Allegiance: Red Star, #2

By Catherine Johnson

The New York underworld is in chaos. Santo Tosetti, head of the Tosetti family, was a peacemaker and mediator between the numerous factions born of different cultures and clans. It was thanks to his efforts that everyone has enjoyed peace and prosperity, but an upstart don, his own son-in-law, arranged for his murder and now it's back to the days of dog eat dog.

Luka Volkov is the second-in-command to Nikolai Volkov, leader of the Volkov Bratva. Their family is feared across the continental US and beyond. Luka is the voice of reason, the calm head and the legal mind that keeps his cousin on an even keel. It's Luka's job to second-guess the forces of justice arrayed against his family and to keep one step ahead of them.

Natalie Mulholland is a dedicated litigator for the New York Attorney General's office. A Federal Agent with a mission, Evan McBayne, is attempting to build a RICO case that will decimate the illegal organizations that feed on the city.  This is a case that could make Natalie's career, providing security for her and her daughter, Lucy; but there's a small problem…

Lucy's father is Luka Volkov. He and Natalie have a soul-deep connection, but the closer they become, the closer they get to destroying everything they've worked for. Their first loyalty will always be to their child, and with that brings a commitment to each other, but that bond is constantly tested by the allegiance that they have to prove to the people who depend upon them. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Freak Circle Press
• Release date: Oct 5, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393629368

Catherine Johnson

CATHERINE JOHNSON, Ph.D., is a writer specializing in neuropsychiatry and the brain. She cowrote Animals in Translation and served as a trustee of the National Alliance for Autism Research for seven years. She lives with her husband and three sons—two of whom have autism—in New York.

Book preview

PROLOGUE

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Luka wiped the sticky blood from his chin with his fingers as Vadim crushed the damn Yankee kid’s nose into a mushy mess with his fist. He examined the red smear, fascinated for a moment that the pain was not in the liquid, but of it, then he wiped the blood off on his jeans and returned to the present moment, as uncomfortable as it was.

"Vadim! Hvatit!"

Niko skidded to a halt by Luka’s side, the words still leaving his mouth before his sneakers had stopped squealing.

Vadim stopped as if hit by a freeze ray. His fist was cocked back, ready to be released. His fingers were still wrapped in Billy Sullivan’s ridiculously oversized t-shirt. Billy had evidently discovered a strong streak of self-preservation. He’d frozen at Nikolai’s shout. He wasn’t even making so much as a whimper. He was obviously concentrating on gasping for each next breath, even though every exhale made bubbles of blood pop all over his face.

Ignoring Vadim and Billy for the moment, satisfied with the frozen tableau, Nikolai cupped Luka’s face in his palm. He ran his thumb under his lip. He deliberated avoided touching the split, knowing that the pressure would sting, but taking another smear of scarlet onto his own skin.

"Again, kuzen?" he asked so softly that no one else could hear.

Luka cast his eyes down. He couldn’t meet his cousin’s concerned gaze. He didn’t deserve such sympathy. He was weak.

Vadim called over, his fist still held in readiness. They waited until he was alone, then three of them jumped him. This one, he nodded at the boy beneath his fist, has been the leader all along.

"Hvatit," Luka spat. He would not be made excuses for. Despite his weaknesses, he still had his pride. The truth was that Vadim had not had any difficulty in holding off the three boys. The first two were unconscious. The ring leader was under Vadim’s fist. Luka had no doubt that Nikolai could have outwitted them, could have out-fought them. His cousin was not as brawny as his brother, but he was wily and struck like a snake. Niko knew a person’s weak spots as if he lived in their skin. He always seemed to know just where to land a kick or a punch. Luka had the technique - he could punch, he could fight, he trained alongside his brothers - but his muscles stubbornly refused to grow. He simply didn’t have the strength to defend himself. Even at ten years old he was the runt of the three of them. He was just as tall but had only half their width.

Niko frowned but dropped his hand from Luka’s face. He stalked over to the trembling form of Billy Sullivan.

He crouched so that he could speak directly to the boy’s ear, but his voice carried to those surrounding him. You will forget that we were here. Your story will be that you fell down. I give not one shit where you say you fell, but you all fell. Do you understand me?

Nikolai’s words had more of the flavor of a command than a question, but apparently, Billy Sullivan did not possess the intelligence to appreciate that. Perhaps it was his arrogance, built by years of being the biggest asshole in the schoolyard. Perhaps it was his prestigious parentage; his father was a lawyer looking to run for public office. Perhaps it was the inflection of Nikolai’s Russian accent. As with them all, the more their blood was raised, the thicker their accents became, no matter how they tried to subdue them for this new American home.

You filthy commie bastards! Who the fuck do you think you are? Fuck off back to Russia, you red scum!

Niko did little more than raise an eyebrow at Vadim. The hammer of his fist descended and broke open Billy’s mouth. The boy gurgled and spat a gob of gore onto the blacktop. Luka was amazed that the puddle of blood didn’t contain a pearl of a tooth.

"You fell, da?" Nikolai’s interjection was less of a question and more of an affirmation.

The sound that came out of the boy in a spray of blood and phlegm was indistinguishable as an actual word but was clearly an agreement, accompanied as it was by a frantic jerk of his head.

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"Khorosho. Nikolai nodded. Vadim, release our new friend."

Vadim growled at Billy, who shook and trembled despite his attempts at bravado, but he did as instructed. Even at their young age, it was obvious that Nikolai would be their leader. The air of command came effortlessly to him. Since Vadim and Luka’s parents and Niko’s mother had been murdered, they had all lived with their grandmother and Nikolai’s father. They were all destined to follow the footsteps of their elders, but Nikolai was unquestionably the leader among the three of them. Between them, Irina and Kirill Volkov commanded a Bratva of loyal soldiers. Their mafiya family had been a force to be reckoned with in Russia, far beyond their home city of Magnitogorsk, but in this new country - comprised of new people, new ways, new politicians and new criminals – they were still fighting to gain their place in the hierarchy. As with the schoolyard, it was simply a case of showing the right people who was boss, who was strongest. But also as with the schoolyard, sometimes such lessons did not take the first time around.

Once he had been released, Billy paused. For one unfortunate moment, it looked as though his arrogance would get the better of him, that his pride might make him attempt another attack, although to do so would be virtually suicidal. He trembled on the edge of action for several heartbeats, and then he turned and ran, his sneakers bounding faster than a heartbeat on the pitted blacktop.

Vadim walked over, shaking his fingers out, blood flying off in tiny spatters.

We should get home. He clenched and unclenched his fist a couple of times, and that was the extent of the evidence of his discomfort. Vadim practiced punching a heavy boxing bag in the gym they attended several days out of every week, his knuckles bandaged, but not gloved. Billy Sullivan’s face - skull notwithstanding - was quite a bit less resistant than the forty-pound bag.

Luka couldn’t say the words and keep his head up. I don’t want Irina to see this.

Niko sighed. She will. There’ll be no getting around it. You can’t avoid her for a week.

Luka still couldn’t raise his head, especially not when he felt the burn of tears. She’ll fuss. I don’t want her to fuss.

You’re going to have to let her, Vadim sighed and examined his knuckles. They were red, they would bruise. She’s going to fuss over all of us, not just you.

"Blyad! Nikolai spat. I am sick of this shit!

They all shared his frustration. They understood why their grandmother had moved them thousands of miles, they were supposed to be safer here, but for the three boys, life did not feel much safer. They had been unceremoniously dumped into fifth-grade, the last year of this type of school. Grade school, as his grandmother had termed it. Apparently, they had two more changes to endure, to middle school and then to high school. They had been dropped into a society where the gangs and cliques and friendships had already been cemented by years in the same classroom, as well as citizenship of the same country.

The three Volkov boys - so recently departed from their Russian home that they still almost always spoke in Russian before the thought to speak American - were likely to remain oddities for the rest of the year. Perhaps, from September, middle school would be different. Perhaps it would be the fresh start they needed, although Luka feared it would not be. The place of their birth marked them as outsiders, and it always would. Never mind that almost everyone in their class claimed heritage from every continent except this, they could simply not accept that everyone without a drop of Indian blood was in the same boat. It all boiled down to who had been here for the longest time.

I wish I could make it stop. Luka didn’t realize that he had spoken out loud until his brother’s hand descended heavily on his shoulder. Only then did he look up. He couldn’t refuse his brother. Since their parents had been gunned down, their first allegiance had been to each other.

We will, brother, Vadim promised. We will.

You can’t be with me every second of the day. Tears still burned Luka’s eyes, but rage turned his disgust with himself into something cold and hard that lodged underneath his ribs.

We won’t need to be, Nikolai promised. It is all a matter of leverage and planning. We have our leverage. Mr. Sullivan will not want to tidy up his son’s messes while he tries to show his voters his best side. We can plan. We know now what we are dealing with, who we are dealing with. With a little thought, we can outmaneuver them.

Luka met Nikolai’s eyes then. Rage compelled him to meet his cousin’s gaze. I don’t want to fucking outmaneuver them. I don’t want to fucking hide. I want to be stronger than I am. Don’t you fucking understand?!

Yes, his brother squeezed his shoulder. We do. We are stronger together, always. Together we are stronger than anyone that stands against us.

"You sound like Babushka," Luka grumbled.

Her advice is solid. Vadim shrugged. She’s lived this many times over, worse than we ever had to. If we let her, she’ll show us the way.

He’s right. Nikolai clapped his hand on Luka’s other shoulder. But perhaps, in the meantime, we should speak with Alexei. He always has the more... creative ideas.

Luka liked speaking with Alexei Sokolov. The man was a deadly killer who looked like a kindly grandfather, but he had a peacefulness inside him that was born of the knowledge of the ancients. It intrigued Luka to simply be in his presence but to watch him work was a fascinating thing. Luka nodded, not trusting his voice to hold steady. He wasn’t sure he could explain to Alexei - a man he revered as a father above even his uncle - that he felt like such a disappointment.

Vadim squeezed his shoulder and pulled him away from Nikolai’s grasp into an embrace. Luka let his brother hold him. Since their parents had been stolen from them, almost three years before, Luka had been the one to comfort his brother. Luka had been the strength, the voice of reason, the steady rock in their storm of grief. He alone had been able to talk Vadim down from his violent, desperate tantrums. Now it was his brother’s time to confer peace and tranquility.

I wish I was more, Luka mumbled against Vadim’s thick neck.

You are, his brother whispered at his ear as he rubbed soothing circles over his slumped shoulders with his palm. You just don’t see it yet, but you are.

DIVIDER.GIF

Again.

Alexei’s stern demand reverberated through the desolate cellar despite the thumping baseline that pounded down from the club above. The vibration rumbled through Luka’s body in counterpoint to his own heartbeat. At first, the sensation had felt a little like having an out-of-body experience. After months of visits to this room, he was now used to it. The techno tracks were always a regular four-beat at their heart, despite the fancy syncopation of the other layers of each track. When he needed to center himself, he could concentrate on the beat and use it as an anchor.

He needed that anchor now. His breath caught as he tried to align his body with the vibration that pulsed through the building. He steadied his stance. He adjusted the grip on the knife in his hand. The man tied to the seat before him had committed a crime against his family. That crime required a payment. The price had been measured in blood. Luka had been nominated to exact that price, under the watchful eye of Alexei.

Alexei Sokolov was tutor and mentor to Luka, his brother, and his cousin, but he did not fill the gap of their missing fathers. His lessons came in counterpoint and tandem to those of their grandmother. Irina and Alexei worked seamlessly together to lead the Volkov Bratva and had done so for many years. Alexei had always been a confidante of his grandmother’s, but he had become her closest advisor following the death of her son, Kirill, Luka’s uncle. Since the boys had turned thirteen, he had been tasked with their training. After two years of lessons, Luka had made a difficult decision, one he knew would not be well received.

This particular job had been delegated to Luka as a test and he knew it. Less than two months had passed since his fifteenth birthday. Although he would have been considered a man in Russia, he was still considered to be a child in this America. His grandmother held to the old ways, and she wanted to know now if he was ready, if he was able to join their organizatsiya. He had passed every other trial that had been laid before him, but now the tests were increasing in severity and importance. Before they had wanted to test his abilities and his skills; now they meant to test his bones and his mind. If he was to fail this test, no matter his blood, he would no longer be able to be part of his family’s world.

Alexei had taught Luka, Nikolai and Vadim almost all there was to know about the anatomy of the human body, and about the limits and abilities of flesh and bone. He had used the carcasses of pigs for their experiments, to begin with. He had wanted them to learn the strength of joints and bones and their weaknesses. He had wanted them to learn how a knife felt as it slipped between two ribs, and how it felt when it missed its mark and grazed the bone. He had wanted them to learn how skin, fat, and muscles could split when carved by a scalpel, and how they burst when less refined instruments were used. He had taught them how to use axes, hooks, whips and canes. Once their technique had been perfected to Alexei’s standards, they were designated human subjects to prove their skills on. This was not the first time that Luka had faced such a task, and he was sure it would not be the last.

The boys had been split up for these lessons. Luka wasn’t sure whether it was a blessing or a curse. They all drew strength from each other, even simply from their own silent presence. He suspected that they were being tutored on their own now because Alexei wanted to expose their vulnerabilities. He wanted them at their weakest so that he could train them to be stronger.

So far, Alexei had directed Luka through several stages of the torture required for this task. There had been almost no need for any mental aspect, the fact that someone so young should be assigned to the duty had covered that base quite adequately. Their subject had been trembling against his bonds from the moment that they had entered the room. Once he had understood it was to be the child in action, he had started shaking so that the chair he was tied to had rattled against the concrete.

Luka wasn’t sure what their target had expected, but he had attempted to fulfil Alexei’s commands with as much poise and confidence as his tutor had ever exhibited. There was a small bloody pile in front of their captive comprised of fingernails and teeth. A dark stain on the concrete attested to how pain could affect bladder control. If the stench in the dank space was anything to go by, their captive had shit his pants as well.

But Luka had had enough. He knew how it would play out. He could visualize it behind his eyelids, the shaking, the crying, the groaning, the pleading... the cloying odor of blood, sweat and bowels... It was... boring. The whole process was predictable and easy. He wasn’t sure how he would explain himself, but he knew that he could not continue.

Luka dropped his hands from his current task, to carve out the right eyeball, and turned to Alexei with a heavy sigh. I don’t want to do this.

Alexei squinted in the light thrown by the naked bulb, the light was bright, but the shadows were darker. You don’t? Is your stomach weak?

Luka allowed his face to crease into a scowl and he gestured at the torn body in the chair. "Nyet. I have come this far, have I not? I have proved myself before, many times."

Alexei’s brow lost its tension and returned to a state of semi-smoothness, but his mouth was still pinched. You have. Your mind is here, it is always here, but your heart is not.

Luka took the words as a rebuke. He felt them like a punch to the gut and he could not let that blow land without retort. "I am part of this family. This family has my life. Volki navsegda. You cannot question that!"

The man in the chair grunted. Luka cuffed him around the ear to remind him that he had no place in the conversation. Hush now. He turned back to Alexei. So?

Alexei was grinning. I do not question your loyalty. But I want to know why your blade is still. What makes your heart heavy? Tell me.

Luka shrugged, paralyzed for a moment by the need to find adequate words. This, he gestured around the cellar, This... I can do it, but... he sighed.

But you don’t want to, Alexei prompted.

Luka sensed a trap in his mentor’s comment; he straightened his spine. I will do it any time I am asked. I will do whatever is asked of me.

The meat sack in the chair grunted again. Alexei drew a knife from the inside pocket of his tweed jacket, an elegant motion that belied the size of the blade. He put the point of the steel tip against their victim’s nose and pushed until the first half-inch of the blade punctured the knob of cartilage. No more interruptions from you, I think. The man whimpered and groaned when Alexei pulled the blade free, but once he was no longer held in place, he nodded his head. Blood dripped from the cut and ran over the duct tape that was stretched over his lips.

Luka carried on as Alexei straightened. Vadim is better at this than I, as is Niko. I want to help the family. I want to be a part of the family – truly I do - but there must be a different way. This... Luka shrugged and sent a disparaging glance to the body in the chair. This is easy. I would rather take his mind apart without my blade. That would be a challenge.

Alexei laughed. The sound startled Luka; it was no mere chuckle, it was a full, throaty bellow of sound that came from the man’s diaphragm. He waited, somewhat confused, until Alexei had regained control of his mirth.

Indeed. Alexei removed his round, wire-rimmed glasses, and wiped the tears from his eyes. You have superb focus, he muttered into his handkerchief. You can cause pain without blinking. You could be the best at this, almost as good as me.

And I will be, if you ask it of me, Luka countered.

"No, plemyannik, I won’t ask it of you. Alexei sighed and placed his glasses back on his nose. The human body intrigues me in all the ways it can be taken apart and put back together and taken apart again. You concentrate on everything I teach you. You have not faltered once, but you do these things because you must. You do not do these things because it is an art, you do not do them because your victim sings for you. But there are other ways to take men to pieces, ways that require more skill than this, and I will show them to you."

Luka looked at their captive, then back at Alexei. He was intrigued, but he did not want to end this lesson on a disappointing note. I would make him sing for you, uncle. I would make a victim sing for us one last time.

Alexei turned his focus to the chair. The man tied to it began shaking. His wrists and ankles, already rubbed raw by the hemp fibers of the ropes that bound him, began to bleed.

Then let us compose one last aria together, Alexei sighed.

Luka smiled and advanced with his blade poised in readiness.

CHAPTER ONE

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Natalie watched him as he slid out of the sleek BMW that he’d parked at the curb. The vehicle looked like any other businessman’s sedan, but she knew it had armor plating and bulletproof glass; it was built like a damn tank. He'd left his suit jacket somewhere, it was probably still in his car. He'd rolled his shirt sleeves back, and the collar of his shirt was open. His tie was probably wherever his jacket was. Luka was never less than impeccably presented whenever he left his apartment. This, she knew, was an attempt to seem friendly, or, at least, less intimidating. She supposed that if he hadn't come straight from the office, this might be one of the rare occasions that she would have seen him out on the streets in jeans and a t-shirt.

That he had spent so much time with his work had been part of the problem, or more accurately, that his work and family were so deeply intertwined it was impossible to separate the two. There had never been a point where she could have said exactly that he put his work before their daughter, but in a way, his work, his family, always came before Lucy. That had been the final argument; she had believed, still did, that they couldn't be safe as a family while he was who he was. His position on the matter was that she was asking him to choose between blood that was all his own; his brother, his cousins and his grandmother on one side, his daughter on the other.

The impasse that they had reached had been a cold and unwelcome place in which to exist. He couldn’t seem to make the choice that was necessary, so she made the hard choice for them. She'd taken Lucy, but she hadn't taken her far. They still lived in the city, and Lucy still saw her father, but they no longer existed as a family unit. There was a distance that, in an ideal world, no daughter should have to know.

She could see him looking over to her, and his steps began to bend her way, but then Lucy spotted her dad and called out, and he changed direction so that he could brace himself to catch the forty pounds of five-year-old that was suddenly flinging herself at him.

She watched as Lucy dragged her father over to the play area. He smiled, and laughed and clapped as their daughter slid down the slide, showed off on the monkey bars, and demanded to be pushed on the swing. He never betrayed any hint of irritation or impatience, but she hadn’t expected such negativity. He genuinely adored his daughter, not perhaps enough to cut himself free and make a clean life with the two of them, but there was no question about his fatherly devotion. She knew that if she made so much as a murmur of regret about her decision, that he'd welcome them both back with open arms. Sometimes, in the quiet, dark hours of the night, when she was loneliest, she felt almost weak enough to call him, but then she would remember with a heavy heart that she had to be strong.

There was a change in the tempo of their play. Lucy had become distracted by one of the transient childish friendships she'd made as soon as they'd arrived at the park. Luka watched her for a while, content to observe, having been completely forgotten by his daughter, and not at all bothered by that fact. When he was certain that he was no longer needed as the center of her attention, he turned and walked over to where Natalie was sitting. She moved her own jacket, folded so that the minimum amount of fabric touched the bench, to make room for him to sit.

Hiya, he greeted her with a warm smile as he sat down.

Hey. She returned the smile, with only a hint of regret at all the might-have-beens. She's pleased to see you. Her teacher tells me she's been jumping up and down like a bean all day.

I wanted to be early, but there was this meeting...

She held up her