Page 12 of Heir to Desire
Jesus Christ. I was really hanging out with the mafia.
According to them, Iwasthe mafia.
“All of them?!” I asked.
“All of them,” Damien replied, factually. “And, well, I guess killing them once wasn’t enough for her. She wakes up every morning, rain or shine, and takes a shotgun to their photographs around 8:00 am. She’s sort of like the family’s rooster, in that way.”
I turned around and rested my back against the window. I crossed my arms, observing Damien, studying the undeniably attractive man with the blackberry eyes, sitting on my bed, which was in my room in, apparently, what was my house. Or manor, really.
“Damien, I thought a bit about what you said yesterday,” I said.
“Oh, did you?”
“I did. And, well, I don’t exactlyloveall of this,” I said, gesturing with my hands, “but, I guess…I guess I can understand how it doesn’t exactly make my parents bad people. If what you’re saying is true—that they tried to use all of this for good—well, isn’t that better than letting someone else take over it, who would use the mafia for evil? I mean, not everything that’s ‘underground,’”—I used air quotes here—“is bad, per se. I learned in my history classes that a lot of the great revolutions against dictators and whatnot started underground. And, well, I wanted to get into politics and make a change, anyway. So…” I trailed off for a moment, trying to gather my thoughts and shape them into something clear despite my mind’s morning fog, “I’m willing to give this some time, to not form an opinion on things so suddenly. But it will take time.” Damien nodded his head at me. I could make out the smallest hint of a smile at the edge of his lips, but just barely.
“What I’m saying is, with this Vladimir out to kill me, it doesn’t seem that I have much of a choice here, really, except to accept this as my current lot in life.”
“That’s right, Nikolai,” he said, still stoic, his eyes occasionally darting away from me as if there was something else on his mind.
“But one thing, and this is important—calling everyone here ‘my family,’ I know it’s just a mafia term and not to take it literally, but I don’t and won’t become close with people like that. I am a bit of a lone wolf. Not because I think it’s ‘cool’ to be—I just think it’s safer. For me. It makes me feel…yeah, safer. So for the moment, this needs to just be what we can think of as a business collaboration, or a necessary setup. It’s not for fun. It’s not for family. It’s so I can live to become an adult and a politician, which is actually what I want to be (rather than a mafioso), and have kids, and do all of that. That’s all I’m going to stay here for.”
“I understand, Nikolai,” Damien replied. He seemed happy with my declaration that this was all business, totally professional, and nothing emotional like “family” stuff.
“But my question is, what happens after Vladimir is killed, if we kill him? Won’t someone else from his gang just pop up and try to do the same?”
“No, most likely not,” Nikolai replied. “You see, if you kill Vladimir yourself, they will respect you as the rightful heir. They will be reminded of the glory of the Obolenskys, and they will not only back off—they will become yours to control.”
“But you’re assuming that I want to run the Russian mafia, Damien,” I replied. “I told you, I want to be a politician. I want to be normal. Well, as normal as politicians can be, these days. I don’t want to be involved permanently with all of this, with all of these people. I have had enough death in my lifetime. I cannot be in a profession where murder and loss is the norm. Do you understand?”
“I do,” Damien said. He looked toward the ground, reminded perhaps of his own loss, of his own parents, who were now decidedly against us. “You don’t need to continue on as the Pakhan, the Russian mafia’s word for boss, if you don’t want to. You can choose someone to take over for you. But we will cross that bridge when we get to it. For now, we need to make sure you stay alive. While you’re here at the manor, you're safe. But your life must go on. And that’s why we need to start training you today.”
“Training me? For what?” I asked.
“To be a mafioso, of course,” Damien replied. “You understand that you have to kill a man, don’t you?”
In fact, the thought had hardly crossed my mind.
To be honest, all that I’d been able to think about the night before was my parents, and, admittedly, ideating around how I would resist clinging onto Damien’s perfect body, combat my desire to collapse into him and tell him I was afraid, weather a brooding storm in my heart that told me:Maybe this time it’s okay. Maybe you won’t lose him.
“I guess you’re right,” I replied.
“Mr. Ivanov will have prepared you breakfast,” Damien said. “Let’s go—you’re going to need it.”
“Alright,” I said. “Let me just call my Grandpa back to apologize about yesterday. I feel terrible for blaming him.”
“I’ll be downstairs with the family waiting,” he replied before standing and beginning to walk out.
“Wait, one more thing,” I said. He stopped and turned around. “What about school?
They’re going to say something if I don’t come for a week straight.”
“Don’t worry about that, Nikolai. We told them you were out with a family emergency.” Damien let out a smile. It was the first time I’d seen him look happy. “We didn’t lie to them, now did we?” He turned again and walked out the door, closing it behind him.
I unplugged my cell phone from its charger. I was surprised to see no missed calls. Usually Grandpa would have tried me. Perhaps he wanted to give me some space. I dialed his house number by heart and let the phone ring, waiting for him to answer. I tried him twice but had no luck.
His damn hearing was getting worse. When all of this was over, I needed to take him to get that hearing aid, no matter how much he protested it.
Downstairs, I found myself seated at the breakfast table, surrounded by a group of people who, just a short while ago, were strangers. The scent of fresh coffee and the gentle clinking of silverware filled the air, creating a comforting ambiance that belied my new and unusual, let’s say, circumstances.