Page 123 of Arranged Control

“Ah, I understand.” Finn gives me a sideways glance. “That’s why he’s not dead.”

“Exactly. The Russians would’ve strung him up in public and made an example. But I think beating some fear into him and setting him loose to tell all his friends how scary and dangerous we are is a more effective solution.”

“We’ll see, I guess.”

“If that fucking moron decides to go back to selling, I won’t be nice to him next time.”

We reach the front stoop. It’s a beautiful day in Brooklyn. A young mother walks past with a stroller, totally unaware of what’s going on in the nondescript row home behind me. I wonder what it’s like living in a world where there isn’t death and pain lurking behind every doorway.

I’ll never know.

“There you boys are.” My mother’s leaning against a shiny black Jaguar, big sunglasses on her face. Her sleek red hair’s flowing over one shoulder. She’s dressed like a damn movie star. Sometimes I wish that woman would draw a little bitlessattention to herself.

“Just finishing business.” I walk over and she lightly takes my arm. “How was the drive?”

“Oh, easy. I took the scenic route. I had a feeling you’d take your time.” She smiles and leans over to kiss Finn on the cheek. “You good, dear?”

“All good, Mom. Say hello to Alina for me.” Finn waves as he walks off. Several Whelan men peel off from their positions around the house and join him. More lurk nearby, watching over my mother.

“Sometimes I wish we could go walking in public without all the fuss.” Mom sighs as we stroll down the block together. The guards are good about keeping their distance, but it’s hard not to notice them.

“You know how it goes. The more power we have, the bigger the target.”

“Trust me, darling, I’ve been doing this a lot longer than you.”

“Sometimes I forget.”

She pats my arm lovingly. “Things good with Taras?”

“I’m sure he’s very appreciative of our help.”

“It’s always good to have a friendly Pakhan in your corner, darling.”

“That’s solid advice.”

“Helps when you’re married to his sister.” She beams at me and tilts her sunglasses down. “You look good. Did you do something different?”

I touch my chin. “Shaved last night.”

“Suits you. But it’s not that. Lately, you’ve seemed… lighter, somehow.”

“Really? I find that hard to believe.”

She laughs and puts her glasses back in place. “You always talked about drifting with the wind, but you were always the heaviest of my kids. I don’t know where you learned to laugh and smile, but you used it to cover up all that anger and uncertainty.”

“Didn’t realize I was getting free therapy this morning.”

“I’m just saying.” She elbows me playfully. “You seem happy.”

“I am happy,” I admit, letting myself loosen up a little bit because I know what she means. I used to make a million excuses and spent my days trying to convince myself that I didn’t care about anything. No attachments, no pain.

That was never a good way to live. It ate at me quietly in ways I never noticed. I became detached. I drifted and floated, just like I wanted, and that made me rot from the inside.

“I’m happy for you then.” Mom slows as we reach the coffee shop. Two Whelan men sitting outside nod as we pass them. More soldiers are stationed at tables in the front, looking conspicuous in the fancy shop. But they’re necessary.

Alina’s sitting in the back. My wife’s blonde hair is swept back in a braid. She’s in a sweater and jeans, and I swear, she looks even more chic than my mother, which is a minor miracle. She stands and kisses Mom’s cheek first before hugging me.

“How’d everything go?” she asks casually as if we’re not talking about the brutal beating of a stranger.