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“That too.” Vik winks.
“But we’re businessmen as well,” I add. “The moment his death was announced, we submitted a claim on his estate with you as his next of kin. You are his only surviving relative, except for an elderly aunt. He murdered everyone else in his family the moment he thought they looked like they could be thinking about taking his crown. The moment the claim is substantiated, and it will be, you will become the sole heir to his fortune.”
“I don’t want his money,” she spits.
“Good, because you won’t be touching any of it. His Russian bank accounts have the equivalent of about a hundred thousand dollars in them. His real assets are hidden in offshore accounts that Orlov will have been frantically trying to find and access since your father took his last labored breath. What none of them know is that we drained all of your father’s hidden accounts months ago. Grigoriy was compulsively private, he didn’t trust technology or the internet because he was essentially technologically illiterate, but too prideful to admit that he didn’t know how to do something. He had his lawyer handle all of his affairs that required any kind of online activity. Unfortunately for him, his lawyers weren’t much better at technology than he was and so his legal estate is in a mess. Since we found you again a year ago, we have been slowly taking everything we could from Grigoriy and the rest of the spineless idiots who work for him. The Mafia’s strength is in its ability to close ranks, but for the families that were left behind after we were exiled, appearance is everything.
“Good Mafia bosses cannot be seen to be on the verge of bankruptcy and that’s where we’ve left everyone except for Orlov and your father. The shoulders upon which the Pakhan sits are weakened and now, with your help, we’re going to make the whole thing crumble to the ground,” Dimi announces with a grin.
“If you’ve done all of this already. Why not just destroy them without involving me?” she asks.
“Because we want to see the look on Pavel Orlov’s face when we put a bullet through his skull,” Vik says, his voice full of bloodlust and chaos.
“And the only way you can get close enough to kill him, is with me to get you through the door,” she surmises.
“Yes,” I agree.
“Once he’s dead, I’ll be free, right?” Longing clear in her tone.
“You’ll never be free. Not now. We plan to destroy the Pakhan and his Avtoritets, but we’re not naive enough to think that they won’t rebuild.” Dimi smirks.
“That’s actually what we’re banking on,” I say with a nod.
“I don’t understand?” Her voice sounds strained and I wonder if we’ve put too much on her, when she’s already sick from the sedative.
“As much as I wish we could destroy the Mafia completely, it’s a fool’s dream. The underworld will always need people to control it, to lead and dominate, because without it, everyday life would crumble. Taking out the Pakhan and the families will just pave the way for a new Mafia to be born,” Dimi tells her.
“With you at the helm?” she gasps.
“No,” I say quickly. “We don’t want to rule or be a part of the Mafia. That’s never been our aim. But by hand picking and placing the men we have chosen to create a new Mafia; we can control the narrative right from the off.”
“You’re the Wizard of Oz,” she whispers.
“Exactly,” Vik says excitedly. “We’re the man or men, or a guess men and woman behind the curtain. We’ll know everything, be the ones steering the ship, but no one will know that we orchestrate everything.”
“So why won’t I be safe?” she asks.
“Because no matter where you live, or what you call yourself, you’ll always be Alena Grigoriyovna Polakoff, the daughter of the most feared Pakhan of a brutal Mafia family. Away from this island, you’d spend the rest of your life looking over your shoulder, questioning if the person on the street is a friend or a sleeper cell from the old country looking for revenge for your father’s sins. You’ll never be free of your birthright unless you stop being Alena Polakoff and become Alabama Belova, the cosseted, protected wife of a billionaire business mogul.”
Exhaling wearily, she rubs at her eyes with the hand that isn’t restricted by the IV line. “Damned if I do, and fucked if I don’t,” she whispers to herself, shaking her head. “Such a fucking whore.”
“We can protect you,” I tell her.
“We can give you everything your heart or body desires.” Vik winks.
“We won’t ever let you go,” Dimi says, but it comes out like more of a threat than an enticement.
“And if I say no?” she questions.
“We do it anyway,” Dimi says coldly, “We do not need your cooperation, the first strike has already been made, but it would be better for all of us if you were with us, rather than against us. This island, this house, it doesn’t have to be a prison, it can be your palace.”
“With bars on the doors,” she sighs.
“Every life has bars. Your life in Georgia was destroyed by two simple happenstances. Without money and a job, you would have been homeless. Tell me how that life was any broader than this one. The shores of this island might be what contains all of us, but the metaphorical bars on your old life were more binding than the edges of paradise here would be,” I coax.
A knock at the door silences us all and Dimi walks to answer it, talking silently to Roza, then Dr. Wood, before escorting him in. The doctor’s skin is pale, and there’s a fine sheen of sweat on his forehead that I don’t think is from the tropical heat.
Walking over to the bed, he examines Alabama’s arm, then quickly unhooks the IV needle, packing all of the medical supplies away in his bag, before turning and leaving without uttering a word.
