K U S T O V (NaNoWriMo 2014)

V

                 V 

            “You worthless… Do you even know what you’ve done? You’re put us all in danger. You’ve put my wife in danger, you idiot! Do you realize who you’ve angered? Have you ever even met Jimmy Coonan? Have you ever heard of the Irish Westies? You stupid, worthless-”

            “Hey, don’t talk to him like that!” Sergei snarled, pushing in front of his friend and making sure he put enough space to protect him. “He didn’t shoot the stupid mick, okay?”

            Ivan stopped, stepping back, eyes murderous. “Then who did, mal’chik? A ghost?”

            Sergei took a deep breath before squeezing his eyes shut and murmuring, “I did.”

            Ivan laughed mockingly, shoving the boy, “Oh, you did, did you? You? A little whip of a thing? And how did you do it, then? Did you shoot him in the head, or let him bleed out? Huh?”

            “I’m sure you know, Pakhan.”

            “Do I, now?”

            The moment Sergei began to become scared was when Ivan’s face turned from angry to calm in a second as his wife walked in through the door, a pleasant smile crossing his face as he let go of Sergei, making his way towards his wife, whom of which was scanning up and down at the situation, a pensive look on her face.

            “What’s this all about, darling?” she asked, pursing her red lips as she trailed a fingernail down his chest, a coy smile on her face. “Leave the poor boy be, lyov, he couldn’t have killed Cameron. Put your energy into something more… Productive. Like fighting off Jimmy and protecting me, darling.”

            Natalya’s eyes met Sergei’s and immediately settled him. The expression on her face was one of protection, almost a wink towards a friend. She would take care of him, she would make sure neither he nor Aleksey were convicted of a crime they didn’t commit. And in that moment, Sergei felt safe, for the first time in his life, in a room full of murders, the boy he was in love with, a dangerous mob wife, and one of the most influential people of the Brooklyn underground.

            Odd how things work isn’t it?

Ξ

 

         Jimmy Coonan didn’t know what to do. On one hand, he needed to avenge his friend. Either the Russian bratva or Italian mafia was guilty and he knew it, but the other side of him just wanted to let it be. He needed time to grieve, and contrary to popular mob belief, violence wasn’t the answer, but he may lose the confidence of his men if he didn't step up soon.

            Jimmy was roused from his stupor by his office door being thrown open and one of the drug dealers, Connor O’Madigan, rushed in, throwing a large bag of cocaine on his desk.

            “What is this about, Coonan?” Connor snarled, gesturing towards the drug on Jimmy’s desk.

            “What about, Connor?” Jimmy asked, curious and confused. He knew O’Madigan was doing a deal, but he was confused why he had come to Jimmy about it. Usually only advisors came into his office with daily reports, not common members.     

            “You’ve given me foul snow, boss!  I’ve been selling this manky shite for a week now, and I’ve just had all these customers tell me it’s crocked! Now we’ve near a mob on our hands because it don’t do nothin’, boss!”