Gavriil (Stepanov Mafia)

The young owner of a pizza place on the West side was $5,000 short on his payment when we arrived.

“My rent has gone up,” he said. “We lost an oven last month, and I had to replace it. The money went to keeping my business alive.”

“You have two ovens,” I said.

“I need both if I want to stay in business. With only one, I serve half the customers, make half the money, and am able to give you even less.”

I sighed. “Don’t give me a math lesson. If you are so adept at crunching numbers, then you should realize what an inconvenience it is for me that you are not able to pay the full amount that we agreed to.”

“I know we agreed,” the man said, his brow glistening with sweat. “Maybe we can agree to something new? A lower monthly payment over a longer period of time?”

“Higher interest on that kind of deal,” I said, crossing my arms.

“I know. That’s fine. Whatever you need.”

“Ten percent.”

His mouth fell open. “It is five percent now.”

“It isn’t though. When you are $5,000 behind, that means I do not get my interest. The ten percent is to make up for my inconvenience.”

I could tell the man wanted to argue, but he eyed Yuri and Ivan nervously and then licked his lip. “Yeah, okay. Okay.”

“Great,” I said, smiling at him and getting a smile in return. “However, to ensure this situation does not happen again, I am afraid my men will have to remind you what you risk by missing a payment.”

His eyes widened, the entire whites visible around his iris. “No, I remember. I remember from last time. I swear. This won’t happen again.”

“I’m sure it won’t. But you understand that this is business, right? Nothing personal.”

I turned to Yuri and Ivan, winked, and then nodded back towards the man. They both advanced on him as I walked through the front door of the restaurant, his cries for mercy drowned out only by his own screams.

The day was overcast and wet, my favorite kind of weather. I liked the rain glinting off the asphalt and fallen leaves, the way everything felt quiet. Except for the man inside the pizza restaurant whose screams were leaking out onto the street. Yuri and Ivan would make quick work of him, though, and no one was around. I wasn’t worried.

I walked a few businesses down, enjoying the charming shops along the small street. There were too many antique shops to count, but wedged between ‘Bear Necessities Antiques’ and an incense shop was an antique toy store. A metal train rode past the window on circular tracks, and a bright green and yellow tractor with a workable bucket sat behind it. The walls of the store were covered in toy cars, stuffed animals, and porcelain dolls. And I realized for the first time that my future would look very similar.

Many men in my position wouldn’t concern themselves too much with their children. As long as they provided money and a roof to live under, they had done their job. That’s how my father felt, after all. And his father before him. It was a Stepanov tradition to fuck the child into existence and then leave them to fend for themselves. If they managed to avoid prison or addiction, then you could maybe hand over the family business one day. Though if I hadn’t intervened, my father likely would have held onto the reins of the mafia family well into his eighties.

But I wanted more than that.

I wanted a son to take over the business for me, but I also wanted a son who respected me. One who looked up to me, who wanted to emulate me. Being in the mafia wasn’t exactly the straight and narrow route, but it was our heritage, our tradition. We were respected, and that was something to be proud of. I’d teach my son that, and I’d gladly step down to retire at the right time, passing things on down the line the way my father should have.

And if I had a daughter, I would teach her how she would be treated. She wouldn’t become mafia trash who slept around and let men have their way with her. She’d go after what she wanted, be whatever she wanted, and it would be because she had a strong man in her life who could teach her the way. And a strong mother.

The moment I’d found out Sam’s test was positive, I was excited about the child. But Sam was a different story. She was a fierce woman, strong and loyal. She would make a good wife and an incredible mother, but it had all happened so fast. And our relationship hadn’t been anything close to conventional. Would she ever be able to look at me the way a wife should? Or would she always feel like my slave? A woman I’d trapped and impregnated?