Chimera

Lev, this is Michael. He’s my girlfriend’s nephew. I’m running him up to see New York for a few days. She insisted. Male bonding and all that.”

Black eyes glittering with good cheer, Lev took Michael’s hand and pumped it. “Nice to meet you, young man. Come in. Come in. You delicate sunbirds can’t handle true weather.”

In the cavernous foyer, I shook the snow out of my hair and took in the vision that was Lev Novikov. It was barely eight o’clock; yet he was already dressed in a snowy expanse of shirt with suspenders of deep blues and purples. His tie matched perfectly and the creases in his pants were knife sharp; at least they were until they reached the swell of his stomach. Both chins were damply clean and gleaming with aftershave. He was a big man, but Lev had made his way through four wives, all of whom had adored the overgrown cherub up to and even after the divorce.

“You’re looking good, Uncle,” I said, grinning. “Working on wife number five yet?”

He returned my grin with a sly one of his own. “I’ve a few damskee ygrodnik in mind, angels all.” Clapping his hands, he went on briskly. “Now, you’re just in time for breakfast, and I’ll hear no arguing on the matter.”

Behind him an unassuming figure stepped forward to take our jackets. Dressed in dark gray, he wasn’t British and his name was Larson, not Jeeves, but he fulfilled Lev’s desire for a butler all the same. He’d worked there nearly twenty years and had seen things that guaranteed him a paycheck miles above that of any other domestic servant.

We walked across marble floors in the traditional checkerboard black and white and found ourselves in a dining room in royal reds and rich gold. The table was already set for three. No time had been wasted once the call had been received from the guardhouse. There were servers massed with eggs, sausage, bacon, and fried potatoes. There were also plushki, a type of cinnamon bun, and bleeny, Russian pancakes with honey and jam. Crystal pitchers of orange, raspberry, and apple juice topped it all off.

“Sit, boys. Sit.” Lev waved an expansive hand. “Stefan, tell me what you’ve been up to. Are you still doing byk duty? Tschh, you could do so much better than . . . ah . . .” He gave Michael a glance and finished circumspectly, “You could do better. I wish you’d let me pull some strings for my favorite godson.”

He had to know Konstantin had been killed. Lev might be retired, but he’d have to be in the ground not to have heard that news. This was his way of hinting around for a bit of private discussion time.

“I think it’s safe to say those days are behind me, Uncle Lev,” I said neutrally as I took a seat and began filling up my plate as my brother did the same beside me. It would be best to keep up the pretense that Michael was in the dark when it came to my career, at least as Lev knew it. Muddying the waters was the last complication I needed at the moment. “We could talk about it after breakfast, if you want.”

“Good.” He poured himself a glass of juice. “It’s always a smart thing to keep your options open, Stefan. Your father would be the first to say.”

“Speaking of which”—I swallowed a bite of bleeny that melted in my mouth like spun sugar—“have you heard from Anatoly? I’ve been trying to contact him.”

“No, no. Haven’t much expected to, what with . . . you know.” He waggled long curly eyebrows that bunched and leaped like black and white striped caterpillars.

The feds. I nodded and stabbed a fork into a piece of sausage. “I know. I was just hoping.”

“I’m more than happy to step in until your father can be here, krestnik. That’s what godfathers are for.” His large head turned to take in the sight of Michael already cleaning his plate and loading up with seconds. “Look at the little ytenok go. You’ve a man-sized appetite in that skinny body, little one.”

“Yes, sir. I’m a growing teenager.” He said it so earnestly that I was forced to smother a grin behind a swallow of coffee. That grin turned into a silent groan as I saw a small furry head peek from Michael’s jacket pocket. I should’ve known he wouldn’t leave his beloved vermin in the car.

The rest of the breakfast passed amiably. Uncle Lev told me his daughter was expecting twins and that his son-in-law still wasn’t half good enough for her. Considering he’d broken the legs of one of her boyfriends while she was in college, it was actually high praise. He also laid out his plans to travel to Europe in the summer on a three- week singles cruise and invited me with arm-waving enthusiasm. I said, politely, that I would think about it. After we had finished plundering and pillaging the table, I sent Michael off to one of the entertainment rooms while I got down to business with Lev.

The minute Michael disappeared out of the dining room, Lev leaned his not inconsiderable weight back in the chair and folded his hands over the girth of his stomach. Lips pursed, he shook his head woefully. “Stefan, Stefan, Konstantin could be a real zasranees ; no one knows this better than I. But tell me you didn’t pop one in the back of his head.”

I pushed my plate away. “Uncle Lev, you know better than that.”

Shrewd eyes measured me and then he sighed. “I do. You’re smarter than that and also a little too soft, I’m thinking.”

Unoffended, I let the corner of my mouth quirk upward. “Is that right?”

“Now, my boy, don’t take it badly. I always thought you too good for this life. You and your brother, God keep him. Same as my Katya. Your father and I have worked hard in this country. If you choose a better life, how could we not want that for you?”

I wasn’t sure Anatoly completely agreed with him, but I nodded nonetheless. “I’ve pretty much decided you’re right. I thought I’d take a little time off. This trip came up with Michael and seemed perfect. I know Konstantin would give me grief about it. He thought I was a little soft too.” I gave a humorless smile. “So, I went without telling him, and then I found out he was killed the day I left. Talk about some shitty luck.” The last portion was the only truth to my tale and more true it could not have been.

As stories went, it was thin, thread-fucking-bare, in fact. And I wasn’t sure if he would buy it or not. I know I wouldn’t have and Uncle Lev was certainly more devious minded than I was. He’d had nearly a half century more practice. Either way, after a hissing exhalation of doubt, he let it go. “So, you want I should straighten this out for you, Stefan? Call Konstantin’s boy to stop being a moodozvon and look elsewhere for the shooter?”

“He wouldn’t listen. Fyodor has even more balls than Konstantin and a whole lot fewer brains. But if you want to try, I’d be grateful. Just wait until I leave, okay? I wouldn’t mind more distance between him and me before you call.”

“Fedya always was stubborn.” He clucked his tongue against large, overly white teeth. “He’ll take some convincing, of that there’s no doubt. But I’ll keep working at him until he comes around. Now, what can I really do for you, Stefan? I know you didn’t stop by just to have me intercede on your behalf. You wouldn’t give Fyodor the satisfaction. You’re a little stubborn in your own right, krestnik.”

“Me, Uncle Lev?” I spun a fork in a lazy circle on the cherry surface of the table. “Say it ain’t so.”

“Ahhh.” He shook his head and flapped a hand. “I may as well be talking to my third wife and she was deaf as a stone.”

“She must’ve been. She was married to you after all.” I grinned at his growl and ducked my head beneath the swat he aimed at it. It had always been harder to reconcile Lev than my father to the world in which they lived. I’d been sixteen when I’d finally caught on to my father’s business. I’d had my suspicions since Lukas’s disappearance; the men who’d shown up in the house during that time had had a rougher edge to them than the usual guards who had patrolled our grounds, and that was saying something. But I hadn’t come out and asked the big question until two years later. My father concluded if I was old enough to ask, then I was old enough to hear the answer.

It hadn’t surprised me—not for a second.

My father had fit into that picture with ease, but I’d had more trouble pushing Uncle Lev into it. He was jolly, cheerful, coddling, more like a Jewish mother than a Russian gangster. It was similar to having schizophrenia, trying to balance the doting adopted uncle and the man who postponed a meal only if he had to personally kill someone. At sixteen I tried not to think about the latter. At twenty-four I still tried, but with much less success.

“Actually, Uncle Lev, I need to borrow some money. Once I drop the kid off in New York with his relatives, I’m going to take a vacation. Wait until things cool down or until you talk some sense into that asshole, Fyodor. I had some with me, but . . .” I tugged a short lock at the nape of my neck and groaned. “I was robbed. By a girl, a pregnant girl, can you believe it?”

Lev laughed, his belly rippling with good cheer and good food. “You’ve always been such a sober young man