#'climbing to the top of the company ladder / hope it doesn't take too long

[ereborne]

Song of the Day: May 16

"Peace of Mind” by Boston

[magickhajiit]

Veles Taxi- Chapter 2

Finally Finished! 😁 I’ve tagged the people who liked the first chapter, hope that’s alright.  🧡

First chapter here

4 hours prior  

The clock’s hand continues ticking. Each movement signalling that the time until midnight is getting shorter. Nicolai’s sat in the weapons room, near enough to the door to listen to the Italians converse in a nearby room but further enough away to avoid the notice and resulting repercussion of anyone spotting him.  

A few sentences are legible from what little Italian he's managed to pick up over the last year. Something about Russian fools and a base deep in the Kitchen reaches his ears before a hand rests on his shoulder, its sharp fingers embedding what’s sure to be darkened prints by morning. With his eager concentration dispersed and a rope of anxiety coiling around his lungs, Nicolai glances up already knowing who he's about to face. He's met with Vittorio, one of the hired thugs in the mafia, who holds a malignant smile akin to a cat coming across a frightened mouse.

“Boss wants you", the words are jeering and his feral grin seems to stretch wider, still failing to reach his eyes. 

Nicolai nods numbly whilst getting up, tightening his hands into fists to suppress the mild tremors running through them. ‘The Boss’, Mateo Ferrero, leader of the New York branch of the Italian mafia, alternated between his nefarious businesses and frequenting high society parties each weekend, a man who was also a known murderer. He’d never served time or even been questioned, after all, who’s insane enough to go after a man who commands half the city? No one still breathing. People like Nicolai weren’t taken to ‘The Boss’ without good reason and he isn’t able to fool himself into believing anything positive was going to come out of this visit. Or even if he is going to come out alive. 

Thoughts whirl around his head as he’s led through a myriad of rooms and it feels like mere seconds pass before Vittorio half shoves him into the office. Nicolai has rarely seen Mateo close up, the first time was right after his mother had passed away and the Italian mafia had only just taken him. A year later Nick still remembers the overwhelming fear that had pulsed through him that day, like a stone of anxiety had crashed down leaving him struggling for breath. At first glance, Mateo had hardly seemed intimidating, with an infectious smile and a booming laugh Nicolai almost saw him as a friend in the unfamiliar circumstances. But that was before he saw the full force of his anger. Before he heard how his laugh turned as sharp as a knife or noticed the flecks of crusted blood ingrained in his rings, juxtaposing against the shiny silver. 

The same man sits there now. A few of his lackeys surround the desk, so deep in discussion, they give Nicolai the lack of attention reserved for a particularly inconsequential fly on the wall. Half wondering if he'd manage to sneak out without anyone's awareness, he shifts further forward hoping at least one of the men will acknowledge his existence.  

One did. The leader of the mafia in fact. The easy smile Nicolai receives imitates genuine welcoming except there’s a wicked edge to it, giving it the sharpness of a thin blade. His heartbeat begins to echo throughout his skull, as it thumps against his ribs in a frantic rhythm, a desperate bird fighting to be rid of its cage. 

"You're going with Amato’s group today," states Mateo  

His voice brings attention towards him, a yearn to protest the assignment is overshadowed by the sudden dryness of his tongue at the unwanted notice. With the heavyweight on his chest only broadening, Nick can only manage a timid nod in acknowledgment, fighting the urge to swallow down a breath that his restricting lungs will refuse to take. 

Mateo continues, “Amato will expect you in ten. You're leaving in half-hour, give or take.” The action of shuffling a variety of files and assignment reports left on his desk usually works well as a nonverbal dismissal, making sure his subordinates know how little value they have to him. Yet Nick stands in a mixture of bravery and stupidity.  

"Where am I going?"  

Mateo glances up, the slight clench of his jaw emphasizing clear irritation etched upon his face "Amato will fill in the details.” 

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Guns, rifles, ammo, bullets proof vests, all things Nick’s seen in the mafia. Even helped load boxes of them into unmarked, windowless vans on the odd occasion. But it’s different to be this close to them. To feel the steady weight of guns as he passes them out or the cold touch of bullets in his palm, or feel Amato jostle him slightly as he helps him put on a vest. His hands brushing away Nicolai’s shaking fingers and fastening each strap himself, trapping Nicolai in an envelope of thick material, each piece perfectly designed for a man at war. 

War. That’s exactly where they’re taking him. Like a lamb to slaughter, weak and defenceless. Each time he attempts to asks, to find out something that might hint to his fate, the response is similar either ignoring him or speaking in rapid Italian over his head, the words too fast to be distinguishable to his ears. So, he stops asking and carries on with the chore he’s been given. 

Mateo was true to his word. Half an hour after Nick arrives, the men get into the vans. Nick’s led by Amato towards the leading vehicle, opening up the passenger door for him, the firm grasp on his bicep is the only thing keeping his body up. His actions aren’t out of the kindness of his heart. Nothing is ever unplanned or unexpected with the Italian mob, Mateo plans out every second of every working day for his men. So, if Nick is being taken on an assignment it’s because they need him. As the vans pull away from the warehouses and the hum of the engine is the only sound Nick has for the company, he can’t help wonder his purpose here; where the anxious, orphaned Russian boy could possibly be useful to the grand plan of a mob leader.  

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They drive for half an hour, with Amato occasionally muttering a few Italian words into the van’s wireless or moving the wheel to avoid one of the numerous potholes littering the roads, before they near the end of the Italian’s domain. Nicolai recognizes where they’re heading, the streets he was told to avoid even before the Mafia. Amato disregards the apprehensive glance thrown his way, instead hitting his indicator light before swiftly turning left, straight into the Russians' territory.   

The apartments and shops of the Italians’ region had still possessed a warm sense of comfort, a fading memory of safety. So, there’s a sense of abnormality that comes with seeing the new area. Nothing drastically changes in design, it’s the same pattern of flashing shop lights, graffitied walls, and stacked apartments that give off the feeling of him seeing a mirror image of his home. 

‘’Where are we going?” The quiet question that slips through Nicolai's lips has been repeated multiply times in the last hour, never receiving a solid answer. This final attempt at gaining information could be blamed on the growing suspicion he has about their destination, as the group continues deeper into Russian territory. 

“There’s a Russian base in the Kitchen” the words seem deafening as they break the stretching silence of the journey. “It’s got the equipment, information on their latest transactions, and enough men that breaking in and... dealing with them will send a clear enough message to Ranskahovs.” Nicolai almost misses his previous ignorance as the plan’s revealed. “You’ll be sent in first, take them by surprise", the rest of the sentence goes unheard as that settles in.  

‘You’ll be sent in first’ the words rattle around his skull. But he’s not really there to take them by surprise. No, he’s there to distract them, to be used as shark bait, to gather the predators before the others attack and shark bait rarely has a happy ending.

They pull into a nearby warehouse soon after Nicolai has that realization. Amato is one of the first men to get out, before moving to the passenger side. Nicolai allows himself to be pulled out of the van, the shock of the surely fatal nature of his assignment has made him docile to Amato’s orders. They run over the plan again, all of the men careful not to explicitly state, at least in English, that it's most likely a death sentence for Nicolai. 

The plan starts off well. Amato leads him outside the warehouse, both of them momentarily lit up by the flickering glow of the fire exit, before the metal door slams, leaving them in the dark alleyway, enclosed between the overlooking buildings. There’s a fire escape nearby, attached to the grime ridden wall, reaching the top of the parallel building. A slight jab from behind is all the encouragement Nicolai needs to begin the climb, his mind torn between anxiety about his final destination and the mobster ascending right behind him.

Shaking hands reach out, gripping the rungs above him, each rising movement bringing him closer to the roof. There seemed to be something different about the world from the moment his feet step off the ladders and meet the floor like there’s a detailed perspective to everything around him. An intensity to the world, the biting coolness he feels as he reaches the top, the walls no longer containing the fierce wind that wraps itself around him like a tightened cloak.

The perspective doesn't last long though, it’s broken by the creak of the roof’s door. Amato holds it wide open whilst sparing a moment to shoot Nicolai an expectant look. This is the moment they part ways. Amato will head back down to the neighbouring warehouse to prepare his men, whilst Nicolai will creep unobtrusively towards the side door several floors below. Hanging in the air is the unspoken understanding between them that this isn't the real plan. 

Nicolai forced himself to take a step forward and another and once again. He passes the door’s threshold and his stride falters for a moment; an uneasy glance earns a closed door, a quiet click of the lock confirms he’s been sealed in, with the only option of continuing his journey downwards.

He manages to descend a few floors without being seen, some of the Italians would have called it beginner's luck; just enough of it to lull him into a false sense of security, to give him the optimistic view he’d make it without being spotted. The thin layer of optimism is shattered in only a moment, it splinters into pieces like glass when the pressure increases an ounce too much. An inked hand grips Nicolai’s shoulder with enough force to spin him around to face his captor. In a different situation, Nicolai would think the man little different from himself, few years between them mixed with the meagre number of scars and tattoos, marks that criminals wear like badges of honour, hints at the man also being new to the life of corruption and lawlessness.

But circumstances don't allow that thought, they grant him little rational thoughts in those moments, an animalistic urge to survive is the only thing fuelling his actions as he swiftly slides his shoulder downwards and breaks the secure hold the man has. There's something instinctual about Nicolai’s next actions, in the way his body manages to spin around and propel forward, his feet stumbling for a few steps before instinct kicks in and they fall into a quick rhythm: left, right, left, right. Shouting from the man behind him causes another spike of fear and adrenaline to course through his body, encouraging him to sprint faster. Moving around the sharp corner, with the Russian mobster trailing by only a few meters, a sliver of panic interjects its way into the numb haze of his mind. His chances of survival ever decreasing, still Nicolai carries on managing to gain more distance between himself and his pursuer, whilst trying and failing to control his growing concern that the man’s voice has drawn the attention of the rest of the building’s occupants.

Nicolai has just spun left onto the third corridor when he sees it, a door half ajar leading into a small storage cupboard. There isn’t a second’s hesitation before he slides into the room, careful to push the door to a close. Its mere seconds after the door meets the frame that the man turns around the corner, he takes a few steps forward before he pauses, arm bracing against the wall as he regains his breath, almost appearing to be waiting. The reason behind the delay is revealed as Nicolai hears two more men walking towards them, their words inaudible. Their whispered conversation becomes clearer as they round the corner. Even with such a small chance of survival he can’t help feel a spark of comfort on hearing their words in his native tongue, a language he’s rarely heard spoken since his mother’s passing. His contentment is brief, it’s drowned out by a flood of panic as he tunes into the conversation. Unsurprisingly they remark on his absence but it’s their mention of a fight that sends dread crashing down upon him, a fight? A multitude of scenarios begin running through his head. Have the Italians survived, if not then he’s alone in a rival mafia’s base, otherwise he’ll continue working for Mateo until they decide once again that he has more use as cannon fodder.  

Whilst Nicolai was contemplating his fate the men have moved further along the corridor their words no longer managing to reach his ears. Their footsteps have faded away by the time Nicolai works up the nerve to move again. His journey through the corridors couldn't be more different now, his pace painfully slow like he's walking on ice testing each step before he dares to moves. This is partnered with the action of tilting his head in fierce concentration whilst pausing to listen to footsteps. This paranoia is repeated on each subsequent floor, his journey only once being interrupted as he’s forced to hide when a Russian mobster walks past, their pace brisk in comparison. This continues until he reaches the door, making peace with the fact the plan hasn't worked. He walks towards it, planning on returning to base despite the knowledge there'll be repercussions. Not that this is deserved but Mateo finding humour in the fact the diversion has failed seems unlikely.  

Still a gasp of relief passes his lips when the door closes behind him and he can take a moment to glance around without the threat of death hovering above him. As he looks around the glare from a nearby street light illuminates the adjoining road allowing the outline of a man standing on the edge of the alleyway to be seen, his face scarcely lit up by the glow emitted from his phone. Even in the dark Nicolai can still see the police badge, like a beacon, a ray of light reflecting from it. Nervously Nicolai moves forward hoping to ask for help or a phone call or just some way to escape even if the only people he has left are the people that sent him there in the first place.  

Later on, he’ll blame the mixture of relief and left-over adrenaline for what happens next, the officer’s arm struck out grabbing Nicolai and pinning him to the wall. Only a few more memories register in his mind after that; Russian words out of the officer’s lips, the sound of men running towards them and a sharp burst of pain in the back of his skull before darkness takes over.

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I think it’s clear but just in case it’s not Nicolai is meant to be the character from the first chapter. 

Thank you for waiting so long for the next chapter, hopefully the next one will be out sooner. Feel free to mention if you notice any mistakes or if the writing isn’t clear at points. 🧡

@angelaiswriting @uwuttaja @kind-wolf @not-uh-author @starsandsunlight @kellydixon01 @frostedroyaltea @stjimmie @brobachev