The Last Hope

7

Nikolaï

"Oh my god, I can't believe I missed that!" Roman laughs again, slouched on the couch, while Sasha paces behind him with an ice bag on his jaw. "Sasha getting beaten by a woman half his size."

I growl, rubbing my face. My head feels like it's about to explode with Roman's laughter, Sasha's grumbling, and, most importantly, Andrei's cries from upstairs, where Elif is trying to console him.

"Roman, shut up! And Sasha, are you sure it was her?" I say, sitting up as tense as a bowstring.

"Don't mistake me for something I'm not, moy brat," my brother vehemently replies. "It was Antonio Rasili's wife, and that gadyuka, if I get my hands on her..." he growls.

I sigh and stand, walking towards the bay window overlooking the vast garden, the pool below, and further out, the sea. Sochi was our mother's favorite city, which is why my father built this immense estate for us to live in. Since then, we've been here, although we make frequent trips to the United States for business, specifically in California, our main base. From there, we control Arizona and New Mexico, we personally handle affairs in the West, while Smirnov and Kuznetsov, two loyal branches of the Bratva, manage our territories in the East, spanning from South Carolina to Louisiana, including Florida. Unfortunately, our Northern territories are not extensive. Only Montana and Minnesota were under our control, and they posed risks being surrounded by the Italian vermin.

"She was injured," Sasha adds behind me, cutting off Roman's laughter. I feel my anger rise and turn slowly toward my brother. "Injured?" I ask.

"Yes, her fingers were broken, I think," he replies, tossing the ice bag onto the custom-made marble table Elif had commissioned, and he sits down next to Roman.

She's here in Russia, probably with her child, injured, fingers broken. I massage my neck, jaw clenched, and now it's me pacing as Grigori enters the room, ending his call.

"Ali said Rasili cut the evening short, disappeared after we left, and his cousin managed the guests," he says, hands in his pockets. "Probably went in search of his wife, I hope this won't cause us proble..."

"We have to find them," I state without even thinking, my three brothers looking at me, perplexed by my sudden determination.

"You don't listen when I speak, moy brat. I said not to cause problems, and you suggest going after Rasili's wife!" Grigori snaps, arms wide. "This is not the time to antagonize the Italians, Nikolaï!"

"Antagonize the Italians? That son of a bitch broke that woman's fingers, Grigori! And worse, I saw the marks on her arms last night, so did Elif..."

"I know," my brother interrupts. "I'm not blind, moy brat, but it doesn't mean her husband is the violent one. Maybe she ran away to find her lover, perhaps her marriage was arranged with Rasili, and she fled. There could be a hundred reasons. Let's not get entangled."

I shake my head, turning away. Do nothing? Because I'm afraid of trouble? And then, could I look at myself in the mirror and say I'm a man?

"Don't get involved if you don't want to, moy brat, but I'm going to find them," I say, grabbing my jacket from the arm of the chair and heading towards the exit. Grigori grabs my arm, stopping me. "Don't do anything foolish, Nikolaï," he growls. I free myself from his grip, jaw clenched, and move past him toward the door, followed by Sasha and Roman.

"Are you sure this is the right address?" Roman asks, his head popping between my seat and Sasha's behind the wheel. The three of us gaze at the rundown building that's supposed to be a motel, according to the half-illuminated Russian sign.