
"You're coming tonight. Mark got engaged and he wants to celebrate."
"So, who invited me?"
"Mark!"
"Right. Send him my regrets."
"What happened to never not drinking on a Friday?"
"First of all, we made that pact eight years ago. Second of all, what we just did technically counts as drinking on a Friday."
"Not really, I didn't smoke your ass in pool."
"It's not my fault you're a glutton for punishment."
We close up together and walk towards our cars.
"I really want you there." He says suddenly, uncharacteristically serious.
I stop. Assess him. There's something he's not telling me but I let it go for now. Whatever it is, didn't come up in the meeting, It was personal. He'll tell me in his own time.
"Well that's all you had to say." I say lightly, unlocking my car. "I'll be there at half 12"
"Thanks man, really."
"Don't be stupid."
"Don't be late."
"Wouldn't dream of it." I shoot back dryly and he laughs as he shut the door behind him.
I would replay that moment for the rest of my life.
The hospital parking lot is full but I speed straight to the entrance curb and throw the doors open. I don't remember to lock. I leave the car running. We'll laugh about it later.
I sprint inside. Pushing disgruntled old men, hissing women and sniffling children out of the way as I pound my fist on the window of the nursing station.
The woman inside jumps and puts down her phone.
"Can I help you Sir?!"
"I'm here for Matthew Mazur."
"Who?"
"Matthew. Mazur. I'm his emergency contact."
I wait as she looks him up. The TV in the corner of the emergency room is switched onto Fox News and I catch snippets of the same fucking report I heard on the car radio.
'Reports of a car bomb on Warrenton.
…
Matthew Mazur, heir of Mazur enterprises, allegedly at the scene.
…
The following images may be disturbing to some of our viewers so viewer discretion is advised
….
Cellphone footage documenting scenes of jubilation from rival gangs at the scene of the crime before first responders arrived at the scene
…
Victim transported to MGH as we wait for further details.
I tune it out as best as I could. He was fine. I had seen him a few hours ago. There was probably an attempt. There were always attempts but he's used a decoy before, we'd talked about decoys before.
An older nurse steps out of the office now.
"Your name sir?"
Dimitri Belikov. Sorry, Alexei Lyukov. I'm here for Matthew Mazur, I'm his emergency contact. Look, I've said this all before just tell me how he is so I can go in and see him.
"Sir, please, try to calm down and come with me."
Finally.
I race ahead of her as she walks, steps confident and try to regulate my heartbeat.
We walk down the corridor and I speed up as I remember the hospital layout. Left for the trauma center, right for the morgue. I veer left when the turn approaches and I'm nearly bursting through the doors when I hear a soft voice behind me.
"Sir."
I look back. The older nurse. I had forgotten about her. But she's not turning with me. She's standing frozen on the crossroads, facing right.
I stalk back towards her.
"What the hell is going on? What are you playing at?"
"Sir, I'm very sorry. But as an emergency contact, we need you to identify the body."
"WHAT BODY?" I roar, slamming my fist into the wall and she flinches backing up.
"WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?"
Another nurse walks up to us.
"What on earth is going on here?!"
The older nurse turns to her.
"Mr Lyukov is here to identify the body. He's an emergency contact."
The other nurse shakes her head.
"That won't be necessary. His other emergency contact has already identified the deceased.'
The deceased. What the fuck is going on.
"WHAT ARE YOU SAYING? WHAT EMERGENCY CONTACT? I'M THE EMERGENCY CONTACT. I CAME TO 'IDENTIFY' HIM AND I'M TELLING YOU, THERE IS NO BODY. THERE'S BEEN A MISTAKE.
'Sir please, I understand how hard this must be for you but please, his emergency contact is inside with him right now-
"WHAT EMERGENCY CONTACT GODDAMMIT? WHO THE HELL ELSE KNEW ABOUT THIS BEFORE I DID?"
"Sir-"
"No, I'm telling you, there's been a mistake. Trust me. This- it's not uncommon in our line of work. Let me me see him and I-"
"Sir-"
'You don't understand-"
"Dimitri."
The world stops.
Slowly I turn away from the nurse. Turn towards the sound of my name. Turn towards the small, hunched figure making her way out of a small room labelled 'Family Counselling', flanked by two new nurses on either side.
No
"Roza." I breathe, taking her in, the blood shot eyes, the nurses gripping her arms from either side.
No
"Let go of her." I growl, stalking towards them, they do so immediately and cower backwards. I reach her:
"Roza what happened?"
She glances at me briefly then her gaze moves slowly back to the senior nurse. Her voice comes out, quiet and steady:
"You don't need him to identify the body. I'm his sister. It's him."
Silence. There's only silence and the ringing that echoes in your ears after an explosion.
No
"It's him" Rose says again, breath quickening.
One of the nurses steps forward: "We know, sweetheart." but she pays them no attention.
She's looking at me now.
"It's him, It's…it's him. IT'S HIM. IT'S HIM. DIMITRI IT'S HIM. DIMITRI-"
Her legs give out and I catch her, holding onto her as she screams and the world around us implodes.
AN:/ Hello! I'm Maddy. For long time readers in the fandom, you might have seen me on Lauren's or the occasional author note in Lauren Pa.t.r.e.o.n or Meg's stories. This is a story I have been working on for a while. I have always wanted to write the Mazurs as a larger family with the twisted family dynamic of being mob bosses. i have always wanted to explore a world in which Rose has the power that could truly have come from being Ibrahim Mazur's daughter. A world where she's connected to her heritage and leverages everything she has to play the game to survive. A world where the darker parts of her personality can fully be explored. I started writing this for my friend Megan but then decided it's a story I really wanted to tell.; I would not have gotten here at all if it wasn't for the epic support of my friends so: Lauren, Meg and Liz, primarily, Thank you. Ily. Can't wait to keep playing and brainstorming with you. This is going to be fun.