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.My fingers already itched inmemory of the last time I touched him.I jumped over the last few steps in my haste to get downstairs.In the kitchen,I set up two cups of tea and stared at mine while it steeped.Why the fuck wasI drinking tea? Across the room, on the coffee table Johnny Walker attempted Shattered Glass 135seduction.Peter stepped into the kitchen replacing my whiskey fantasy with one involvingmy teeth and the borrowed pair of blue and gold college sweats and t-shirt hewore.He grabbed the other cup of tea, eyes shifting along the countertop untilhe found the sugar. Would you like some tea with that? I asked, watching himspoon four heaping mounds into his cup. I d like a Coke or Pepsi, he retorted, opening my fridge. Beggars andchoosers, Austin. I wished he d quit using my name.It was like an incantation, stealing bits ofmy soul for himself every time he said it. Soda s bad for you. You re a little young for me to call you daddy, but when you say things likethat& , he deadpanned, pouring milk into his cup and closing the fridge. Nikolaj, I prompted, pressing back against the counter and hoping eithermy jeans or polo were baggy enough to hide my erection.Peter exhaled an indecipherable sigh and set his tea down.Was that frustration?Resignation? Fucking aggravating man always so goddamn impossible to read.Pulling himself onto the counter, Peter gripped the edge and stared at his feet. Did you ever love someone so much, you lost yourself in them? Not sure I could tell you what love is anymore, I answered.He frowned but nodded, as if he understood. I was four when Cai s mom Your mom, you mean? He shook his head, and I followed a bead of water as it dropped from the tipof an auburn tendril, snuck past his temple and slid down his cheek.My tonguecurled involuntarily against the roof of my mouth. Do you know much aboutNikki the Nail? This time I mouthed a No.I knew the story of Nikolaj Strakosha,The Boy Who Killed the Mafioso, because it had been a news sensation at thetime, but I knew little of the crime family. In the 90 s, Peter began, Little Moscow what we called our neighborhoodin Sunny Isles, Miami was run by the Briansky Boys.The boys being the bossAleksandr Briansky, his number one Nikolai Dyachenko and his number two,Kaja Strakosha. Wait.Nikolai is your dad.But Cai is named Nikolaj? I said, brows furrowing 136 Dani Alexanderas that little wiggle of question tickled my brain.Nikolaj Strakosha. He wasKaja s kid? The same last names seemed obvious, but the first name was whatthrew me. Yes.But my dad and Cai s were like family in the mafia sense as well as thebrotherly way.Cai was named after my dad.Rofasa, Cai s mom, and Zhavra, mymom, were best friends, practically sisters.And their children couldn t be morelike brothers if they shared DNA. He waited while I digested that, biting his lipand regarding me through his brows.I was struggling with how attached he was to this kid. Cai s not your realbrother, I said. Cai is my brother.It doesn t matter that he s not related by blood, he huffed. Same with Darryl.Actually no, he added. Cai s both brother and son, I guess?If you had to label us at all. I had a lot more important things to ask.Tons of questions that neededanswering.So naturally I picked the one that would abso-fucking-lutelycomplicate everything. So you and Darryl& ? Sometimes. Peter nodded. When we re lone I don t need the details. My stomach was already moving like a group ofotters were playing keep away with it. Just move on. You asked, he said hotly. And now I m un-asking. Whatever.Fucking frustrating, he muttered.Ditto, I thought. It was weirdwith Darryl and me at first. He reached for an apple on the breakfast table, andthen somehow expected me to concentrate on his words when he bit into it,causing its juice to glisten on his lips like cheap gloss.Come to think of it, thatfucking lip ring was goddamn distracting, too.And he smelled like rain. Jesus Fucking Christ.Can you just tell the story? I lashed out testily andtossed my tea in the sink, replacing it with a beer.Peter stopped eating, his mouth hanging open in an invitation I didn t take.He began to chew again, slowly, eyeing me warily. Okay& You and Darryl and Cai& I rolled my beer in a move on gesture that causedbits of liquid to pop out of the bottle which only reminded me of how long it Shattered Glass 137had been since I got laid. Look, this isn t even important, is it? I mean you don t need to know whathappened then, you need to know what happened with Iss. You asked for help and then laid a bombshell on me.I want to know more. I took a long sip of my beer and watched Peter over the rim of the bottle.Settingmy Guinness down, I crossed my arms over my chest. You re still assumingI m going to help.I don t know that I can, but if I could, why would I? You re acomplete baffling fucking mystery, and you ve spent every day of our brief historylying to me.Even your name is a lie. I m Pyotr Nikolaevich Dyachenko, if that s even the slightest bit important.They call me Petya where I come from.I have Tourette s.It used to come out asme twitching my nose when I was nervous.I don t do it so much now
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