Leather & Lace

“It seems your Bratok are not as loyal as you’ve been led to believe my friend,” my father welcomed us home with a grin, his aged teeth hidden partly beneath his silver mustache. My brother Viktor and I entered the study, forcing Sergei, a top Brigadier in a rival gang to his knees in front of the smiling man. Papa sat in his favorite overstuffed maroon chair nonchalantly. His sterling hair was slicked back smoothly, and his lined tan skin contrasted heavily with the leather material. It was not a coincidence it was the shade of fallen blood. My father was a ruthless man but had not asked for this position. Before he was Godfather, he and my mother had lived just outside of Moscow, happy to raise Viktor and I in the countryside away from the family politics. He rose to Pakhan of house Volkov after both his eldest brother and father died in a shoot-out, leaving the family with no one else to lead. We moved to America the day after the funeral, my father no longer the same man.

The Volkov’s were one of the most well-known mob families in the United States, controlling a majority of the east and even some territories in the motherland and Papa would see to it that it remained that way. Our surname translated to wolf, and my father had earned his title a thousand times over since he took over. He had singlehandedly hunted down the men who had taken his family’s lives and sent what was remaining when he was done with them to their loved ones.
Papa had been working against a rival family for weeks for control over a nearby city and finally made headway, capturing one of their top captains.

The man spit a red-tinged wad of saliva onto the expensive persian rug that decorated the hardwood floor, smirking up at the Godfather with a confident bloody grin but remaining silent. I privately thanked the good lord my mother wasn’t around; she’d have slit his throat herself for his disrespect. My father said nothing, slightly crinkling his crooked nose- an injury from a fight with an adversary he had once explained to us. Instead of having it set, he wore the injury proudly as a reminder.

“You know all it took was the promise of money and whores to get them to turn against you?” Papa informed him, lifting a weathered hand to his face to stroke his facial hair as he returned our prisoner’s amused smile. I could barely see the look on the man’s face from where I stood but I could feel his sureness falter slightly. My father was once a fighter, deadly with steel of all kinds and could still outshoot all of us; however, he knew his limits and depended on his four sons for muscle anymore. That didn’t mean he didn’t have a tongue as sharp as any knife though.

Sergei muttered something in the native tongue, allowing his head to fall. To know his own men turned against him for such frivolous things. It was the ultimate embarrassment; salt in his wounds. My father knew better than anyone I knew how to break a man.

“You have something to say hm?” My father crossed his legs, his shiny black loafers only inches away from the man’s face. A memory flashed through my mind the moment they glinted in the lamp light.

I was eight years old and my youngest Nikolai and I had acted foolishly at the Sunday service.

The moment we were back home, Papa had us stand with our noses to the wall in the den stripped down to nothing but our undergarments, our eldest brother Viktor and the second youngest Grigori fearfully watching from a few feet away.

“Demetri do you love your little brother?” Papa asked me simply. I dared not look behind me as I heard the slide of his leather belt leaving his pants. I was shaking like a leaf.

“Yes Papa,” I managed, trying to get a grip on the fear gripping my chest like a vice.

“If you loved him, why would you do something to hurt him? You know how you are expected to act young man as well as the punishment. And at church no less. And yet you encouraged him to not only make a fool of himself and you but of this family. Are you not loyal to your family?” Papa was behind me now and I could smell his sharp aftershave.

“No Papa I am loyal, I am loyal!” my heart ached with not only the fear of being beaten by my father but the idea that he somehow found me to be disloyal to my family, something that he had drilled into us was more important than life since the day we were born. It was family or death he would tell us.

“Then I will let you decide my son, who will be punished? Would you take the punishment for your brother? Would you die for your family?” he was in my ear now, his whiskers tickling my ear as he leaned in and waited for my answer.

“Yes Papa I would die for my family. Punish me please!” I begged him, willing for him to see my sincerity as tears slid down my face, the dread of getting whipped losing to the greater fear of being ostracized by my loved ones.

“You will take your punishment like a man Demetri. Like a Volkov. You will not put your brothers-your family in harms way. You would rather die first,” he commanded, his voice harsh but smooth. “Now repeat.”

“I will take my punishment like-like a man,” I managed shakily before the belt hit me square in the back.

I didn’t remember the beating. I only remember waking up on the floor to white hot searing pain radiating from my shoulders to my thighs and opening my eyes to see my father’s black shiny loafers inches away.

“Do not put your family in harm’s way again.” I watched through the tear blurred eyelids as they walked out of my line of sight. “Remember your brother’s allegiance Nikolai. And let this be a lesson to all of you.”

I shook away the memory with a shiver. I never made the same mistake twice. My father had made sure none of us did. As we grew, he personally saw to our training; long hours of various firearm handling, fighting, and anything else he thought would teach us to be successful mobsters. Our mother only intervened when we could physically no longer stand, soothing us with words of encouragement and a kind hand.

We had become everything he could’ve wanted and more, each of us better than the next. We were his pride and joy he often exclaimed to us. We would bring great honor to our family name and uphold its virtues and power over these lands. We were his soldiers, his brotherhood. We would do anything our father asked of us without question. Just as we were doing now.

“I said fuck you Volkov scum,” he spoke up, a renewed sense of energy as he lifted his head to meet my father’s eyes. The comment brought me back from the memory and I started to raise my hand to strike him but my father waved his hand at me dismissively.

“Viktor, Demetri, take our friend for a drive,” Papa gave Sergei a glinting smile and waved us off. We dragged him up until he was standing, only glancing back to nod at the Pakhan- who gave us the smile of a proud father as we left his sight.

***

“Allie would you please hurry. I’d like to go home tonight!” my boss complained loudly behind me as I rolled silverware. I had to resist the urge to roll my eyes, mumbling quietly to myself about how it would go faster if he would get his fat ass up and help me.

Just as I finished the last roll and got it put away, I glanced up to see him impatiently tapping on the glass of the front door with his back to me.

“Fuckin prick,” I hissed to myself. I couldn’t wait to be done with this shit job. I quickly gathered up my bag and threw on my coat, just as eager to be out of this grease trap as he was. It was going on close to midnight and I needed to get home and feed my dog.

Ruger was for all intents and purposes my soulmate. After years of unsatisfying relationships, I’d decided to get a dog and swear off men. I scoured the newspapers and craigslist ads for weeks. I found the dogs cut but none of them seemed like ‘the one’. I didn’t really know what I was looking for, but I had a feeling I would know when I found it. Eventually I did; a European Rottweiler had been dropped off at a shelter a few miles away and was scheduled to be euthanized if no one adopted him. They estimated he was around two or three and had shiny black fur with the classic russet markings along his scarred muzzle, eyes, and chest with deep brown almond shaped eyes. He was a hundred and thirty pounds of muscle and wasn’t good with cats or small animals and was definitely a one-person dog, preferably a woman with no children. There was something about those intelligent pleading eyes that sang to me. I went and adopted him the same day, spending my last few hundred dollars on the stoic dog. We didn’t bond immediately, he was very aloof and preferred to spend the day guarding the door, as if waiting for someone to dare enter our home. I didn’t mind earning his love and trust though, spending every dollar I had that wasn’t spent on bills and food on spoiling my boy. I’d rescued him from that shelter that day and he’d singlehandedly brought me out of a depressive episode, giving me a sense of purpose and a reason to try again tomorrow.

Then one night, a man broke into my apartment. Ruger had leapt to attention, shooting out of the bedroom like a bullet from a gun and attacked; the sound of his snarls and the man’s screams waking me from a dead sleep. Once he’d managed to disentangle himself, the robber had stabbed my poor dog in the side and managed a get-away. Ruger had spent three days in the ER, the vet amazed he’d lived from the blood loss and said he’s the luckiest dog ever; any closer to the left and it would’ve pierced right through his liver. From the day I brought him from the hospital forward, he slept in my bed cuddled right up to me and insisting with a tugging paw I let him under the covers. I joked with him often that he put on a big bag persona to everyone else, but he was quite the needy baby when it was just us.

I began the walk back to my apartment. It was a few blocks away, just before the shipping yard. It wasn’t a bad place mostly during the day, the apartment complex even had a pool and a small dog park although Ruger and I tended to stick to ourselves. It was nights like this I wished I had him with me, the rain was just a light mist, but the concealing darkness was everywhere.

Deciding against my usual alley shortcuts, common sense told me to stick close to streetlights and the main road for safety. I passed two big men dressed in black from head to toe, struggling to get something out of the trunk of their car. I noticed the song ‘Escape’ by Rupert Holmes wafting through the speakers of the still running vehicle and I smiled to myself. That was one of my favorite songs.

“Can we help you?” one of the men asked in a gruff Russian accent, snapping sharply to glance in my direction.

“Oh uh, sorry. I like your music,” I managed, tripping over my words at the sudden question, stopping to face them to be polite. They both had stopped to watch me now although I couldn’t really make out their facial structures in the shadows. I was beginning to feel like a little rabbit caught in the gaze of two predatory animals much bigger than myself.

“What?”

“You-your music. I’m a huge eighties music fan. Sorry…”

The taller of the two muttered something to his friend I didn’t catch. I turned to continue walking when suddenly I noticed we weren’t alone. There were four men walking towards us. I took a hesitant step back when I noticed the glint of metal.

Guns.

“Gun!” I yelled to the two men beside me. One of the men cursed loudly in what sounded like Russian before a hand was gripping my forearm and pulling me towards the car before I could react. Just as I was getting ready to work up a scream, a hand clamped over my mouth and the sound of bullets roared through the air as I was slammed against what felt like a wall of bricks. I could feel my eyes get huge and my heart was hammering in my chest wildly as I tried desperately to look around, unable to decipher what was going on. My back was crushed against one of the men, his arm wrapped around me, the hand held to my face restricting all movements.

“Shut up woman!” The man who held me snapped, ducking down and taking me with him, pushing me into the open backseat of the car and pulling out a silvery gun of his own to return fire on our unknown assailants before shutting the door behind me. I landed on the smooth leather with a thud, instinct screaming at me to stay low to the ground. Were these men kidnapping me or trying to help me? Amidst all the noise, I could hear sirens in the distance.

“Oh thank God,” I whispered to myself as the two men fired a few more times each before leaping into the car, filling the small space with the smell of smoke and something else I couldn’t place at the moment.

They began speaking in Russian and by the sounds of it they were arguing as the driver threw the car into reverse, nearly slamming into a streetlamp behind us before quickly shifting to drive and taking off with a roar of the engine.

“Stay low,” the passenger commanded, his face turned slightly towards me although I didn’t need any direction. I was wedged uncomfortably between the bottom of the seat and back of the driver side seat, trying to make myself as small as possible.

The driver hissed something I didn’t understand as we left the scene, the sound of bullets fading into the background slowly but surely. The passenger managed to keep a much calmer tone, replying as if they were talking about the weather. I slowly inched up from my hiding place, settling in the middle seat.

“Um, hey so not to interrupt but can you guys just drop me off around the corner? I live right down the street actually,” I interjected quickly. I really really needed to get home. Call the police. Feed my dog.

They ignored me as if I’d said nothing and continued to talk. The driver threw up a thumb towards me and said something accusingly to his partner. Oh great they were talking about me.

“How rude,” I mumbled to myself, crossing my arms, turning to glance out the window as the passing scenery. I had no idea where these men were taking me, nor what their intentions were. I wasn’t sure if it was the shock or my own stupidity, but I felt like I should be more afraid. But the idea of Ruger being home alone and hungry while I sat here and listened to these two go back and forth lit a fire deep in my belly.

I decided to try again.

“Hey scary Russian dudes, can you please stop the fuckin car? I need to get home!” I said with as much authority as I could muster. That seemed to get their attention.

“Do you have a death wish?” the passenger asked me, turning around in his seat to look at me. I could somewhat make out his features now. He had an angled face with a jaw line for days under the five-o clock shadow that covered his mandible, a strong masculine nose, and a pair of dark eyes.

He was hot. Like model hot.

“Um, no…” I was caught off guard, shrinking back from his words.

“They think you’re with us. If we leave you behind now, they’re going to come after you and do things that you can’t even imagine. Do you want that?” He asked, still staring at me with those deep dark eyes. I was doing my best to not become entranced in them. It was like glancing into two pools of inky water and I was getting warm just wondering how deep those pools went.

The driver murmured something, and Mr. Hot Guy slapped him on the shoulder, earning a pained grunt before turning his attention back to me. The city was melting behind us now.

“Please cooperate,” he said, giving me an expression that was half stern parent and half pleading before turning to sit fully in his seat.

I hung my head in defeat, there wasn’t much I could do. We were going too fast for me to attempt to jump from the car and I had a feeling these two would just drag me back anyway. I just had to hope for the best.

I glanced over and saw my purse sitting to my left and I got an idea. My phone had slid out onto the ground, I could see the cracked screen glinting in the passing overhead lights as we zoomed underneath them.

Glancing up to make sure they weren’t watching, I started to lean down to grab it. If I could just dial 911, I wouldn’t even have to talk. Just keep it on long enough for them to track my location and I would be saved!

I had just felt the cool glass against my fingertips when I heard Mr. Hot Guy clear his throat. I looked up to see him watching me like a hawk.

“Hand it over little lamb.”

It was not a suggestion.

I sighed and picked it up, placing it in his open palm like a child who’d been caught with a hand in the cookie jar. I watched in horror as he rolled down his window and lightly tossed my lifeline out onto the highway. I flipped in my seat to glance out the back window just in time to see the semi-truck behind us crush it under its front tire.

I groaned aloud. It had taken me a dozen extra shifts at work to buy that.

“Fuckin’ asshole,” I hissed in his direction, crossing my arms again in anger. We exited the highway, now deep in the country. I didn’t even recognize the highway signs, silently cursing myself for not getting out more and not having a single clue which direction was home.

Soon we pulled into what looked like a long driveway, lined on either side with tall fencing and thick bushes to hide the property’s contents. We stopped at a guarded gate.

Oh great. That doesn’t scream evil James Bond villain at all. So, either I’m being sold into slavery or I’m probably going to become a drug mule. I tried to ignore the growing sense of paranoia and dread that was blooming in my chest.

The gate opened with a loud buzz, revealing a lavish lawn that went on for miles. I tried not to gasp at the house.

No.

This wasn’t a house. This wasn’t that at all. This was a castle.

It was huge, with lights illuminating the entire front of it and clearly showing off the architecture regardless of the fact it was pitch black outside. It was composed of mostly what looked like large white bricks, complete with an enormous decorative pond in front and tall dark spires on each of the points of roofing. There were no cars parked in front, but many lights inside the structure were on, softly enlightening their contents. The entire portion of road from here on was cobblestone. The entire thing had a very European feel to it.

We didn’t even stop, going straight behind the mansion to a hidden garage where we parked quickly, lurching to a stop and causing me to nearly lose my balance.

“You can explain this one to Papa dear brother,” the driver said softly, turning off the car and making his way through what I assumed was the door to the inside without so much as another glance. If these guys were brothers, I trembled to think what their father might be like.

Mr. Hot Guy let out a long sigh and opened his door, taking a moment to straighten the black leather jacket he wore before opening my car door and reaching a hand out as if to ask for my hand silently.

I scrambled back quickly, not thinking. My back quickly hit the door behind me, the vinyl digging into my skin as I tried to put as much space between the two of us. The shock was finally wearing off, replacing itself quickly with the feeling of self-preservation. It opened suddenly, dumping me unceremoniously onto the hard concrete of the garage. I scrambled to get my feet under me, but he was faster. Sliding over the hood of the car, he was on me in an instant. The look on his face said no more mister nice guy and that assumption was quickly confirmed as he yanked me up starkly by the upper arm like I weighed nothing.

“You. Will. Behave.” He growled through clenched teeth before toting me off towards my unknown fate.