Page 32 of Devotion

“And youreallylike my sister.”

“She’s a pain in the ass.”

“Yes, she is. I see the way you look at each other, and it’s none of my fucking business. You want to play with scorpion. You get stung.”

“You’re saying your sister is a scorpion.”

“To you? Maybe. My sister does whatever my sister wants to do. We’ve both been this way our entire lives. We go do things, we get in trouble, the other gets mad at the other. It’s back and forth, as you say. Only she always manages to get on my ass, and I am not supposed to get on hers. Like she is mama bear.”

“Back and forth. Yeah, I get it. My twin brother and I are kind of like that, except that we’re equal opportunity fuckups. Usually it was our older brother than mothered us and cleaned up our messes.”

“Like I say before…you are spoiled rich kid.”

“Damn skippy. I worked hard for that lifestyle, I’ll have you know. Reputations don’t come cheap.”

“Oh, even we have heard of Diamante brothers’ tales. Did you really burn down a nightclub?”

“Geez. I mean, yeah. Some stories really have a way of following a guy.”

Mat chuckles, flicking away his cigarette butt and heading across the alley to the back of the fish market as the cops start to file out, hollering back at the owner, Mr. Andreev. We wait until they are driving off to step inside, shaking off the chill of the night and sniffing at the foul odor.

“Gavno!” The owner whines, noticing who just walked in.

At least Matvey’s reputation precedes him.

“Ey, Mr. Andreez, you don’t look happy to me!” I don’t bother hiding my grin. Watching Matvey in his element reminds me of home, of fucking shit up with my brothers. Makes me feel less…

Empty.

I wonder what Fiero is doing right now…

Focus on the now, dickhead. That’s what he’d tell me to do.

Still, I wish I could put out feelers, try some of the old contact methods. Of course, doing so without Pyotr’s permission is just asking for a bullet to the back of the head.

“Give me a minute, you leeches. I must lock up out back. Then I pay you.”

Matvey gives me a narrow look, a little confused, a little suspicious. Collections are due at the beginning of the month. That aside, something feels off. Andreev is jumpy. Nervous.

Hanging around in the front of the shop, I angle around to catch a glimpse through the swinging doors, leading back into refrigerated zone and the freezers, long troughs of ice and fish butted up to dozens of crates.

“What you want to do after this?” Mat asks casually, keeping an eye out front.

“I’m starving. Food?”

“You are always starving. How you stay skinny? Cocaine?”

“Very funny. How do you stay so damn thick? I feel like you never eat.”

“Vodka. It has calories.”

“You’re nuts.”

“That is why you fit in with us, you are too. I say we hit up the club.”

“Like a nightclub?”

“No, we go play tennis. Yes a nightclub. Girls. Drinks. We earn this.” He grins.

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