Chapter Text
2008 - Ontario, Canada
Ilya couldn’t take it any more, he had to get out of there.
“YA seychas vernus',” he whispered to the man posted up beside him. As he went to turn towards the exit, he noticed the man also turning to follow. “Odin.”
Ilya had been practicing mimicking his father’s tone, and it obviously had paid off since this was the first time Ilya had ever seen his guards actually hesitate to follow. He didn’t bother repeating himself and turned to leave, hoping for once his babysitters would actually listen and give him a moment of peace.
Finally out on a balcony in the fresh Canadian air, Ilya let out the tension and stiffness in his shoulders. They had been in Canada for nearly a week planning this skhodka with the other syndicates in the region, and Ilya felt a pressure slowly building in the back of his skull with each passing day. He understood why he was involved in every decision made for this dinner, and he still felt a bubbling sense of pride knowing his father trusted him enough to take more responsibility, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t overwhelming for a seventeen year old fresh out of schooling. Grigori Rozanov made it very clear before they left Russia what this trip and gathering meant not only for the Rozanov family, but Ilya’s own future; within the next year, this operation would be Ilya’s to look after.
At first the thought terrified him. Sure, he had traveled the world with his father, and he knew he was capable; but he had never been away from Russia for such an extended period of time. That fear melted away, however, once he realized leaving Russia also meant leaving behind his overbearing father, and his angry brother– And that made it worth it.
So if he had to put up with annoyingly vigilant body guards and one oppressive dinner, he would do it. He was so close, too. The party had been going on for nearly three hours at this point, it was nearing 11 o’clock at night, and guests would start returning to their fancy mansions any minute now. Who was anyone to judge Ilya Rozanov for needing one little smoke break?
“I don’t think you can smoke that out here.”
Ilya had to hold himself back from whipping his head around in surprise. It was unusual for someone to be able to sneak up on him unheard, both because of his trained senses and fear of getting on his, or his father’s, bad side. Slowly, Ilya turned his head to see who would possibly dare to interrupt him when he was obviously hiding out from the crowds.
His first thought was that this kid’s tie was horrendous. It totally clashed with his deep navy suit, and not in a good way. Thankfully the rest of his getup was presentable, so whoever dressed him at least knew something about fashion. His shoes glinted in the lamp light in a way that told Ilya they had never been worn before, and that almost put a smile on his face.
Baby’s first big dinner party, he thought smugly.
But that smugness died the minute his eyes landed on those damned freckles. Those paired with his short cropped hair gave this kid a boyish look to him that Ilya had had to shed years ago; and for a minute he was almost jealous at his lack of years.
Apparently him staring dumbly at those god damn freckles made this boy think he didn’t understand English, because he slowly mimed putting a cigarette to his mouth and said, “smoking, I don’t think you can here.”
This time Ilya did smile, and decided to just continue staring and see where this went.
The freckled enigma looked around the balcony while he shoved his hands in his pocket. “Uh, I was just coming out to get some air, sorry I didn’t realize anyone would be out here.”
Ilya hummed in acknowledgement, taking the cigarette from his mouth and puffing the smoke away from his companion.
“You’re, uh, Ilya Rozanov, right?”
“Da.”
The kid nodded, as if he was the one answering the question. He shuffled his feet and looked around nervously again.
“Oh!” He quickly fumbled his hand out of his pocket and held it out between them. “I’m Shane, Shane Hollander.”
Ah, Ilya thought to himself. A Hollander, how interesting.
Technically speaking, Ilya was aware of who Shane Hollander was, had studied all members of the family syndicates their family interacted with. But Ilya wasn’t prepared for him to look so young. Maybe it was the stupid tie, or his shiny shoes, or goofy haircut, but Ilya could tell immediately this kid didn’t belong in their world. He didn’t have that hardened, gutted look to him like the adults, and didn’t have the look in his eyes like he’d seen too much too soon like Ilya did.
Ilya let the hand stay there for a moment before sticking his cigarette back in his mouth, slowly returning the gesture. He was met with sweaty palms and a weak grip; his father would have torn him apart. But Ilya just continued grinning and continued smoking, staring occasionally out at the lawn before turning back to Shane.
“You know,” Shane threw out awkwardly. “Smoking is really bad for you.”
Oh God. Ilya couldn’t take it anymore. He laughed louder than he had in years. It rang out between the stone pillars and into the darkness, dancing between the two teenagers like soft bells. Shane could only look at him like he’d gone crazy.
Ilya wiped a tear from his eye. “Yes, so I have heard.”
Shane was obviously shocked at his fluent English, and also probably a little embarrassed if the pink ears were anything to go by. Ilya only chuckled before crushing his cigarette under his shoe.
“Don’t leave that there, this place isn’t your garbage can.”
It seemed to slip out of Shane’s mouth before he could help it, and this time he did look genuinely embarrassed. Ilya could only balk at him, not having people snap at him other than his brother, but certainly never over littering.
“Oh, so you are fine with organized crime, but littering is where you draw the line?” Ilya smirked.
“Who said I was okay with organized crime?”
Now that truly was a shocking admission, seemingly to both boys. Ilya gawked at Shane, who looked out to the courtyard with now pink ears and cheeks.
They stood there in the silence of his question before Shane griped out, “Are you gonna pick it up or not?”
Ilya continued to stare, his smirk slowly returning as he bent to retrieve the cigarette butt from the ground. He stowed the evidence of his outdoor rendezvous in his jacket pocket.
“Thank you.”
Ilya’s eyebrow quirked. “Oh you are very welcome, Hollander.”
When Shane turned to him this time he looked more annoyed than embarrassed. A roll of thunder sounded off in the distance, signaling a coming storm. Ilya didn’t take his eyes off of Shane.
“Anyways,” Shane shoved his hands back in his pockets. “I just wanted to introduce myself. Since my mom tells me you’ll be working in the area with us soon.”
Ilya didn’t like the implication that Ilya or his family would be working for anyone, but he reminded himself this kid was obviously not trained in the same way Ilya had been and let it slide.
“Yes, within next year.”
Shane nodded. “Well, I look forward to working with you in the future.” He paused, thought for a moment, and moved his hands around in his pockets like he was thinking about asking for another handshake.
“Da.”
Shane nodded again, looked around and then squeaked out, “Alright, I’m gonna go back inside now.”
Ilya smirked again. “Goodnight, Hollander.”
Shane gave him a weird look before he turned and all but ran back into the building behind them. Ilya knew he should return as well, he had been gone much longer than he intended, but turned to look over the courtyard one more time. He saw lightning flashing within the clouds off miles away, and the wind carried the sweet smell of incoming rain. Ilya pulled the cigarette butt from his pocket, turning it slowly as it was pinched between his fingers.
Shane Hollander, he thought smugly to himself. I wonder how long it will take little Golden Boy to turn as black and vile as the rest of us.
Ilya leaned over the railing and chucked the butt into the hedges below, and then turned to return to the party his father held in his honor.