I mentally filed through encouraging uplifting things he could say in church while he spoke, I could at least multi task that way.
“…she’s dead.”
“Wait…” It was getting hard to breath. “Who’s dead?”
“Andi… your sister. She died.”
“My sister?”
“Not your full sister, by blood.” Nikolai’s eyes searched mine. “Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“The one you said didn’t die when she was a baby? She was adopted instead?” I shook my head, no wait that made no sense. “But now—now she is dead? How did she die?”
“Leukemia….” Nikolai reached for my hand. “And, Maya, I don’t know how to tell you this, but she wasn’t adopted. She was Petrov through and through.”
“What exactly are you saying?” I jerked my hand back.
“Your mother bore you.” Nikolai nodded. “But your father… is not your father.” His eyes fell to our hands, he grabbed my fingers again and squeezed. “Your mother had an affair before she became pregnant with Andi, your father, once he discovered who you truly belonged to, gave Andi away as a punishment to your mother, used her as leverage.”
“But why?” I was trying to process the information but it was as if a bomb had just exploded in my mind. I’d always known about my sister but she’d been gone at such a young age and the one time I had asked about her, I’d been told she was dead. I’d just assumed… now I don’t know what I assumed. Whenever I tried to conjure up memories of my past it was a giant blur as if I had some sort of mental block.
And my father? The man who had basically sold me into slavery wasn’t even mine? How was that fair? On one end, I was thrilled that I shared no blood with the man who’d sell me to a complete stranger, on the other hand, a sense of loss hit me square in the chest. Where did I even belong?
“Does it really matter?” Nikolai’s dark brown eyes searched mine. “The point is this… your sister, the very sister that you are related to, through your mother, is gone, and we will be attending the funeral.”
Too many thoughts jumbled in my head. I wanted to mourn her, but how did I mourn someone I didn’t really remember? How did I do her justice? This life that was taken? “She was young wasn’t she? I remember that much.”
“Twenty-two.”
My stomach clenched. “Was there a chance I could have…?” I couldn’t form the words as tears welled in my eyes. So young. She was so young.
“No.” Nikolai pulled me into his arms and hugged me tight. “You were not a bone marrow match.”
“How do you know?”
Nikolai ran his hands along the scars on my arms and whispered. “I’m a doctor… and as you know I’ve worked very closely with your father over the last ten years. I have ways of finding out such things.”
I wasn’t entirely satisfied with his answer. “I have… so many questions. What was she like? Did she have a boyfriend? Was she—?”
“Please find your seats for the final descent into Chicago,” the captain said over the intercom.
I buckled my seatbelt, missing the click three times before Nikolai finally took pity on me and buckled it up then pulled it tight. I felt like a little kid who was getting fussed over.
“Don’t cry.” Nikolai’s thumbs wiped away the tears I didn’t even realize had fallen. “She had… the most beautiful ending.”
“A beautiful ending?”
“A happy one… bittersweet.” Nikolai nodded. “And I think you’d be relieved to know your father was never able to break her or her husband.”
“Husband?” She was married?
“Sergio Abandonato.” Nikolai smirked.
Why did that name sound so familiar?
“Stop frowning so much.” Nikolai said in a teasing tone. He was doing that more and more this trip, it made me wonder what had shifted so much in the past few hours that he wasn’t all doom and gloom like he’d previously been. Maybe he took a nap too? “He’s cousin to one of the most powerful mafia families in the states.”
“More powerful than—?”
“Yes,” Nikolai growled. “But in a more… professional way, if that makes sense.”
“No. It makes no sense.” Nothing made sense anymore, nothing.
“Your father would shoot one of his own men in cold blood. Hell, he’d shoot your mother and not even blink, simply wipe the prints from his gun, hand it to his right hand man, march off and allow the birds to desecrate her body.”
A strong shudder rippled through my body.
“The Italians?” Nikolai said their name almost… reverently, accompanied by a soft sigh. “They would only kill blood if they had no choice, and even then, they say a prayer over them once the blood runs cold… and give the right of burial to the family. That is true professionalism, in a world surrounded by crime and murder.
The plane landed with a loud thunk. I gripped Nikolai’s right arm, having trouble processing his words that continued to tumble over each other in my head.
We were meeting The Italians.
My sister was involved with them.
Nikolai was involved with them.
My father wasn’t my father.
And the sister I’d thought had been dead, lost to me forever—hadn’t been, but now she really and truly was gone.
What was I supposed to do with all of this information? How was I supposed to keep myself from having a nervous breakdown?
I took a few deep breaths. Whatever the case, I was still Russian, and Russians didn’t cower when faced with impossible circumstances, I knew that much about my heritage, about my blood.
I’d stand.
I’d walk to the airplane door, head held high.
I would not panic.
Nikolai would sense it.
And something told me showing weakness to him was the same as bleeding in shark infested waters.
We taxied for a few minutes in silence, and then the doors to the plane opened.
I grabbed my purse and slung it over my shoulder.
Nikolai grabbed a black briefcase then proceeded to reach into the pocket and pull out a shiny black gun. I wanted to believe it was fake, but I knew that would be a lie. He was packing, but why?
“What are you doing?” I hissed.
He gave me a look that said shut up, put on the safety and held it open in the palm of his hand then used his free hand to guide me to the door.
It was dark except for the few lights on the private runway.
A black Range Rover.
A black Mercedes AMG.
A black Escalade.
Four men, one woman. All of them standing with their guns literally pointed at us as if we were about to start a war on the tarmac.
Waiting for Nikolai to set off a bomb? Or what?
“Just a wild guess.” I spoke above the roar of the engines as my hair whipped around my cheeks. “But… the Italians?”
“Live and in the flesh,” he grumbled.
“You could have told me they hate you.” I gripped his hand tighter.
“What? And ruin the warm welcome for you?” His lips curved into a smile. “Never.”
Slowly, we descended the stairs, hand in hand.
A large man in his twenties approached us, his reddish brown hair blowing in the wind, two semi-automatic weapons strapped to his burly chest. If I’d thought Nikolai was large, this man was downright lethal. At least six-four and over two hundred pounds of muscled rage, he sneered the minute we stepped onto the runway, as if our presence offended him so much he was having trouble breathing.
“Campisi,” Nikolai said in an irritated voice. “Good evening.”
The man named Campisi grunted in Nikolai’s direction then turned his cold hard stare in my direction. I shrank into Nikolai’s body and clutched his chest with my free hand, chilled to the core. I wasn’t sure if this man wanted me to speak or was just trying to see if I’d burst into tears.
I’d seen stares like his before.
From my father.
And his idiots.
Years of training kicked in, years of needing to defend myself against jackasses, so, instead of shrinking more into Nikolai, I took a deep breath, straightened my shoulders, pulled away and stared down the beast of a man.
And the very minute I found my confidence, he smiled. “So, she really is a Petrov after all. I was worried there for a minute.”