The Mafia's Surgeon

Chapter 16 - KAT

The last few days had been a complete whirlwind. As soon as I got back to the family home in Moscow, my grandfather sat me down and told me all about who I was, the family I belonged to and what exactly they did.

I was curious as to why I never knew why, but it was all because of my father. My father, who is the son of my grandfather, Reznikov Romanovich, used to be a huge leader within the family, rising in the ranks, and was geared to take over as soon as needed. On a trip to England, he fell in love with my mother, so deeply in love. She hated crime, and drugs, and weapons, and he gave it all up just to be with her, never telling her his past or who he was, even going as far as to legally change his name to Mendez. We occasionally went to the family home in Moscow, for Christmases and things, but I guess they hid that whole section of their life away from me and from my mother.

I didn't know how to feel. I didn't like it; being part of a huge crime family, which was part of an even bigger crime syndicate. The crime syndicate consisted of many different Russian families, all working for similar goals, but my family was on top.

I hate violence. I guess I am just like my mother in that sense. I shudder to think whether my father, or uncle, or grandfather ever hit anyone or punished anyone in the way I was punished by Jean-Marc. All I could see was his brain being blown out and his body going completely limp, as he begged for forgiveness. As we left that private room to go back to the car, I saw various of the Russian mafia soldiers shooting the French mafia and lying them in a big line. I couldn't look, clenching my eyes shut, grabbing onto Irina's arm (my aunt).

I had been gone for way too long now. I'm sure my mother was absolutely worried sick about me. I needed to go out and visit her. I used one of the payphones out on the street and dialled my mother's number. She picked up after the fourth time I rang.

"Hey Momma, I'm so sorry, you must've been worried sick about me, I just got held up-"

"Don't worry darling! I spoke to your friend Enzo a couple of days ago, he said the exact same thing, and that you would make it over here when you could. Will that be soon?"

I finished up my conversation with my mother, and booked tickets to Manchester for that evening, telling my mafia family I was so glad they saved me, and had a lovely time getting to spend some time with them, but that I had to go to England to see my mother. They understood completely, and my uncle drove me to the airport.

"You be safe okay," he said, in perfect English.

"Of course," I reassured him.

"I'm not sure how you got mixed up with Don Lorenzo Arcaro, or with Jean-Marc Duval, but they are dangerous men. We are all dangerous men in a power-hungry world. Try not to get twisted up in it."

We parked, and he walked me right up to security, ensuring that an airport security guard made sure I got on the plane safely.

"Anything for a Romanovich," agreed the security guard, and he followed me around till it was time for me to board.

The whole way home, all I could think of was what the fuck has happened to my life. My simple life of waking up next to a caring boyfriend and just doing my job, every day. I miss it, but I definitely don't miss Jack. And Enzo, what about Enzo? He told my mother I got caught up in something, did he look for me? Did he know where I was? Surely he didn't plan it, as it was a way of getting back at him. Why take me though, and not any of the other staff that had been there longer? I'm glad no one else had to suffer that kind of pain though, I handled it fine.

When the plane landed, my father and mother were waiting outside passport control. My mother ran up to me and grabbed me in a huge hug, and my father came over and put his arms around both of us. My dad knew what I knew, and I knew what I knew, and I knew he knew what I knew, but my mother, she didn't know anything. We waited until she fell asleep on the sofa, like she usually does in the evenings, before my father and I moved into the kitchen and chatted. He poured me and himself a scotch, and I downed it, asking for another.

"I know," I said.

"I know you know, your mother-"

"I know she doesn't know. I won't tell her." He relaxed a bit in his chair. "I appreciate what you did for my mother, for me. The way you protected us."

He smiled. Those were all the words that were needed at that point.

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