Moscow is well known for its unique architecture which hosts plenty of historic buildings. One of the better known is the Saint Basil Cathedral with its brightly colored dome. I've been here before. I've visited the Bokarev family on many occasions because Dad seemed to be the correspondent with our Russian allies before he was in prison.
Everything moved in a blur. I drove through the city, went to the Bokarev gated and heavily protected mansion, and shared long sad hugs with the mob boss of the Bratva syndicate. I met family members of Mikhail's and most didn't even speak English.
The ring on my finger meant to bring joy now received sad downward glances and 'sorry for your losses'.
The mansion is beautiful, but I don't have it in me to take in the details. I haven't felt a single thing touch me since finding my dead, bloody long time friend on our kitchen floor. I spent some time in Mikhail's old bedroom, because I knew it well. As kids we played games on his area rug, as teens we snuck upstairs to make out, and now I was here with his engagement ring on my finger dressed in black to mourn him. Life is cruel. It's a series of suffering.
I'd come before my family or any of the head crime families because it was the appropriate thing to do. In Russia, or at least in this Russian family, a family sits in mourning at the house for three days. With dark cloth they cover every mirror and stop their clocks. The Russian's have a lot of superstitions about death that I never knew about until now. They believe this helps the spirit pass easily into the afterlife. It's an old tradition, but one the Bokarev family has kept alive.
Throughout this whole experience I learned that they host a viewing of the casket like us American households do, and they have a precession to the funeral grounds.
Another very old superstition that I saw carried out was some of Mikhail's old lady aunt's throwing little sticks behind them as they walked. I found out that it's because it blocks the path of evil spirits. As cliche as this is going to sound it is actually also a common tradition, at least in this family, to 'pour one out' as they called it, which is to pour a little bit of vodka into the open grave. They also threw coins and some handfuls of dirt. All these old rituals and beliefs are meant to assist the spirit to heaven.
I stood in all black alongside Alexei Bokarev, who asked that I stand beside him since his wife has long since passed away, and his only son is gone. It felt right holding the arm of this man while we both looked down at that open plot that Mikhail would be buried at. The casket was already down there and I stared at it while the priest spoke in Russian the entire time.
All the Italians who flew out here for this were in the back, and if they held eyes on me I couldn't even feel it. This all went by like hours lost in time.
A ring has never felt more heavy on my hand. I noticed when I was silently crying, and wiping at my nose with my left hand the light would catch this beautiful diamond and people were looking at it. I switched the tissue to my right hand. I can't stand sympathy. I don't deserve it. I really was heartbroken, that was real. But I also knew how I felt about a different mobster, and how I really didn't give my all to the man I'm crying for right now.
But dammit, I found his lifeless body. I saw his dead eyes, and that bullet hole that's since haunted me in my already fucked up dreams.
Alexei Bokarev is like a machine who can shut down his emotions to look strong and sturdy in front of people. He looked stoic beside me as I weeped. I don't know how mobsters do it because I cry about everything. I'm sick of crying, but I'm also terrified about what the next thing will be that causes me to cry. Too much tragedy has occurred in such a short amount of time that I think I'm getting a little superstitious too.
Maybe I need to be blessed by a priest because honestly...I was around most of these incidents. It's like this dark mist of death creeps up behind me, just out of reach each time it's found me, but anyone in my wake will be swallowed up by it. Dramatic? Maybe.
That's how I felt at that funeral and thereafter at the reception they call pominki. Its a time where the loved ones reminisce and mourn Mikhail with food and drinks. Lots of drinks. All vodka. They served something called Blini and kolyva. They were blessed by a priest and served to the guests. I was too afraid to eat a piece of blessed food and go up in flames. Then again, 95% of the people in this mansion are criminals, murderers, and crooks so I guess my sins are right on par.
I did catch eyes with Nick a few times. He had to come here. He's the next head boss of the Italian mob, he could never skip such an important funeral and not have it be a slap in the face to their allies. I hated that he was here though. It twisted my gut with guilt and shame.
I kept shifting my eyes away.
-
After all the madness of the past three days of mourning in Russia with the Bokarev family I was meant to fly home tomorrow. Things got quiet around the mansion, which I stayed at during my visit here, because Alexei refused to let me stay at a hotel. This is the most time I've ever spent with the man. It wasn't for a great reason, but we did talk about Mikhail and tried sharing some cheerful stories. It always ended in tears for me and him walking to a window to peer out of, probably to hide his own misty eyes.
"Kolkulka, I'm sure you know Mikhail had made a joint bank account recently for you to share. I would like for you to keep whatever money is in that account. He'd want you to have that to set yourself up for a good life. My son adored you. I want you to know that this house is always open to you. If you ever need anything the Bokarevs' still hold you dear to our hearts. I mean it," he told me. It only made me cry more.
"Who did it, Alexei? Who could manage something like that?" I had to ask him. I'd been asking myself all along.
We were sitting in Alexei's study having this talk before my flight home. Everything was very Russian aristocratic style. "The mother fucker's covered their tracks so well, but they messed up on one thing. The bullet. The style is most commonly known to be used by the cartel. This was a direct hit on us for our agreement with the Italians to push that large business deal in south florida. It's the business. I'm sorry you were the one who had to find him that way," he looked away from me again. I released a shaky breath. "The cartel...what will you do?" I asked him.
That's when he turned to me and his expression hardened. "Raise Hell, kulkolka." He said it so coldly I shivered. "I'm sorry, I wish I never asked Mikhail to come back to America," I whispered. "Oh, no no. That's not your fault. We know our line of business is a dangerous one. This was a very lucky shot. Men have never tried to get a Bokarev and lived to tell about it. It could've happened anywhere," he promised me.
After that Alexei let me know that I could keep Mikhail's things that he left at our apartment. The only thing Alexei had requested I bring to Moscow with me was his father's old gold chained watch that he'd passed down to his son. I returned it to its rightful place, but there were things I will be keeping for myself. The pen pal letters, the jewelry he bought me, and some of his clothes that I favored wearing that still smell like him.
I can't live in that apartment. I told Alexei to sell it. I was having our things moved out once I got back to America and sorted through his belongings. I felt bad accepting that bank account once I saw the amount in it. Mikhail has his own personal accounts, some offshore to hide dirty money, but Alexei insisted it's what Mikhail would want, and I know it's true. Mikhail told me he'd spoil me.
God, my heart breaks when I think about it.
-
The rest passed in another daze. Saying goodbye to Alexei, and the plane, and the sorting of the belongings, and the packing up which I didn't even do myself. Zio Tony got some street guys of his to do everything for me. I just watched. Everyone wanted me to live at home because that's where they say I should be while I mourn, and also for my safety...but I'll go crazy if I have to keep worrying about safety and having so many people buzzing around me. I need my space. I'm probably safer away from them than I am with them. I'm not a mobster. I'm a young woman who had a normal life for 13 years, and only wants that same normal life again.
We settled on my moving to a high security apartment complex where high end big money people live so it's not an easy place to get inside of. It wasn't a penthouse. I didn't want one. It was large, and felt cold, and I knew I needed to fill it with the things I loved to make it warm and feel homey.
It's what I did for a week straight without any interruptions. I asked for space and I didn't touch my phone. I just unpacked my stuff and finally looked around at what was mine and mine alone.
-
After that haze passed, I finally put my foot down and made time stop, so I wouldn't drown in it. I agreed to go to my cousins 'flirty thirty' birthday party she was throwing herself, and it would be the first time I left my place in weeks. Not that I was in the mood for a party, but I needed to just show up to show my family I wasn't half suicidal in my house.
I still wore the engagement ring. That's not something you pull off right after someone dies. I wore a dress to this event, though it was black, and I brushed my hair for the first time in a week. I barely wore makeup, but I don't really need it. Mostly for show.
The event was being hosted in a private room of a nightclub which is very posh and very exclusive. I'll be here for an hour and I'll be gone before they know it.
I felt fucked up being in a club when I'm supposed to be in mourning. Dom had offered to pick me up, but I needed my own escape route, so I declined. I won't drink anyway. There is a 50/50 shot that Nicolas will be there, and I was preparing myself for that. Though, there'll be plenty of hot women in mini dresses, so honestly I think he'll be occupied. It's funny, before I met a single Luciano they never showed up to events, and now it seems like they're everywhere.
Nicolas never went to my family parties before, even though I know he's only on the guest list because he's had tons of hookups in this particular friend circle. The Rugsas will be there tonight. The daughter, Bianca, hangs out with my cousin often. It's why I even spent time with the Ragusa girl in the past.
I had slipped the rubber band back on my wrist under my jewelry cuff because any time I look at, or talk to Nicolas, I will SNAP the band. He's a habit I intend to break. With or without Mikhail. Business was more important to Nick, and he also was so hot and cold. The last time we slept together has haunted me ever since. He made me feel like an idiot, and then I went home to Mikhail and said yes to a ring. I hate myself.