Chapter 3: Family Legacy

Marco's POV

The fitting black suits. The well-knot tie and a brief case. The signature outfit of the Snakes gang. 

It's difficult to tell the leader just by face evaluation. 

Marco walks into the pristine mansion with his newly-acquired brief case. He didn't bother to check it's content.

There's a meeting. 

An urgent meeting. His father has never summoned him to any of his meetings.

Being his first time, he should be nervous, but he's not.

“Hurry, brother. The rest are around,” Andrey says, running up the flight of stairs ahead of him.

“Ahh…there they are,” an old man interjects as Marco opens the double door.

A large feast unfolds before him. Today isn't his birthday. He has no idea what the party is about.

Yet, he seems to be at the center of it all.

The old man gives him a warm hug and offers a seat beside him, 

“Welcome son,” he says.

Marco manages a smile. He isn't so comfortable with his father's kind. The pistols in their pockets only makes it more uncomfortable.

Such meetings could turn into a war between families at the slightest provocation. But everyone seems to be in a light mood.

“Without wasting much of our time, I'll cut to the chase," his father–Igor Sidorov begins. 

"...As we all know. I'm an old man and this business requires a lot of dedication. I would like to announce a successor today. I've kept the person a mystery for a purpose."

Marco is disinterested, eating up his meal like he isn't part of the mob or the family.

Truthfully he isn't. He's been more concerned with his personal life more, since he lost his mother to cancer. A death only him mourned.

 His mother's dying wish to him was never to follow after his father's footsteps.

Marco had been living up to that for the past twenty four years of his life.

There's murmuring as his father announces the sudden enthronement of a successor.

Everyone can guess who.

It has to be Andrey. Igor's eldest son.

He's already beaming with a smile, taking a standing position beside his father.

“We need a young blood. One with strength and enough bravery to carry on the family name. To take hold of more territory in Russia and all over the world,” he continues, holding up a glass of champagne as he speaks.

"There's no other person I'll entrust such position of power and wealth if not my son…Marco."

Marco's cutlery drops in shock as he hears his name.

His elder brother's smile soon dissolves into rage.

“That's impossible! Father. I've served you for years. I've been loyal to this family, risking everything…” Andrey rants, like some child deprived of his rights.

Igor seems to be calm as he interrupts him with a smile,

"That…I'm aware of, son. Your brother would be needing the same support to rule. I'm convinced you would do exactly that."

"He's not experienced!" Andrey yells.

“You would accept exactly what I accept, Andrey Sidorov.“

Their father hardly calls their full name, which means Andrey is about to cross his boundaries.

“Now, shall we rise for a toast…To Marco.”

Screeching sound of chairs moving against the floor fill the room as they all rise for a toast. Except Marco.

Their cups clang. Marco slams his fist on the table, flipping the table cloth off. 

There's a loud clash of ceramics and a wild mess of food spills. 

An action that would have cost him his life had he not being his father's favorite.

"Couldn't you at least ask if I accept your offer before making a grand announcement, father?" Marco confronts his father in front of everyone. His tone slathered with rage.

He could see the disappointment in his father's eye as he replies,

“I make the order here. I need no permission from you, son,” Igor says rather cheerfully, contradicting his expression.

"Another reason I chose him. The temper, as you've all seen. He sure got that from me."

"I care nothing for your gang. And I won't be a leader to a bunch of murderers!"

"Please have your seats distinguished gentlemen. Call the maids in. My son and I would have a little chat outside. Excuse us for a moment."

Marco is pulled out by one of the guards, his father walking right behind.

“Where did we stop…” Igor breaks the grumbling air as they arrive at his father's room.

"I refuse to accept the position," Marco insists.

A smirk forms on his father's face as he takes a seat on a plush leather chair at the corner, twirling a pistol in his finger.

"You see, son. There isn't so much room for choice."

He turns to his guards, 

"Release him and give us a moment."

Marco adjusts his suits, choosing not to pay attention to his father. Nothing he says can ever change his mind.

"I've trained your brother for years, yet I still count you as a worthy candidate, care to know why?"

“I don't fucking care. You lost me the very day mother died in your hands,” Marco curses.

He rushes towards his father and snatches the gun from his hands.

"Your mother's death was a natural cause. I couldn't continue to watch her suffer. I did her a favor," Igor says, ignoring the gun pointed at him.

“What's stopping me from killing you,” Marco threatens, about to pull the trigger.

“You'll only be making my wish come true. Any one who kills a Mafia becomes the leader. Remember the rule, don't you?”

Marco drops the gun to the floor in frustration ready to take his leave when he hears his father threaten,

"Walk past that door and forget you ever had a father, Marco."

“It would be my delight, Igor. I never had a father,” Marco replies without looking back, slamming the door shut behind him.

Andrey approached him as he arrives at his room, ready to pack all his belongings left.

“You should have rejected it without a fight. I know you did it for me because I deserved it,” Andrey says as he walks in.

Without uttering a word, Marco takes his last luggage and drives out of the mansion.

Leaving the country. Leaving everything behind.

“Two shots,” he tells the bartender as he walks into a bar in the new city. But the bartender doesn't speak english. 

A girl approaches the bartender and speaks Belarusian language.

"Here you go," she turns to Marco, who takes the bottle of wine she offers.

Marco's thoughts is consumed with how he intends to survive alone, draining his worry in alcohol.

"Had a bad day? You seem like one of those foreigners."

She speaks English too. But he ignores her. There's a phone call from his father. He ignores it.

Marco gulps down his drink, as though no one is around.

“Do you know those men. They've been watching you,” she asks.

Marco jerks out of his seat immediately.

They don't look familiar.

He looks back at the girl but she's nowhere around.

His phone rings again. 

His father must have sent them to capture him, judging by their outfits.

He maneuvers his way out in fear, as he sets the car engine to life.

He sees two vehicles closing up on him from behind and a few power bikes coming behind him from the rearview mirror.

He increases his speed to miss them. But they seem to be catching up too quick.

There's a red light ahead. He tries to step on the brakes but it isn't responding.

Horror struck, he attempts to drift toward a covet but it's too late. A moving truck is in front of him.

There's no other way. He screams as his car collides with the truck.

With glass shattering around him, he could feel his face pulsing. His limbs are too heavy to move.

He hoped to lead a quite life here in Ukraine but it doesn't seem like his father would ever grant him that.

He could feel the life draining out of him every passing second. The drink he had taken earlier seemed to have been too potent for him as his sight goes blurry.

There's the sound of ambulance.

He's partly awake but too weak to control his body as they place him on a stretcher.

 They speak some language he doesn't understand as they wheel him into the bright hallway of a large hospital.

The tension in their voices was a telltale sign that he is severely injured.