Avenge: #3 Romanian Mob Chronicles (16 page)

A
nton

T
he men looked
from one to the other, each seeming to search for some clue, some answer. But there was no one left to give them. So, as I had always done, I stepped up to provide all that I could.

“We have our rules; we have our honor. I violated both. There can be only one response.”

I saw a few nods, watched Sandu in particular as he seemed to understand most what needed to be done. I was confused by my reaction.

There was some fear, the anticipation of my impending demise and the unknown that would come after it making my heart beat a little harder. But more than that, there was pride, a sense of accomplishment at having been a part of all this, of having earned these men’s respect.

“Sandu, you do it,” I said.

He recoiled, literally took a step back and looked at me as if I were insane, a point I was in no position to argue.

“I…” he started and then trailed off, his face tight with worry.

“Come, let’s talk privately,” I said.

I led him into Christoph’s office, surprised to see Adela there.

“Mrs. Constantin, would you excuse us?” Sandu asked, still looking more than a little terrified.

“I will not. I want to see that what’s necessary is done,” she said.

“You should—”

“It’s fine. She can stay,” I interjected.

Then I turned to him. “They are looking to you now, so you know it must be done. And you’ll do it,” I said, not allowing any hint of resistance or worry to show in my voice. This was already going to be difficult for him.

But I could see the resistance in Sandu’s eyes as he warred with the realization that there was no other choice.

“Here?” he asked, looking shocked at the very prospect. And with good reason. Christoph Senior hadn’t been above conducting business here, but never any violence, not in his home, he’d always said.

Adela hadn’t allowed it. But I looked at her now, saw the gleam of satisfaction that lit her gaze. Today seemed to be an exception to her previous rules.

I nodded. “Yes. Here. Have someone get a few tarps in case there’s a mess.”

Sandu blanched. “How?” he asked.

“A broken neck would be quickest, least messy. You’ve done it before,” I said.

“Yeah, but…”

“Too up close?” I asked.

He nodded.

“Okay,” I said. “Get the tarps, and we’ll go to the garage. A well-placed stab to the heart will do just as well.”

He shook his head slowly. “Maybe a gun?” he asked tentatively.

“No. Not an option. Too messy and too noisy. One of the others is the best way,” I said.

Sandu looked as though he might faint.

“They are counting on you. You must avenge your leader and set an example for your clan,” I said, sounding eerily like Christoph Senior.

Sandu swallowed, glanced at Adela, who watched him through hooded, glittering eyes. “If you’ll excuse me…”

“Sandu!” I called, but he slipped out of the room without looking at me.

“Anxious to meet your end, Anton?” Adela said.

I turned to her. “No, I just want to make this as easy as possible for them. Does that upset you?” I asked.

I drifted to where she sat and lowered myself into the chair across from her. Other than worrying over Lily, something I didn’t want to do, instead wishing to remember those so few and so precious good moments, I had little to fill what was left of my time. A chat with Adela would do well enough.

She scoffed, eyes glittering with anger now and not grief. “Does it upset me? It shouldn’t, not after all these years. But in truth, it sickens me. You always have the right answer, always do the thing that would make him most proud…” She trailed off, her voice fading on a sob that she bit back.

After a deep breath, she began again. “It shouldn’t surprise me, but I’d hoped…”

“Hoped what?” I said.

“Hoped that maybe you would break, show some crack, show some of the weakness that my own sons never managed to hide. Yet here you are, noble to the end. The son Christoph always dreamed of.”

By the time she finished, her voice was low, brimming with rage and disgust.

“Well, Adela, that’s something you won’t have to worry about for too much longer,” I said, feeling perversely calm as I discussed my fate, and perversely amused. Adela had never wanted me around in the first place, had wanted me gone for years. At least someone would get what they wanted.

Then I leaned back in my chair and waited, time moving, though I didn’t bother to see how much passed.

I stood when the door opened and Sandu walked in, accompanied by Ciprian Dragos, leader of Clan Dragos such as it was, and one of the most vicious men I’d ever encountered.

“Ciprian, what are you doing here?” I said.

“I asked him to come, Anton. I can’t…” Sandu said.

“You must,” I replied, walking toward him.

“I can’t,” he said flatly.

“So that’s why he’s here?”

Sandu nodded.

“What!” Adela exclaimed, standing and rushing over to us, the sight of the old woman staring daggers at us one that would have been comical in any other circumstance.

“I can’t,” Sandu said again, this time whispering.

“So you’re going to let an outsider do your work? Let him exact the justice that by all rights belongs to Clan Constantin?”

I’d never seen her angrier; her small body practically vibrated with it.

“Yes,” he whispered, the shame in his voice only second to the certainty.

Adela gaped, looked at me. “Is he who you intended to lead?”

“Yes,” I said.

Sandu looked over at me, shock again lighting his face.

“My family’s legacy, my husband’s life’s work, the blood of my only children left to the likes of him?” she spat.

“There’s no other option, Adela. Christoph Senior is gone. All of the Constantin sons are gone. If Sandu doesn’t lead, then Clan Constantin is no more,” I said softly.

“They are not,” she whispered.

“Not what?” I asked, Sandu and Ciprian looking at her as intently as I did.

“You said all of the Constantin sons were dead. You’re not.”

There was another shocked hush, and I looked at Sandu as he processed what she’d said.

“So you’re saying he’s Christoph Senior’s son?” he asked.

“He is. As we’ve all known for years,” Adela replied.

“So he should be leader,” Sandu said.

“Yes,” she replied, the word low, broken, and seeming to take with it all of her rage, making her appear almost empty.

She looked at me, eyes flat, emotionless. “You get what you’ve always wanted, Anton. I hate that. But it’s better that than everything they worked so hard for turning to dust.”

“I never wanted this, Adela. Never coveted it,” I said.

“Yet here you are,” she said. Then she looked to Sandu. “So it is settled. Anton lives. And Clan Constantin lives with him.”

L
ily

T
wo days
and two long nights passed, and I felt frozen, stuck in some kind of stasis.

The man, Priest, had left me in a small house, a cute, homey little place that I could have imagined myself living in once upon a time. But that time had passed, if it had ever existed, which I wasn’t sure it had. My path had been laid out from the moment I had seen Braden in that bed—there had been no other.

I shook my head, the weight of all that I had done and all that I had lost hitting me at once. Maybe there had been another path; maybe there had been a chance for me to live, free from the burden of hate and pain and anger. Maybe, if I had only allowed it, I might have had a chance to heal, to live.

But I hadn’t allowed it, had given myself to my quest with no thought or care for anything else. And now I had nothing.

I drifted through the small living room and back to the bedroom where I had taken up residence, considering my current plight.

It wasn’t exactly true that I had nothing. I had my memories, memories of Christoph Senior, a man who I had hated, but one who had taught me many things, taught me about the folly of hatred, of things left unsaid, and, most improbably, of grace and dignity.

Then, I had my memories of Anton, my memories of the passion, the love that I had found with him, memories that I would cherish forever. I needed to focus on those, use them to guide me as I tried to figure out what I would do with my life.

I should have been happy. Anton was giving me a second chance, a first chance really, but it was hard to see that right now. All I could think of was how much I missed him already. Think of how empty I felt without him.

The lights flashing across the bedroom window drew my attention. I got up, not even stopping to step into the cheap slippers Priest had brought to me, and then headed to the door, hoping it was him, desperate to see him one last time. I opened the door, breath baited.

And was crushed when Priest and not Anton walked through it.

“Sorry to disappoint you, Lily,” he said, though his tone suggested he didn’t care one way or another.

“No, it’s fine. I’m not disappointed,” I replied.

He gave me a wry smile, amusement lighting his face for a split second before it faded and his expression shifted back to its implacable, unreadable standard. “You’re a terrible liar. It’s difficult to believe you were able to convince so many in Clan Constantin.”

“I can be convincing when I care to be,” I said, bristling at the insult to Clan Constantin and by extension Anton, ignoring the irony of that fact.

“We’re done here,” he said finally.

“What does that mean? Is it time to leave?” I asked.

“If you want to. You are in no danger. Anton asks that I give you his word that no harm will come to you from Clan Constantin if you choose to stay,” he replied.

“So…he’s okay?” I asked.

“He’s alive,” Priest responded.

“And he sent word with you?”

I left unsaid the question that burned on the tip of my tongue, the question of why Anton hadn’t come himself. Priest probably didn’t know and definitely wouldn’t answer. Besides, I knew the answer myself.

He hadn’t come because he didn’t want to see me.

He shouldn’t want to, not after what I’d done, but that he didn’t seared my heart and sent a hot rush of tears pooling behind my eyes. I choked them back, wouldn’t let Priest, or anyone else, see the pain. But I’d be alone soon, free to let it go, free to try to accept the reality that Anton was lost to me forever.

“I’ll see you home,” Priest whispered.

“I…” I started, trailed off, and then started again. “I can’t…Christoph Junior…”

“It’s been taken care of. You won’t notice a thing out of place.”

I might not see it, but I’d notice, wouldn’t be able to help but remember all that had happened there, my time with Anton, my near death, Christoph Junior’s body crumpled in a heap.

But there was nowhere else for me to go, and at least there I could pretend, think of the times with Anton and not the lonely life I faced without him.

I looked at Priest. “I’ll get my bag.”

L
ily

F
ive Weeks
Later

I
’d gotten resettled
in the apartment, or as settled as I could in the wreckage that was my life.

My quest, my promise to Braden had filled my thoughts and my time for so long, they had become like breathing. Then, Anton had entered, filling whatever space was left.

And now both were gone, and I was alone, had no clue what to do with myself.

I snuggled deeper in the sofa, the place where I spent most of my days now, trying to pretend like every single inch of this place didn’t remind me of him, trying to pretend that there would be a time that my heart didn’t hurt quite so much.

When the phone rang, I looked at it curiously, the sound so unusual that it took me a moment to figure out what it was.

I answered. “Hello?”

The voice on the other line sounded so official, the calculated preciseness in it making it all the more ominous.

“Lily Holan? We’re calling about your brother Braden.”

A
nton

S
andu sat
in the chair across from me, one where I had sat so many times before. He started to report as I had done so many times.

“The club is good,” he said.

“And the fights?” I asked.

He frowned slightly, exhaled. “They are…rowdy.”

“As is expected, correct?”

His frown deepened. “Yes, I suppose…”

“But?” I said, prodding.

“But things are getting out of hand more often. Boundaries are being pushed,” he replied.

“Ciprian and
De Fiara
?” I asked.

“Yes, among others,” Sandu replied.

“Keep watch. It may be time to move on,” I said.

He nodded. “
Pa
,”
he said before he retreated.

I had been working from Christoph Senior’s home, at first from necessity, but as the days passed, it had begun to feel right. Not that I had gotten accustomed to sitting in his chair or being the one who made decisions, but being here felt good, and some small part of me thought that I was making Christoph Senior proud.

I looked up when I heard the door open, and Adela came in dressed in her finest, something she insisted on when she planned to travel.

“You’re settling in,” she said, gesturing toward where I sat, the same place her husband had sat, the place one of her sons should have been sitting. “You look right there. Your father would have been proud.”

Her word choice was deliberate, an acknowledgment, one of few, or an insult, one of many, I didn’t know. And I didn’t care to try to figure it out. Instead, I stood and walked to her. “You don’t have to go,” I said for probably the hundredth time since she’d made her announcement that she was returning to Romania.

“There’s nothing here for me, Anton,” she replied, tired, resigned.

Once upon a time, those words would have landed as an insult, but as I looked at her now, I felt none, felt nothing but compassion. She’d lost everything, including what I had always known was her hatred of me.

I watched her and then finally said, “You have everything you need?”

Adela nodded.

“Someone will drive you to the airport. If you ever need me…”

She nodded again, then turned to head toward the door.

“Adela…” I started, then trailed off.

She stopped, looked at me, waiting, and the question burned in my chest, one that had plagued me for my entire life. Adela watched me, then shook her head.

“I don’t know who she was, Anton.”

“How did you…?”

“Christoph Senior waited for you to ask for years. Expected it. Why didn’t you?”

I looked away from her, thoughts swirling. I finally shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess I was afraid of the answer. Why didn’t he ever tell me?”

She shrugged as well. “I guess he liked to think it didn’t matter.”

“So I’ll never know who my mother is or was,” I said.

“No. You won’t. But you deserve to. And you deserved better than I could ever have given you. I wish I could have been a mother to you, Anton.”

“You did the best you could,” I said.

“No. I didn’t even try,” she replied. “But it doesn’t matter now.”

She looked off wistfully, then turned her gaze back to me.

“You should forgive that girl for whatever she did. She loves you, and you love her.”

I clenched my teeth at the mention of Lily, too distracted by the pain and longing that even a mention of her stirred to ask how Adela knew about us.

“Some things can’t be forgiven,” I finally said.

“No, but some can. Find a way. Don’t end up alone.”

I watched her, and she smiled at me, something I couldn’t recall her ever doing, the expression sad and resigned.

“
Îmi pare rău
, Anton.
La revedere.
”

“Good-bye, Adela.”

Then she was gone.

I settled heavily in the chair after she left, remembering how I had stared at it as a boy, imagined what it would be like to sit in it, knowing, even from my earliest youth, that that was never to be. Yet here I was. Charged with leadership.

And utterly alone.

L
ily

I
was a foolish woman
. I’d done countless things, large and small, that had proven it over the years, but this one had to be one of the most foolish.

The paper in my hand, thick, heavy stock, seemed to weigh a ton but alternately had my heart light. He hadn’t contacted me in the weeks since that terrible night when we’d seen each other last, and I had done the same. I wanted him, craved him, but I’d respected his wishes.

But I needed to do this, had to if I wanted any chance of moving on, of trying to finally begin to live.

I signed the paper, sealed the envelope, and shoved it into the mailbox before I could change my mind.

A
nton

“
T
his came for you
,” Sandu said as he entered the office and dropped an envelope on top of the desk.

“It came here? To the house?” I said.

“Yes,” he replied.

“Strange,” I said as I looked at the envelope, then the sprawling, feminine script that covered it.

I’d only ever seen her handwriting on Christoph Senior’s chart, where she’d meticulously recorded his medications. Still, I recognized it immediately.

I dropped the card and then quickly picked it up again, my fingers tight, too tight, around the edges. I should burn it, should leave that door closed forever, continue on as I had been for these weeks. So what if every time I closed my eyes, she was all I saw? It would pass. I would forget her.

An outrageous lie, one I couldn’t even pretend to believe, even if doing so might give me some comfort, some respite from the agonizing emptiness that her absence from my life caused.

I tore open the envelope.

A
nton

“
T
hank you for coming
,” she said.

She sat on a bench, her hair down around her shoulders. She looked beautiful. And heartbroken.

“I was curious,” I said, though that wasn’t the half of it. After I’d opened and read the condolences card, I
had
been curious. And angry. And happy. And so desperate to see her that I had barely been able to contain myself. I’d distracted myself as best I could, trying to provide stable leadership, ensuring that Clan Constantin was in the best possible position.

But she’d always been there, made more real by her absence, and in those few quiet moments, I’d been driven to the brink with missing her, had more than once had to stop myself from going to find her. It had been hard, near impossible, and seeing her now, hands gripped tight behind my back to keep from touching her, only proved how much.

She lifted her lips into a grim smile. “That’s all? You were just curious?”

“Yes. I hadn’t expected to see you again,” I said.

“Did you want to?”

More than I could ever say.

“What do you want, Lily?” I said instead.

She shrugged. “I don’t know.” She sighed quickly, looked up at me. “That’s a lie.”

“You have a habit of that,” I said, hating the bitterness in my voice.

“I didn’t use to, and I’m trying to correct that tendency. So I’ll start with telling you why I asked you here. Would you like to sit?”

I should have said no, but the opportunity to be close to her again was one I couldn’t pass up, even though I knew what she’d done, what she’d planned. So I gave in, sat next to her, leg brushing hers, the sense of rightness that came over me almost making me dizzy with relief. I had missed her even more than I’d realized, and being this close to her was only a reminder.

“Why did you send that card, Lily? Why did you ask me here?”

“After Christoph Senior, I never had a chance to say I was sorry for your loss,” she said.

“And were you? Sorry?” I asked.

She shrugged. “Yes. I was.”

I believed her. A stupid thing to think, hope, that I could ever believe anything she said, stupid to want her, stupider to trust her, but I did nonetheless.

“Braden died,” she said a moment later.

I looked over at her, saw the sheen of tears in her eyes.

“I’m sorry. What happened?”

“Stroke,” she said, her voice thickening with tears. “That’s why I asked you to come here. He loved this park, so I was going to scatter his ashes here.”

It was only then I noticed the small box that sat next to her, her hand atop it.

“I just didn’t want to do it alone.” She met my eyes. “And you were the only one I wanted with me.”

“Don’t, Lily. What you did…”

“I’m not asking you to forgive me. I wouldn’t. I’m not asking you to spare me either.”

“I can’t hurt you, wouldn’t let anyone else do it either. But I suspect you know that.”

“Yeah,” she said.

My gut churned at the thought, but it was nothing compared to the relief that I felt seeing her again, the calm that I realized I had missed.

“I thought that was weakness,” I said, the memory of her words never having left me.

“It was. But there was more. I couldn’t go through with it, knowing what it would do to you.”

“Even at the risk of your vengeance. Your justice. Braden’s justice.”

“Not even for that.”

“Adela said I should forgive you.”

Lily blinked and furrowed her brow. “I’m surprised, though now that I think about it, I shouldn’t be. I doubt much escaped her. So she and Christoph Senior knew the whole time?”

“About you? No. About Christoph Junior…and Braden, yes.”

“And she still thinks you should forgive me?”

“She said we could have a good thing. She doesn’t know that I could never trust you.”

“That’s not true. You can trust me. I’m not saying you have to, or even that you should. But you can. You’re one of the only two people I’ve ever loved. I would fling myself off a bridge before I hurt you,” she said.

I couldn’t stop myself from laughing. And Lily, surprising me as she always did, joined in. “Braden always said I had a flair for the dramatic.” She sobered. “But I mean it, Anton. You can trust me.”

“It’s not just me I’m worried about. I have responsibilities.”

“You took over after Christoph Junior?”

I didn’t respond, but I suspected she understood.

“It seems unreal to say it, but that’s good for you, and for them.”

“Why is it unreal?”

“You have to admit, this isn’t a standard Saturday afternoon conversation for the park.”

“It’s not. And we are not having it.”

“You mind if we walk?”

I stood, grabbed her hand to pull her up before I could stop myself. The zing that shot through me reminded me of how empty, how cold I had felt without her.

I didn’t speak, and instead walked beside her, the beauty of the day, the beauty of her, only making the cold loneliness I would confront later that much worse.

We walked in silence for long moments that would never be enough. When we reached the bench, we stopped in front of it, facing each other.

“Where will you go?”

“Don’t know. Think I might become a geriatric nurse,” she said.

“You’d be good at it,” I said.

“Thank you. Good-bye, Anton,” she said.

I couldn’t bring myself to reply.