Page 5 of Merciless Union
Arina
Attending a funeral is never fun, but today, it’s hitting me harder. I didn’t know Gleb Petrov, head of the Bratva, but my father talked about him a lot, so I feel like I knew him. When my father received the news that Gleb died, he took it hard. Now, standing next to him at the funeral, I can see him trying to hold back tears.
Can’t show weakness is a motto I’m familiar with. My father would always say it when something upset him. Thankfully, he never applied that motto to me. He’s always encouraged me to show my emotions, which helps me a lot in my art.
But the pain my father feels over Gleb’s passing isn’t what makes this funeral tough. It’s knowing that my mother’s funeral might just be right around the corner. She was diagnosed with breast cancer a year ago and is only expected to have a few more months. I can’t stand the thought of losing her, especially as she grows sicker every day. She was too sick to join us today, and her absence feels stronger than usual.
Normally I can push my fear away, but this funeral makes it so apparent that death is inevitable. If it can come for a powerful man like Gleb Petrov, nothing can stop it from chasing after my mother.
Keeping my eyes down, I take my father’s hand as the casket is put into the ground. I don’t want anyone to see me cry. Since I never knew Gleb, I never cared about him, so I don’t want anyone to ask me about it, thinking I’m crying for him. The truth would come out, then, that my mom might die soon. I know it’s improper to speak about your problems at another person’s funeral. I just want to be left alone with my thoughts.
My father takes my hand, squeezing it.
Once the casket is fully in the ground, the large crowd begins to disperse. My father nudges me, letting me know it’s time to leave. I nod, glancing up.
My eyes catch sight of Gleb’s family—the famous Petrov clan. I’ve heard about them but never got the chance to meet them. Trust me, though; I’ve heard plenty of gossip about them at parties I went to with my parents. The eldest one, Maxim, stands taller than the rest. My eyes don’t linger long before I look away. I have no need to think about them. But the pain they must be going through from losing their father is surely unbearable. If it’s anything like the thought of losing my mother, I can’t even imagine how much they’re hurting right now.
My father and I get into our car, sitting quietly as our driver takes us to the reception. I’ve grown up in wealth, considering my father worked closely with Gleb Petrov. We never went without money. Despite our wealth, my father taught me how to be polite and act properly within the mafia crowds we frequent. He’s tried his best to prepare me for anything.
“How are you feeling?” I ask him once we’re on the road.
He sighs, rubbing a hand over his reddish face. I got my red hair from my father, as well as his red cheeks. My mother has reassured me, telling me that it looks like I’m blushing and not to be bothered by it.
“I’ve seen better days, sweetheart,” he replies, dropping his hand.
I nod, offering him a smile. “I’m sure.”
“I’ll be all right. Don’t worry about me.”
“I’ll try not to.”
He smiles. “You’re too good for this world, Arina.”
“And you’re too good to me.”
He waves a hand. “No such thing.”
I look out the window as we approach the reception hall. Hundreds of people have already arrived. I’ve never been around this many people in my life before. All the events and parties I went to with my parents had maybe up to a hundred guests. But here, there are nearly a thousand people mingling inside and out of the building. Good thing we’re far into the suburbs. The city wouldn’t have enough space for this many people.
We head inside, squeezing past people. My father immediately heads over to the food table. He loves to eat, as evidenced by his belly. My mother has always encouraged us to live our best lives, and for my father, that includes eating whenever he feels like it. Food makes him happy. As he loads up on shrimp, caviar, roast chicken, and more, I can tell he’s getting all this food to mask his pain over losing his best friend.
I rub his back as I grab a plate. I’m too sick to the stomach to eat, but I need to keep up appearances. A good daughter stands by her father, and that’s what I intend to do.
“Got enough food?” a man asks, passing by us.
“Stepan,” my father greets, taking a bite of shrimp. “Can never have enough.”
The man, Stepan, looks my father over, eying his large belly, and I feel the urge to slap him for being so judgmental. “Well, isn’t that true?” His eyes flit over to me. His smile makes me want to crinkle my nose in disgust, but I keep my face composed. “You must be George’s daughter.”
“Arina,” I say, shaking his head. It’s somehow clammy and sweaty at the same time.
“Well, Arina, you are a vision,” he says, deepening his voice.
I pull my hand out of his grasp. “Thank you.” I glance over and see Maxim enter the room and walk to stand by his family, who are greeting guests. Now that I’m closer to him, I can see he’s quite handsome, with short black hair and a strong build. I can feel my cheeks grow even redder.
Clearing my throat, I nudge my father, saying, “Shouldn’t we give our condolences?”
“Ah, you’re right,” he says, setting his plate down. “Nice talking to you again, Stepan.”
