Though Roosevelt had promised to bring an end to prohibition, I hadn’t anticipated he would be true to his word, because I never thought a politician’s words could be true. Regardless of how much Igor had attempted to prepare me, the passing of the twenty-first Amendment to the Constitution, an end to national prohibition, had been an unwelcome surprise. While the majority of Americans celebrated the news, I promptly swirled into a spiral of self-pity. An availability of legal libations promised to spear organized crime, the industry of piranhas I swam among. Blood billowed in the water as I aimed to see beyond the red of rage. What the hell was I supposed to do now?

My childhood was spent picking pockets on Payne Drive, bringing pennies home to my father to help us survive. It wasn’t until the son of a dear friend of Taros and Grygoriy’s from Yaroslavl, Vladimir Petrov, moved to the States that things began to change for us Mikhailovs. The Russian Revolution of 1917 had impelled a then eighteen-year-old Vlad to see the writing on the wall, driving him to leave the old country before it would fall. I was nine at the time and recall being taken by our new houseguest’s strength, confidence and good looks. Vlad didn’t stay with us for long, finding it easier than my father and Uncle had to gain footing in America, but the short time I’d spent in his company had left an inexpugnable imprint on me. Perhaps I loved Vlad in the way a child loves their teacher, a chaste affection for someone who imparts wisdom and inspires you to see from a different view, or maybe my fondness for him wasn’t innocent at all.

Vlad had made quick connections with a group of twenty-something Russian immigrants who recognized that organized crime rackets were the best way to make it in Chicago. They started with low-level racketeering and moved on to prostitution. My father and Grygoriy joined the growing outfit, and as soon as I entered high school, I did too. After I was done with my classes for the day, I ran errands for Vlad and his boys, learning the ropes. The more successful Vlad became, the tighter he ran his ship. He grew less forgiving of the insubordination I’d grown accustomed to showing the men Vlad had chosen to flank him on his throne. I could acknowledge now that I was jealous they were closer to him than I would ever be again. Vlad had shown me that disrespect would not be tolerated to the tune of my forehead scar, and I’d realized I was not my teacher’s pet, though I wanted to be. As much as I had revered Vlad was the level I had grown to fear him, and the apprehension had never waned.