Nightfall - A Mafia Romance

DMITRY

T

he footage is grainy. Dots and whirls of gray and white flutter around the screen as though I'm seeing the scene through a snowstorm.

Still, it isn't enough to disguise his face.

"It's Sevastian," someone says.

I don't respond. I already know. Plus, I don't want to look as surprised as I feel.

Sevastian Nikitin has been one of my closest friends since I was a kid. We practically grew up together. The Bratva is a family, but within that family, I considered Sevastian a brother.

And now, I'm watching him spill his guts to the FBI.

"Who knows what he told them," someone whispers. "We could all be fucked."

I glance down at the stack of papers on my desk-pictures, dates, and locations. All of it proof of Sevastian's meetings with federal agents.

When I first got word that he might be a rat, I didn't want to believe it. So, I had him tailed. For weeks, he was monitored and followed, and I hoped it would turn out to be nothing more than a Bratva rumor. Maybe even a case of jealousy. Another member wishing they had Sevastian's close connection to the boss.

But now I know the truth.

"We can't let this stand."

I look over my shoulder and see Rurik Zaytsev standing behind me. He's leaning back against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. His face is half hidden in shadow, but he stands tall when he sees me looking.

Next to Sevastian, Rurik is my second most trusted lieutenant. Though, with Sevastian's betrayal still fresh, I wonder whether I can truly trust anyone.

"Obviously," I say, sharp enough that the rest of the men in the room straighten their spines. "Do I strike any of you as a forgiving man?"

The question is rhetorical, but a few men shake their heads.

"A good leader is merciless to those who betray him and his family. You're my family and Sevastian has betrayed us all. So, he must die."

There's no room for emotions in the Bratva, especially for the leader. There are relationships, but they're founded on trust. When that trust is broken, the relationship breaks with it. If I want my men to respect me, I have no choice but to kill Sevastian.

I can't give him an opportunity to defend himself-because there is no defense. There is nothing he could say that would excuse the fact that he met with federal agents on numerous occasions without once telling me.

My father before me, and my grandfather before him, led the Tsezar Bratva with an iron fist. Ruthless. Unforgiving. They had no time for regret or disappointment. There was only anger and a sense of satisfaction when justice was dealt.

I intend to lead in the same way.

I pause the video, my office plunging into silence except for the nervous breathing of my men.

I point to Rurik. "Send for Sevastian."

Rurik answers with a sharp nod. "Should I tell him to meet you at headquarters?"

I think on it for a moment and shake my head. "My house."

I don't often conduct business from my home, especially when it will require a cleanup, but Sevastian will be nervous if I tell him to meet me at my office. He may guess I know something and dive into the rat's nest prepared for him by the FBI. I have to make him believe things are just as they should be. As they always have been.

"Actually," I say as Rurik is leaving. "Take two men with you and pick him up. If he asks any questions, tell him I told you it's an emergency. I don't want to give him the chance to run."

Rurik grabs two other lieutenants and the rest of the room follows them out, leaving me behind with the paused video showing Sevastian taking an envelope from the undercover agent he met at the restaurant.

I study the screen for another moment, assuring myself that the blurry man there is really Sevastian. The camera work is sloppy, but I see the tattoo peeking out from the collar of his sweater as he reaches across the table. It's the brown bear he had tattooed on his back the day he turned eighteen. A symbol of his love and loyalty for our family. Our organization. Our purpose.

A symbol that, in the end, meant nothing to him at all.

I turn off the television and leave. I have to be at the house when Sevastian arrives, so there is no time to linger.

SEVASTIAN HAS ALWAYS HAD pitch-black hair. As a child, even into his teen years, his face peeked out from under the mop like a friendly ghost, smiling and laughing.

While I followed the example set for me by my father and grandfather, greeting people with a stoic nod and burying my laughter behind a clenched jaw, Sevastian was jovial. He pulled pranks on maids, told dirty jokes loud enough for my grandmother to hear, and followed me blindly through every bad decision I ever made.

When I see Sevastian walking up my stone driveway, flanked on either side by lieutenants, it's that pale, smiling boy I see. Not a traitor-my friend.

Weakness. That's what my father would call this emotion.

Sevastian turned his back on our family. He considered himself stronger alone, better without the Bratva at his side. So now, he has to know exactly what it would feel like to be on his own.

There can be no mercy, no holding back.

Starting now, Sevastian is not my friend or my brother. He is my enemy, and I would do well to remember that.

By the time the front door opens, I'm sitting down in an armchair in the den, one leg crossed over the other, hands folded in my lap. I'm at ease. Visibly, at least.

Sevastian appears in the doorway first. "Dmitry."

The lieutenants fall away beside him, hanging back, and I see Sevastian glance around. His brow furrows, and I know he is suspicious. As he should be. Sevastian has always been a smart man, and I have no intention of fooling him tonight. Surely, he has to suspect what is coming for him.

"Sevastian," I say warmly, beckoning him into the sitting room. "Come, sit."

He hesitates. "I was told there's some kind of emergency?"

"Did they say that?" I ask, eyebrow raised, looking around him to where my lieutenants are lurking in the shadows of the entryway. They won't interrupt the proceedings unless they have to. Unless Sevastian puts up more of a fight than I expect. "Very dramatic. It's hardly an emergency."

"Okay," he says, his tone somewhere between a statement and a question. "So, what's up?"

I gesture for him to sit on the sofa next to me. "You missed our meeting tonight."

Sevastian's forehead wrinkles as he sits. "I didn't know there was a meeting."

"I sent a message to everyone in the Bratva. Did you not get one?"

He pulls out his phone and scrolls through it. "No. Strange. This piece of shit phone is always acting up on me."

He scrolls to the top and then looks through his messages a second time. I wonder if he's worried about any messages he may have missed from the FBI. Though, if he's smart, he'll have a second phone to communicate with them. He won't use the same phone he uses for Bratva work. It's too big of a risk.

"It wasn't anything too important," I say, waving my hand. "I just wanted to call you in here and make sure you were still alive. It's been a long time since we've hung out the way we used to."

"It has," he agrees. Sevastian runs a hand through his spiked black hair, the gelled strands returning to their previous spikiness the moment his hand moves past them. "I've let myself get a little busy."

"I'm not giving you too much work, am I?" I ask, leaning in.

Sevastian swallows. "No, no. Anything for the Bratva, you know that."

He smiles, but his eyes are wide and alert. Everything about his body language tells me he's uncomfortable. Probably because I'm being kind to him. Sevastian knows me well enough to know that, if I'm being kind, there is an ulterior motive.

He plants his palms on his knees and sits forward on the couch. "So, you just brought me here to check up on me? I'm flattered to hear you care so much about me."

"I care about those who care about me," I say, reaching out and clapping a hand on his shoulder. "And I'm loyal to those who are loyal to me."

I see him process the words, and his smile slips. Sevastian goes pale, and he swallows a lump in his throat before taking a deep breath. "Why am I here, Dmitry?"

"Because I sent for you," I say simply.

He nods, his hands lacing together in front of him. "What for?"

I sit back in my chair and stretch. Then, I turn and grab the crystal globe sitting on the side table. It's a trinket from my father's office. Something given to him as a gift from another boss, maybe a past leader of the Japanese Yakuza. It means nothing to me, but I've kept it around. I spin the globe with my finger, watching it turn slowly.

"Why?" Sevastian repeats, his voice shaking. "What is going on? And why is everyone waiting in the other room? What is this about? Have I done something?"

"Have you?" I ask quietly, tilting my head towards him.

He licks his lips, and I can see his fingers shaking. Slowly, the tremor moves up his body, claiming him inch by inch. He can't stop it. Soon, his head is twitching back and forth, too.

Sevastian is terrified.

"Who told you?" he asks.

I appreciate his not trying to lie his way out of things, even if it's not like he stood a chance if he made the attempt.

"Does it matter?"

He bites the inside of his cheek.

"What did you tell them?" I ask calmly, letting my duty to the Bratva wash away everything else.

There are men waiting in the other room, expecting me to look out for them. To take care of them.

Who knows what Sevastian told the FBI? Who he turned over? Any one of my men could be hauled in for questioning and it's entirely Sevastian's fault.

And ultimately, my fault.

For trusting a traitor. For being loyal to a man who wasn't loyal to me.

Now, I have to rectify it.

"Does it matter?" Sevastian asks, repeating my own question back to me. "You're going to kill me regardless of what I say."

I nod. He isn't wrong. "I would respect you more if you confessed. It might lessen the severity of your punishment."

"Bullshit," he spits. "I'm dying tonight regardless. So, go ahead, Dmitry. Do what you brought me here to do."

When I don't move, Sevastian leans forward, his top lip pulled back in a snarl. "What? Are you afraid to hurt your best friend? Because that's what we are, right? Best friends. You know I only did what I did to save my own ass. It had nothing to do with you or the Bratva. I wouldn't have gone to the FBI if they hadn't found me first. That's why you didn't kill me the moment I walked through the door. Because you know I have an explanation. You know I only did what I had to do-what anyone would have done. You know-"

Before he can finish the sentence, I rear back and smash the crystal globe against the side of his head.

Sevastian drops to the floor without so much as a groan, knocked out cold.

I study the globe, and aside from a smear of blood over Europe, it's as if nothing happened at all. I replace it on the side table and stand up, stepping over Sevastian's body on my way out of the room.

I nod to Rurik as I pass. "Take him to the basement. Chain him up."

My men get to work without hesitation.

THE ROOM IS silent as I enter.

Sevastian is in the middle of the room-my personal gym-chained to the bench press. He can lift his arms a few inches, but otherwise, he's immobilized.

"I'm not going to tell you anything," he says, flinching away from me as I near him. "So you might as well kill-"

The wooden paddle cracks across his face before he can finish.

There's already a lump where I hit him with the globe, and now I've added a split across his cheekbone. Blood pours from the wound.

"Who did you turn over?" I ask. "Which stash houses did you reveal?"

Sevastian spits blood at my feet and glares up at me. I bring my knee up hard and fast into his chin. I hear his teeth smash together.

"Which of your brothers did you rat on?" I growl.

"Brothers," Sevastian laughs. "You were my brother once, too, Dmitry. What are we now?"

I bend down until we're nose to nose and growl, "Whatever we are is your doing. Remember with every flash of pain that you are the one who turned your back on me."

Sevastian looks away, and I see shame cross his face before he hides it with a scowl. He clenches his jaw and winces. I wouldn't be surprised if I cracked one of his teeth. "I'm not going to talk."

"You're loyal to the feds now?" I hiss. "Remember when you said you only did what you had to do to survive? Well, your life is on the line again. Suddenly you aren't so interested in begging?"

"Because it won't do any good," he said, lifting his chin like a petulant child. "You'll kill me, either way. At least this way, I'll take some of you down with me."

The lieutenants around me bristle with anger. I know they want to tear into Sevastian. They want a piece of him. They want revenge.

I try to imagine stepping back and giving them free rein, but no matter how much Sevastian has changed, I still see the pale boy peeking out from the dark black hair. I see the friendly little ghost who existed next to me for most of my life. My best friend. My brother-in-arms.

The paddle clatters across the floor when I toss it aside and trade it for the gun at my hip. I lift my arm, the muzzle pointed at Sevastian's mouth.

"Do you have anything left to say?" I ask.

Sevastian looks up at me, his eyes narrowed. "Yeah. Fuck-"

I pull the trigger and he slumps forward.

My ears are still ringing when I tell my men to clean up the mess. I don't look at his body before I leave. I've shown my family I don't stand for traitors, and I've maintained my authority. There is no need to carry the image of Sevastian's dead body with me. My job here is done.

Up in my office, I make a few calls, announcing Sevastian's actions and my sentencing, ensuring the news spreads quickly to the rest of the Bratva. When I'm done, I look down and realize there is blood spattered on my shirt.

The maid has washed enough of my bloody clothes that I know she could get the stains out, but I take it off and stuff it into my trash can. I have more than enough shirts that I don't need to worry about saving this one. Plus, I'm not sure I'd ever want to wear it again.

I pull a new shirt from the closet behind my desk and slip into it just as my phone rings. I recognize the number as Amanda's and answer.

"Any change?" I ask without saying so much as 'hello.'

"Nothing," she says.

I nod and take a deep breath.

"I'm sorry," Amanda says quickly. "I was told you wanted nightly reports on Tati. Is that still true?"

"Yes. I want to know the second there is any change. No matter what time."

Amanda agrees, and we hang up.

I stare in the mirror hanging behind the closet door and button my shirt with slow fingers. It's late, and I should go to bed, but I can't imagine sleeping. So, instead, I sit down at my desk and go through the list of collections I have to make the next day.

Usually, Sevastian and I collected together.

But tomorrow I will go alone.

2

COURTNEY

I

stare at the page and widen my eyes, trying to keep my vision from going blurry. At this point, I can't tell if it's because I'm wired with caffeine or because I haven't slept more than a few hours at a time for the last three days.

My highlighter has become a permanent fixture in my hand, and I'm not sure I'll be able to put it down come test time.

Which is in one hour.

"Shit," I whisper, hunching down over my textbook. My professor told us over and over again throughout the semester that the best thing any of us could do would be to study the material periodically throughout the semester rather than cramming right before tests, but what did she know?

Well, probably a lot, considering she teaches behavioral neuroscience.

That's what I want to do. Not teach, but work in the behavioral neuroscience field. I want to be a clinical psychologist and help people.

But that won't happen if I fail this test.

I close my eyes, focusing my mind for a moment, and then begin reading again. Half of the page is highlighted. Hell, half of the book is highlighted. There isn't enough time for me to memorize all of this before the test. I'm going to fail. I'm going to have to drop out of school, and then what?

In the midst of my downward spiral, my phone rings.

I groan and dismiss the call without looking to see who it is. Everyone in my life knows I have this test today. I told my dad I would be coming home tonight and not to bother me until then since I'll be staying with him for the entire winter break. And Sadie is going to pick me up after the test to take me home, so she knows not to call. Whoever it was-probably a telemarketer-is not worth the energy it would take to read the number.

I sigh and focus on the page again.

When my phone buzzes a second time, I actually let out a scream, which my roommate-a Chinese exchange student who has been in a perpetual state of jet lag since she arrived four months ago-does not appreciate. She glares at me and then rolls over, pulling the blankets over her head. I have no idea if she has any finals, but based on her sleep schedule, I'd have to guess that she has missed them all.

I don't recognize the number, so I dismiss it with a quick flick of my wrist and go back to studying.

I'm in the middle of highlighting an important sentence I missed the first ten times I read through the chapter when my phone buzzes once more.

"Goddammit," I mutter, grabbing my phone off the charger and answering it. "What?"

"Courtney?"

I frown and pull back to look at the number on the screen.

My heart drops.

Then, I bring it back to my ear. "Mom?"

"Hey, baby girl," she croons in the sickly sweet voice she uses when it has been way too long since we've spoken. "How are you?"

"Did you get a new phone?"

"Oh yeah," she says. "A couple months ago. Did I not give you the number?"

"No, but I guess I have it now."

She laughs. "That's right. You sure do. Now you have no excuse not to call me."

"What was your excuse?" I say before I can think better of it.

I don't have time to fight with my mom right now, and when she sighs on the other end of the phone, I try to backpedal.

"I was just joking."

"I know I promised I'd see you over fall break, but time got away from me," she said. "I was traveling and lost my phone and had to get a new one."

I make a noncommittal noise to let her know I get it. Even though I completely don't-and I don't really care to, either.

"Things just got crazy," she says. "But I wanted to call and make plans for winter break. I thought I could come to town for a few days. Maybe see your dorm room and you could show me the campus and-"

"Actually," I say, interrupting her. "I'm in the middle of studying for a final."

"This will only take a second," she says, her sweet voice disappearing. "Just a 'yes' or 'no.'"

"The dorms are closed over winter break. I won't be in town."

"Oh," she says, disappointed. "Where are you staying? You could come stay with me. I'm in a one-bedroom studio and Markus stays over a lot these days, but we have a futon, and I'm sure we could rig up a partition so-"

"I'm staying with Dad," I say. "We arranged it weeks ago."

Weeks ago. When my mom was traveling and too busy to talk to me. Like always.

She tries to sound offended, but even if I did come visit her for the break, she'd find a reason why I needed to leave early or why I should maybe get a hotel room instead. Her boyfriend doesn't like kids and refuses to acknowledge that I'm a grown woman and not a child who's going to get Pringles crumbs on his leather La-Z-Boy.

"Well, if your father gets time with you, then I should, too."

"I'm not a brownie you're splitting in half," I snap. "I'm a person. I choose where I spend my time. Dad doesn't get time with me. He's earned it by being there. Like a parent is supposed to be."

I really don't have time for this argument right now, but I can't help myself when it comes to my mom. She gets under my skin.

She huffs. "That's not fair, and you know it. When your father and I split up, I couldn't take you with me, and you resent me for it."

"I resent you for acting like you can waltz back into my life at any time you want," I say. "Like I said before, I'm busy studying. I have to go."

"Call me later. This isn't over."

It is over. I won't be calling her later. I have no intention of seeing her over the break.

"Bye," I say shortly, disconnecting the call.

My heart is racing the way it does every time I get in a fight with my mom. There's something instinctually wrong with having this kind of a relationship with your own parent, and my body knows it. I'm always jittery for a while after we argue. I shake my arms to dispel the weird feeling and pull my book towards me.

I've only read three words when another phone starts to ring. I don't recognize the song and then realize it's Dandan's alarm, chirping from the other side of the room.

She groans and shoves the phone under her pillow, stifling the noise but not stopping it.

"Dan." I lean around my desk. "Dan!"

Nothing. No movement or rustle. Just the slightly muted sounds of bells chiming.

Forty-five minutes until my test.

There's no point in trying to study anymore. It'll take me fifteen minutes to walk to the exam room anyway.

I sigh and pack up my books. I won't be able to use them during the test, but maybe their knowledge will leach into me like osmosis if I carry them.

That feels like my only hope at the moment.

THE SUN IS high in the sky when I walk out of my test, and I swear there are more birds singing than normal. If this was a musical, I'd skip down the sidewalk, twirl a stranger into a dance, and click my heels.

I passed.

I don't know that for sure, but I can feel it. I crushed that test.

I don't know if it was my relentless cramming or the osmosis technique, but it worked. I didn't have to skip any questions and come back to them. I didn't have to make any guesses. I made it through the multiple choice, true/false, and essay questions like a boss, and now I'm free.

Winter break awaits.

I'm walking past the rec center, heading back towards my dorm, when I stop and look through the large wall of windows into the dance studio.

I've passed it every day, multiple times per day, all semester, but I've never gone in. There were always classes in there, ranging from beginners to longtime dancers, that I didn't want to interrupt. Or I had studying to do. But now, the room is empty and the semester is over.

I'm free.

Before I can second-guess myself, I cut across the grass and test the studio door. Despite no one being inside, it's unlocked.

As soon as I walk in, the automatic lights flicker on, and I'm home.

The smell of wood greets me, and I drop my backpack in the corner and kick off my shoes on the rug.

I haven't been in a dance studio since the summer. I haven't danced since summer, either. Not even in my dorm room. There isn't enough space, and Dandan would definitely give me judgy eyes if I woke her up. So, tiptoeing across the floor and spinning feels like dipping my feet in a cool lake on a hot day. It feels refreshing, like my body is awake for the first time in months.

I've always enjoyed school and exercising my mind, but after months of studying and bending hunchbacked over my schoolbooks, it feels incredible to exercise my body.

There's a small CD player in the corner, and I hit play, hoping something is already loaded up, and immediately pop music begins to play through the speakers in the corners of the room.

I slide to the center of the room and easily transition from ballet to a more contemporary style. As I lose myself in the music, the two begin to blend until I'm alternating from fluid movements to a grand jeté and back again.

I'm completely lost in the movement when the music turns off.

Stuttering to a stop, I turn to see a middle-aged woman standing near the stereo. "You're great, but I have a class in here in five minutes."

I blanch, blushing a deep red. "Sorry," I mumble.

I jog the rest of the way to the dorms barefoot, my sneakers in my backpack, and dance into my room. In a startling turn of events, Dandan isn't there, so I turn up the music on my laptop and dance to and fro as I clean the room and pack for winter break.

When I'm done cleaning, I watch a few bootleg episodes of a reality TV show someone has uploaded to the internet and then make my way down to the dining hall for lunch. Everyone is gone by this point in finals week, so the offering is just some stale sandwiches and a cereal bar. I opt for two bowls of marshmallow cereal, assuming my dad will have made a big dinner to welcome me home.

By the time I get back to my room, I only have a few minutes until Sadie will be there to pick me up. She lives in a suburb just outside the city that's only fifteen minutes from my dad's house, so she's going to give me a ride since I don't have a car. My dad tried to convince me he could afford to get me a car, but I told him that between the cost of textbooks and my meal plan, I wouldn't have any money for gas and zero time for a job. So, he dropped it. Thankfully, Sadie has been an accommodating chauffeur.

She arrives just as I finish packing, and I turn off the lights, lock my door, and race down the back stairwell to meet her.

I expected her to be alone, but there's a large man with dark red hair sitting in the front seat. He climbs out as soon as he sees me, offering the front seat to me, and climbs in the back.

"Thanks," I say, pinching my brows together in a question as I slide into the seat.

"This is Devon," Sadie says in answer. She smiles in the rearview mirror at him. "His car is at the shop, so I offered him a ride as well."

"Sadie girl is our very own taxi service," Devon says, reaching up and laying a hand on Sadie's shoulder. Her cheeks blush.