“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 since . . . since the trouble. It’s nice to see you joke.”
“Yeah, I wish.” Glumly, I dumped the fork onto my cleanly polished plate. “She and Bubba Shitkicker cleaned me out. I’m lucky they left me my nads.”
That was apparently more entertaining than my developing a sense of humor. He chortled until his face turned beet red and I honestly feared a massive coronary wasn’t far behind. “A girly. A pregnant keykla. Ah, Stefan,” he choked out.
“Jesus, it wasn’t as if I could shoot her,” I protested darkly.
The color intensified to liver purple and he had to sip at his half-empty glass of juice to recuperate. He sputtered and wheezed for several moments before wiping his perspiring face with his silk napkin. “No more, Stefan. No more. You’ll be the death of me with this. How much do you need?”
“Forty, fifty. How ever much you have to spare.” I handed him a fresh napkin to replace his soaking one. “Michael and I need to get back on the road within the next hour or so.”
In your ordinary family, asking for so much might be suspect. Uncle Lev didn’t think twice. He could drop three times that on a Friday night in Atlantic City and not blink an eye. “I’ve sixty-five in the safe I think.” He finished mopping at his neck. “It’s yours. But I want you and the boy to stay for lunch at least. Such a skinny pateechka. He needs fattening up and I want to catch up on old times with you, Stefan. It’s been, what, two years now? Shameful behavior, ignoring an old man that way.”
I recognized the unrelenting glint in his eye and gave in as gracefully as I could. Four or five hours wouldn’t hurt, and it would be a chance to unwind in a place of relative safety, even if for just a short time. “Okay, okay. We’ll stick around for lunch. Maybe I’ll kick your wrinkled old butt in a little poker.”
“Ha,” he barked gleefully. “If you remember a tenth of what I’ve taught you, you can keep the sixty-five. No payback. No interest. Consider it a late Christmas present.”
“And if I don’t remember?”
He reached over and patted the back of my hand. “Let’s not dwell on your certain doom. It’ll only ruin the game.”