K U S T O V (NaNoWriMo 2014)

III

Cover on the side made by MidnightPotion

III 

On the 15th of November, it happened.

Crime had always been the central of what the mafia did. It was how they made their way, made sure their territories stayed theirs, and ignited fear in everyone that knew them. But on the 15th of November, three men changed the world of crime for forever.

Rape had always been an unspoken rule amongst Brooklyn’s underworld: it didn’t happen, and if it did, if was punishable. It certainly didn’t happen to mob wives, or members or wives of members. The women were fiercely protected: they were the cargo, and their husbands and bosses were the ship. And if one of them was victimized, harmed, or forced, it would spark one of the deepest and longest grudges and rivalries known to man.

On the fifteenth of November, three men from the Russian Bratva brutally raped and harmed Amelia Bellomo, daughter of mob boss Liborio Bellomo and the shining star of the Italian-American mafia. What sparked yet more anger was the lack of persecution to the three men by the mob boss, Ivan Kustov.

What they did not know, however, was that the crime had not been spontaneous.

Ξ

 

            If there was anyone that looked more like the cat had caught the canary then Ivan Kustov, then he must have done something even worse. Sitting in his office, feet kicked up onto his desk and smoking an expensive Cuban cigar, Ivan was content. Sure, he was waiting for a death threat from the Italian mafia and his wife had gone missing, but he had finally gotten back the only way he knew possible at his long time rival. Of course, it had come with costs. Natalya would have to be on guard now, as well as all of the other women involved in the bratva. Nowhere would be safe, and Liborio’s wrath could not be rivaled, especially when it came to his daughter.

            The only regret that Ivan had was causing harm to Amelia. A bright, cheery girl, Amelia was just out of high school. When you saw her, it was obvious that she was Italian. Dark, coffee brown hair, framed by a heart shaped face and dark eyes, she always had a smile in her face and a light in her eyes. Now, however, she would never be the same, and he couldn’t help but regret that.

            And in a moment, his office door burst open.

            “Pakhan,” Adrian Botkoveli ran into the previously silent room, face flushed and panting heavily. “Bellomo is here.”

            Ivan looked up from studying his cigar, eyes meeting those of one of his most trusted informants. “Bring him in.”

Ξ

            Liborio “Barney” Bellomo was not a large man. Standing at an unimpressive five foot five and sporting consistent day old scruff, Liborio was not what one would expect from such a successful and renowned boss. And when he walked into Ivan’s office, everyone began to realize how such a seemingly unimportant man could be so influential to so many people. Out of his usual casual attire of jeans and a t-shirt, Bellomo was dressed to the nines in a khaki suit and trilby hat, much like Ivan’s own. Instead of the usual, easy going demeanor that he was famous for, Liborio’s eyes were hard as he sat down and looked his new rival into the eyes.

            “So, Ivan. Are you going to speak English to me today?” he snarled, crossing his arms across his chest and nodding at the cigar still smoking in his mouth.

            Carefully removing his feet from the top of his desk, Ivan stubbed out the cigar and left it with steam billowing from the end in the ashtray, smiling slyly.

            “Oh, Liborio, you know me,” he laughed. “I don’t speak anything but Slavic if I have to.”

            Obviously beginning to get frustrated, Bellomo grunted and began searching for a cigarette of his own in his front pocket, fumbling around and finally pulling out a slightly flustered looking cigar. Chucking, Ivan picked up his own again, taking a long drag.

            “So, let’s cut to the chase, shall we? What do you want?”

            “You know what I want! I want to know why you did it! Why… To my daughter… You know that’s against the rules!” Bellomo stood up from his chair, face red and fists clenched.

            “No, it’s not. There are no rules, Liborio. You must remember, we are bosses of the mafia, not the senate.”

            “Of course I know that! But touching my daughter… You better be ready, Ivan, because the Sicilian’s won’t stand for it, and neither will I! She barely talks to me now, you know. All because of you! I hope you rot,” Bellomo hissed, teeth bared. “I hope you rot in the depths of hell and everyday you’re reminded that you allowed the girl you considered a niece to be hurt like that. I hope one day you realize that doing this didn’t make you strong, Ivan. It made you weak. Just like everyone else. I hope you rot, Ivan. I hope you rot.”

            Ivan just laughed as the little man shuffled away from his office, head hung and tail between his legs.

Ξ

 

            As she stormed down the street, the hard, angry clacking of dangerously high heels following her as she went, Natalya crossed her arms across her chest. She couldn’t remember ever being so angry. Of course, she had been annoyed before, even aggravated, but never irate. She wasn’t one to overly express her feelings. To Natalya, expressing extreme emotions was a weakness, one that she cared to keep reared back. Emotions revealed the real you, and she could always tell what sort of person a man is by the way he cried or the way he smoked a good cigar.

            Finally making her way into the doorstep of the apartment she was looking for, Natalya calmly rung the doorbell and leaned against the metal rail behind her. The night was quiet and cold, and made her regret that she hadn’t brought a jacket. The street was silent, very different from the normal bustling of the morning. Everyone must have already gone to bed, and all porch lights but the one she was standing underneath were off. The bustling of feet came from behind the door, and Natalya hurriedly relaxed her arms and put on her best devil-may-care facial expression, one eyebrow raised and mouth quirked.

            As the door opened and she greeted the occupant by kissing them on either cheek, the Russian way, and murmured frivolous greetings and offered a smile, Natalya offered her hand.

            “Oh, do we have so much to discuss…”