but it would be a wasteland by the end of it, a ghetto
where no one wanted to raise their kids or run a
business. I’d failed Rico, my best friend, abandoned him
for a woman and put him in an unwinnable position.
He’d likely die, in the war to come. As would all my
men.
I’d lost everything. I’d been fighting my whole life and
now I couldn’t fight at all. I didn’t have anything to fight
for. I felt utterly cold inside, save for one bright spark.
Irina.
We couldn’t stop the war, now, but maybe, when this
was all over, I could contact her and convince her to run
away with me. It was a slim hope, but it was all that
kept me going.
My phone rang. I pulled it out. “Yeah?”
I knew it was her as soon as she breathed. That’s how
well I knew her, now: I could see the tremble of her lips
as she inhaled, feel the rise of her firm breasts against
my chest. I knew it was her and I knew she was on the
edge of tears. “Irina?”
“...I need to go away,” she said at last. Her voice was
haunting, deep dark pain dredged up from her soul and
shaped into words. “Back to Moscow.” She inhaled again
and I heard her voice catch. “I can’t see you again.”
What? There was an iron band around my chest and it
was slowly constricting. I sank down and sat on the
grass, the snow soaking through my jeans. “Why?”
She took a deep, pained breath. “Too many people are
going to die. Yuri will probably die. Because of us.”
“But...us being apart: that won’t change anything!”
“No. But maybe it’ll make it right. We should never have
been together. I should be with a Russian. You should
find some Italian girl.”
“I don’t want some Italian girl!”
“We don’t get to choose, Angelo. This isn’t a fairy tale
and people like us don’t get happy endings. We do what
we have to do.” Her voice caught again. “I’m going.
Stay safe.”
“Irina—”
“Goodbye.” And the line went dead. I sat there staring
at the phone, snowflakes drifting down to melt on the
screen. What?!
I called her back. She didn’t answer. I tried again and
again until she finally turned her phone off.
It made no sense. Not unless the others—Rico and
Vasiliy and Yuri—had been right all along. Not unless
this thing we had was stupid and impossible and she’d
finally woken up to all that.
What if they were right? What if I’d been lost in some
fucking romantic dream that was never going to end
well? What if I’d lost everything...for nothing? People
like us don’t get happy endings.
That last spark of light and warmth went out and I just
went...cold.
I got up and started to walk towards the city, but I’d
stopped noticing how tired my legs were, or how bitterly
cold the air was. I started to see why Irina liked the cold
so much. If you got cold enough, you stopped feeling
anything.
It was late morning by the time I stumbled into Little
Italy. I saw the smoke and the blue and red lights long
before I got there. Russian gangs were out: not just
Mikhail’s people but the street rats, the hangers-on,
anyone who had an axe to grind or who just wanted a
good fight. They ran straight past me. I was covered in
snow, my neck was bloody and I was stumbling along
on legs I could barely feel anymore. They probably
mistook me for a homeless guy who’d been mugged.
I looked at the streets I’d once ruled. There was the
coffee shop where the owner had given Irina and me an
espresso. There was the indoor market where a lady
had wrapped a scarf around my neck. Everything was
either burning, smashed or daubed with graffiti.
I had to know why. I didn’t understand what Irina had
done to me. I remembered being strong, being
unbeatable. I’d once accused her of working witchcraft
on me and that’s what it felt like, like she’d reached
right down into my heart and rewired it so I only cared
about her. She was gone, but that didn’t change the
way I felt. I needed to understand.
Two hours later, my feet numb from trudging through
the snow, I reached her house. I knew she wouldn’t be
there but maybe her roommate would know how to get
in touch with her. I hammered on the door until it finally
swung open.
“Jesus,” said Rachel when she saw me. I guess I’ve
looked better.
“Where’s Irina?” I asked. “What happened to her?”
“What happened to you?” She looked me up and down.
I followed her gaze. My jeans and jacket were covered
in snow and soaked through. My neck was caked in
dried blood and I was still covered in bruises and cuts
from what had happened at the construction site. I
wasn’t intimidating, anymore. That day when I’d met
her at the ballet felt like a million years ago.
“I thought you guys always wore suits?” Rachel asked
before I could speak again.
I blinked. “Us guys?”
“Gangsters.” She looked me dead in the eye. “I’m not a
complete moron. I know what you are. And I know
what those Russian guys are. And since one of them is
Irina’s uncle, I guess she’s one, too.” She crossed her
arms. “Is she okay?”
Irina had underestimated her. I had, too. “I don’t think
so,” I said at last. And as I said it, I realized it was true.
“Something’s wrong. She broke up with me, but...I think
she was lying.” I winced. I sounded like a deluded ex
who couldn’t take the bad news. Every time I met this
woman, I came across like some crazy stalker.
But Rachel didn’t slam the door in my face. She looked
at me steadily, appraisingly. “You might be right,” she
said. “She came back here to pack her bags a few hours
ago. With that Russian guy.”
“Vasiliy? Her uncle?”
“No. The creepy one.”
“Mikhail?”
“Yeah. And they were going to his place next, so he
could pack. They’re going to Moscow together.”
I balked. “You mean...traveling together?”
But she shook her head. “No, like together, together.
Like she’s moving in with him. I heard him telling her
what to pack. Like, you won’t need those. I’ll buy you a
better pair of those.”
The room seemed to tilt and spin. Irina was with
Mikhail? That made no sense. I’d seen how much she
hated him. She wouldn’t agree to be with him unless….
I replayed her phone call in my head. We do what we
have to do, she’d said.
I suddenly wanted to throw up. She was being forced
into it. Blackmailed into it. And given that Vasiliy knew
about Irina and me, there was only one bit of
information Mikhail could be holding over her: he knew
I’d stabbed Yuri.
That tiny spark of light inside me re-ignited and this
time it flared and caught, expanding until it filled me
with scalding, raging fire. I had something to fight for
again.
I stood up straight for the first time in hours, ignoring
the pain in my back, and grabbed Rachel’s shoulders.
“You said they went to Mikhail’s place?” I snapped.
She nodded. And swallowed. I was back to being
intimidating again.
“Do you know where it is?” I tried to soften my voice a
little. “Rachel, you have to trust me: she doesn’t want to
be with that guy.”
She hesitated, then nodded. “I know,” she said in a
small voice. “She wants to be with you. But I don’t
know where Mikhail lives. I’m sorry.”