Chapter Text
Mark had seen many dead bodies in the twenty-seven years he had been alive, it was part of the job.
But this time it was different.
Because it was his sister.
Before him was Arabelle Sokolov, his seventeen year old adopted sister being lowered into the ground at the family cemetery.
Her vivid blue hair laid at her shoulders, her skin looked pale even though it was naturally dark brown. She wore a black lace veil over her face, in her hands were a bouquet of true blood roses held against her chest. Her black gown dropped to her ankles in the casket.
Mark and his younger brother placed the top of the casket, he knew that this would be the last time he saw his sister but he didn’t cry.
People die all the time Mark thought so why should this be any different.
One of his sister’s favourite bands performed ‘Stop Crying Your Heart Out’ by Oasis as many men covered her with the surrounding soil.
Droplets of water from the sky splattered on Mark’s face and many people around him put up their umbrellas, but Mark didn’t have the energy. He moved to stand next to his father and the rest of his family. A cacophony of cries broke out as the melody played.
Once the men had finished covering up the casket, two men carried his sister’s tombstone that read: ‘Arabelle Grace Sokolov, a beloved sister, daughter and friend. Forever 17.
After Mark read the tombstone he tightened the black tie around his neck, his dark brown hair had fallen in front of his eyes so he slicked it back to its position as if his hair was his biggest worry right now.
He had started a war with the Italian Mafia, at any moment they could come kill him, but he would do it ten times over for his sister.
A black truck arrived with a weeping angel statue in the back, he remembered it was one of his sister’s wishes if she died young and it wasn’t like his family couldn't afford it. They were uncomfortably rich.
The wind blew the leaves of the willow tree hovering over his sister, he looked up at it, hoping that everything was to her wishes.
They placed the statue on his sister’s grave with her name engraved in the middle.
That’s when he realised that this was real.
His sister was actually dead and it was all his fault.
Two weeks ago
Mark was sitting in his office drinking a glass of scotch when he heard a knock on the door.
“Come in.” He said his Russian accent was strong unlike his siblings as they had moved to the UK when he was 16.
Arabelle walked into the office, her blue hair tied into a ponytail and she wore a black dress.
“Mark, I need to tell you something.” The look on her face was serious which was rare for Arabelle as she was always laughing.
Mark gestured for her to sit across from him at her desk and she did, no longer making eye contact with him.
She took a deep breath and began, “I don’t know how else to say this so I’m just going to spit it out.” She paused. “I’m leaving.”
Mark didn’t say anything at first, he took a second to think, “And go where Arabelle? Papa will find you anywhere you go!” He raised his voice, accidentally, startling her. “Have you lost your mind? He is planning to marry you off when you’re eighteen. He is in control of the Bravta. He will punish you horribly when he finds you and there is nothing I can do to stop him.”
“Don’t you think I know that Mark? That’s why I need your help.” She said tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Look, I met a really nice guy–”
“A guy?” Mark interrupted hysterically. “You’re risking everything to be with a man? Chert voz’mi, what have I told you about love?”
“I love him!” Arabelle argued, standing up from her chair. “I know you think that love is a weakness and it’s stupid, but it’s so much more than that Mark. He makes me feel safe and he looks after me but father would never let me be with him!” She grimaced, tears flooding her eyes.
“And why is that?” Mark challenged, truly intrigued, why his sister had succumbed to such stupidity.
She stayed silent for a moment, collecting her thoughts, “His father is Antonio Wolfardo.” She confessed so quietly it was barely audible.
“The f’cking boss of the Italian Mafia?” Mark actually laughed at how hopeless this situation was. “There is no way that this is fucking happening!” He threw the glass on the floor, smashing to pieces.
He ran a frustrated hand through his hair weighing his options, but he knew Arabelle, if she had put her mind to this idiotic plan then there was no stopping her.
“Look, this is what’s going to happen.” He reached into the draw of his desk and pulled out a notepad and a pen. “You are going to write down the name and location of wherever you will be staying, and then I’m going to pretend we didn’t have this conversation. Because you are almost as stubborn as me so there is no talking you out of this and I don’t have the energy for your bullshit.”
Arabelle did as she was told and wrote down a hotel in Italy and the name Fiorenzo Wolfardo.
When she was done Mark shoved the paper back into the draw and looked back at his sister.
He couldn’t help but think about the day her father brought her home, she was three and her parents had been killed by a rival mob. They had taken her in because her Dad and Mark’s Papa were childhood friends. But to Mark he thought of Arabelle as his blood and he didn’t want her to go but she was too far gone.
Arabelle had dyed her hair blue a month ago and when their father saw he beat her. He had only hit her twice before Mark intervened and took her beating for her.
He was used to it by now.
He knew not to give any sort of reaction or it would just be worse, he tried to fight back before but a broken arm and nose taught him to never try it again.
“I’m leaving tonight, whether you like it or not.” She looked up at Mark for the last time then walked to the door looking back at him for the last time.
“Goodbye Mark, I love you.” She walked out and that was the last time he saw his sister alive.
If he knew what her fate would be then he would have tried harder to convince her to stay.
But Mark didn’t believe in regrets, he thought that everything happened for a reason.
Arabelle just had to learn her lesson the hard way. There was no escaping the Bravata.
The only way out was death.
Four days ago
The loud ringing of Mark’s phone buzzed in his ears and he turned over in his massive bed, hoping that whoever it was they would go away but the ringing persisted.
Mark cursed underneath his breath and looked at the clock on his nightstand.
It was 4:03 in the morning, whoever was calling him best have a good fucking reason to.
There was no name, just a number starting with +39.
Italy? It could only be one person.
He answered immediately, pressing his phone to his ear, “Hello?” Mark said, his voice deeper than usual from sleep.
“Mark? It’s me,” Arabelle’s breathing was uneven, it was evident that she was crying. “Look I don’t have much time but Fiorenzo is furious because I won’t have sex with him. He’s so angry, he hit me and… I think I’m in trouble. I need you to come get me.”
Just like that Mark got up putting on the suit he had already laid out for the next day, a white shirt paired with a black blazer and dress trousers.
“I’m coming, Ara, just hold on okay?” He reached for the gun he kept under his bed and put in the waistband of his trousers.
“I’ll try, I love you Mark.” He hung up the phone and called his pilot immediately.
He answered on the first ring, “Yuri, I need the plane to be ready in ten minutes we’re going to Italy.” Mark didn’t wait for Yuri’s answer because he knew he had no choice but to follow his order, I mean Mark was Capo.
Nobody disobeyed him and lived.
********
When Mark landed he made his way to the hotel within ten minutes and raced to Arabelle’s room, he didn’t knock and kicked down the door within seconds.
“Arabelle!” He called out, running from the living room to the master bedroom.
Mark wasn’t prepared for what he was about to see, nobody could be.
Arabelle laid on the bed with her eyes opened too wide, her nightgown ripped at the waist, revealing her underwear ripped as well.
Around her neck were hand prints and bruising from strangulation.
A tear slid down Mark’s cheek but he wiped it quickly, he didn’t have time for sadness because he had to kill the motherf*cker who murdered his sister.
He leaned down next to his sister’s corpse and whispered, “I’m sorry for failing you sestra.” He kissed her forehead and dialed the number for the doctor.
“Dr Volkov, I need you to come to Italy. I’ll send you the address, there’s a body I need you to clean up.” He said, his voice void of emotion, it was deadly.
Mark uncrumpled the note that Arabelle had given him before he left and texted the name Fiorenzo Wolfardo to his private investigator to find his address.
Within seven minutes, his PI responded with the address and Mark pulled the bedsheet over her face.
He walked quickly out of the hotel and into the SUV that was waiting for him. He told the driver the address and Mark sat there thinking.
Mark already made up his mind that he was going to kill Fiorenzo Wolfardo, he didn’t give a f**k about the consequences and that it would start a war killing a mob boss’s son. But he couldn’t get the image of his sister’s dead body out of his head. How could he leave her like that? She had ruined her reputation when she left, the other families called her a whore, they said that she had thrown away her honour and nobody would marry her now.
As if any of that mattered. He still saw his sister as the girl whose parents had been killed and he had a responsibility to take care of her.
How could he have fucked up so bad?
Mark was always the responsible one in his family.
When his mother got sick when he was twelve, he was the one who showered her, changed her bedsheets and counted her pills while his father had a different girl in his bed every night. He hadn’t even tried to hide it. Mark had walked in on him cheating on his mother the first time when he was five, it was the earliest memory he could recall. Instead of apologizing to his son for what he witnessed, he told him that he should remember that all women were disposable, that he could always have multiple because he was a man.
From that day Mark swore to himself that he would never get married or fall in love, because when his mother died at thirteen her last words were her calling out for his father whilst he was getting drunk with some prostitute.
Love was a weakness. A curse.
Anybody who was stupid enough to fall in love should be shot, it had never ended up well.
But that didn’t mean that Mark was a prude; he lost his virginity when he was fourteen to an older woman. He never bothered to go any further than sex with women. It just never seemed worth it for him.
It was at the party his father had thrown him for killing his first man. Mark had killed him because the boy had won a game of poker over him.
He remembered being so full of rage because of how that boy laughed at him. Mark was taught from a very young age that humiliation was the worst thing a man could experience. It meant that he was disgracing his family name. The precious Sokolov name.
So Mark beat him to death, the other boys that they were playing with didn’t attempt to interfere, they just stood by and watched Mark's face become splattered with blood. The boy had screamed out in pain which only made Mark smile, so he pummeled the boy’s skull harder with his fist. So hard that he broke his index finger.
When his father found out it was the only time that he said that he was proud of him.
Mark understood that from then on he couldn’t afford to be weak. He could never cry or show any sense of emotion in public.
He was a man now and he had to be a man and kill the person that had taken his sister from him.
**********
Mark arrived at the mansion with his gun in hand, putting on the silencer and walking at a steady pace to the two guards camping outside.
One of them pointed their gun at Mark and said, “Who the hell are y–,” he didn’t finish his sentence before Mark shot him, putting a bullet in his head.
The other guard had his finger on the trigger and aimed at Mark before he received the same fate.
Mark bent down and took the keycard from one of the guard’s pockets and opened the gates to the mansion.
He assumed the asshole was sleeping and these dumbases had signs on their doors with their names so Mark walked down the landing until he found the one with the name Fiorenzo. The sound of moans he had been hearing got louder as he stood outside the door and attempted to open it but the door was locked.
“Fuck off Peter, I’m busy.” Fiorenzo shouted from the closed door. Mark rolled his eyes and kicked down the door effortlessly.
Inside was a naked woman bent over in front of Fiorenzo, he looked at Mark then his gun and pulled out. He put his hand up in the air as if he was about to be arrested and said, “Hey, what the fuck is going o–” But he couldn’t finish his sentence before he screamed out in pain and looked between his legs.
Mark had shot him in the dihh. He bled out onto the carpet profusely while the naked girl shrieked screaming loudly.
“Hm no wonder my sister didn’t want to sleep with you, you have a tiny dick.”
He teased, holding up his pinky finger wagging it in Fiorenzo’s face.
Mark stood over the man on the floor and smiled, “See you in hell, Ublyudok.” Then shot Fiorenzo in the head.
Blood spattered over Mark’s face, he darted out his tongue and licked the blood of them, revealing in the chaos.
The girl continued screaming as Mark stepped over the man he killed and left the mansion untouched.
******
Present Time
Mark smiled at the memory of his sister’s killer screaming in agony, he turned to leave with his father when he heard a girl call his name.
He recognised her, she was one of Arabelle’s best friends. The girl wore a black hijab and a long black dress, her eyes were red from crying. He then remembered her name, Samara. His sister was always at her house.
Behind her were three girls all dressed in black, one of them had a braid in her hair and a rose similar to the ones that Arabelle was holding. Her big brown eyes were red, tear stains down her cheeks.
“We’re so sorry for your loss,” Samara said, a girl who looked similar to her linked her arm into Samara’s. “We were her best friends.”
Mark nodded politely even though he wasn't in the mood to talk to anyone, “Da, you’re Samara right?” He asked , even though he already knew the answer.
The girl nodded, “Yeah, this is Sabina,” she gestured to the girl holding onto her. “And this is Azaleasha and Melania.” Melania the girl with the scarf weakly smiled at Mark while Azaleasha just stared at Mark.
“Thank you all for coming, Ara would have appreciated it.” He said as a courtesy, then looked back at his family who were waiting for him. “Excuse me, I have to get back to my family.” He said before turning and leaving the group.
**********
After this long day all Mark wanted to do was get drunk on vodka and sleep so he did exactly that. He sat at his desk and was halfway through his first glass when he heard a noise from his window.
Mark sighed heavily, he just couldn't catch a break could he?
He got up and inspected the window but there was nothing different about it.
He put his hand on the gun in his belt and said, “Look whoever this is can you just fuck off, I’m already having a shit day.” He complained, when he felt two hands grip his shoulders tackling Mark to the floor.
He didn’t have time to reach for his gun and ended up with a man wearing a balaclava and a black suit on top of him.
Whoever this was, Mark had never met him before. This man had blue eyes which stared down on Mark with fury, whoever this was Mark had clearly offended them.
The guy pointed a gun to Mark’s forehead, and placed his other hand to Mark’s throat.
Mark laughed in the man’s face and said, “If you were going to kill me, you would have already.” Then he grabbed the man by the top of his waist coat and pulled him forwards, headbutting him.
The man scoured back in pain dropping his gun and Mark took this as an opportunity to grab the gun and point it to the man’s forehead, he was now on top of him pressing the gun to the stranger’s neck.
“Now,” Mark used his free hand to take off the mask of the stranger. “Who the fuck are you?” He said confused, choking the man.
The man breathed heavily and said in an Italian accent,“The brother of the man you killed.”