Gavril
I was home.
I sat next to Naomi in the car as it wound through the streets of St. Petersburg, taking in the familiar sights and sounds of the place of my birth. I could practically hear the gentle sloshing of the Neva as it wound its way through the city. It had been at least a year since I had come home, too busy with the Bratva to come and visit.
It was like nothing had changed. A swirl of memories assaulted me with each turn of the car, remembering things about my childhood and then ultimately my teenage years that my mother thought I would never get out of without dying first.
She had always said that I was hardheaded and on a path to the devil, and her description of my life wasn’t far off even now.
I was on a path, a destructive path that would lead me right to hell. My s
