Page 88 of Lord of the Underworld

"There you are, my wife," I croak. "I swam through oceans of blood to find you."

***

Svekrov' - Russian for mother-in-law

Chapter Forty

In which a Dark Lord of the Underworld needs an equally dark wife.

Vadim…

"We hoped to wait until you were healthy enough to close the doors of the shipping container yourself," Grandfather says, disappointment heavy in his words. "Your injuries were too severe. A collapsed lung, six broken ribs, the jaw fracture, the back lacerations from the whip, and..." His jaw tightened and it took him a minute to continue. "The burn from the poker they shoved into your thigh."

Father smiles, and it's not pleasant. "We did set up a camera inside, should you ever want to watch any of the footage. The captain uploads the footage and sends it to one of our servers every night." His smile sharpens even more, showing the points of his canines, like a wolf. "We kept most of the men who tortured you alive - not in good shape, mind you - but they were alive when we put them into the container.

"It's been two weeks since the cargo ship sailed to the Northern Sea Route. The captain knows to drop the container out in international waters before making port."

I've finally been released from the hospital and we are back in the Moscow penthouse, though it feels less like home to me now. I'm still confined to my fucking bed, aside from slow walks around the place every few hours. All these multiple entries and hidden passageways are much less desirable when it takes longer to find my wife. But the sight of Oksana weeping in terror when I pulled out my IV tubes was enough to force me to play patient for a few more days.

I'm willing to endure it because after the medical personnel, guards, and family members finally leave each day, she crawls into bed with me and we talk. About returning to the States. Back home, to Chicago. We talk about Charon and Zlo, and galloping along one of the trails in the forest behind our house.

Grandfather flew to Chicago to oversee production on the ghost guns while I have been trapped in this goddamned bed. I receive messages daily from Ivan and Natalia, the chief engineer, plaintively asking when I'll be back. It is a given that my grandfather's presence is never reassuring.

I'm sure they're deeply relieved that he has returned to Moscow today for a Council of the Six. The Morozovs have also been invited as the most powerful Bratva from St. Petersburg.

"Why the meeting?" I ask. "Traditionally the Pakhans do not like to meet together because of the security risk."

"For this gathering?" Father shakes his head. "There is a level of security that surpasses anything that Putin, the King of England, and the President of the United States combined could achieve."

"Has there been any pushback from the families who lost someone in that pathetic crew of wife-beaters?"

He shrugs. "Some noise from a couple of the cartels, but they know better than to push it. The Irish immediately disavowed any connection with Murphy. The MacTavishes were instrumental in getting the Irish to agree to step back." Father smiles cynically. "The Italians, who started this shit in the first place, now want to meet to discuss and I quote, 'how to move past this'."

The door opens, and I hope it will be Oksana. Instead, it's my cousins, Dmitri, and Andrey.

"Vadim, our beloved cousin," Dimitri says gravely, but with a slight grin tugging on the corner of his mouth. "Your lovely bride has made it clear that if we stay longer than ten minutes, she's going to stab us. She was very descriptive about where the knife would go."

I love my wife.

“When a woman is capable of shooting her own father in the face, it is best to take her seriously,” I agreed.

"Before the summit this afternoon," Andrey says. "We want to present a possible solution for those who feel their private family issues should not be exposed to the entire crime world."

"If they're beating their wives and selling their children," Grandfather rumbles, "they deserve so much more than being exposed."

"We're proposing that anyone in our world can present a petition for protection or relief. Or, a defense against the same," Andrey says, as animated as I've ever seen him. He does love creating solutions. "It will not be something taken lightly. Penalties for anyone involved in a petition could be very severe. Death, disfigurement. There's many options."

Andrey says this in the same tone he’d use to talk about what he’s having for lunch, or the color of the tie he selected when he got dressed today.

"A tribunal of sorts?" I ask.

"Exactly. Members will be selected from each of the key families and designated to represent each region of power. From the Yakuza to the Bratva, the Mafia and the Syndicates," Dmitri says.

My gaze moves back to Andrey. "I feel certain that you, our New York State Supreme Court Justice, was the one to present this idea."

He bows his head gracefully with a hint of a smile.

When the door opens again, my wife is standing there, murder in her eyes. One hand is on the doorknob, but I can't see her other one, and I wonder if she's hiding something. My favorite knife, perhaps.