Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 83814 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83814 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
I wish I didn’t. Life would be easier if I could float along blindly accepting everything my father tells me to do.
If only I could be more like Alex.
But what he’s telling me is this: I am currency, and I will accept my place in the world.
We both know I got lucky with Paris. If the pakhan had wanted Dad to bring me home, they would’ve caught me and dragged me back within days of landing in France. Circumstances were what they were, and I stole an entire year of loneliness and depression in a foreign city with only a piano for company.
I’m back to reality now.
“I understand,” I say as the grim truth becomes startlingly clear.
There’s no escape this time.
Chapter 5
Alexander
Natalya sits quietly in the back seat of my BMW as Lev talks on and on about some new watches that came in through the shop.
“Best fucking fakes I’ve ever seen,” he says, singing their praises. “I couldn’t believe it. Even my top Rolex guy said he couldn’t tell until he got up close and really inspected the movement. We’re gonna sell them at fucking retail.”
“That’s good,” Nat says, only half listening.
“Seriously, the watch business has been booming lately. We got the legit stuff too, but you know how the margins are on those fucking things. We buy for five grand, sell for five-point-five. Not a bad profit, but still. Slim as fuck. Diamonds and jewelry are better, but that’s been slow these days.”
“Why don’t you just steal your inventory?” Natalya asks and I glance at her in the rearview, surprised she’d say it out loud. There’s a cheeky gleam in her eyes though. We’re alone in the care, and this vehicle is inspected for bugs every week, but still, that’s not the sort of thing we’re supposed to say openly.
Lev laughs though. She’s obviously kidding around, and Lev launches into some probably-exaggerated story about how he ended up with a whole crate full of shady Pateks after a deal with some Puerto Ricans went very, very wrong.
I haven’t seen much of Natalya in the last week ever since bringing her back from Paris. It’s been a good week: I’ve buried myself in work and haven’t let myself think too much about that night we spent together and the horrible morning after.
More than once though, I’ve caught myself humming that song. The first one she was playing when I was standing out in the hall. The music that drew me into her apartment. I stop myself like I’m waking up from a deep sleep in the middle of the night, but it leaves me disturbed and itching for hours afterward.
Why can’t I get her music out of my head?
It’s haunting me. Even being this close to her now, I can hear it. That lonely, desperately sad song.
I park out front of a decent Italian place deep in South Philly, not too far from the stadiums. I get out and hold the door for Natalya as she climbs onto the sidewalk. I catch a glimpse of one perfect leg and remember how it felt to have her wrapped around me, her sweat on my tongue, her body stuck to mine. She looks at me as she gets out, and her fingers briefly brush mine.
A thrill runs down my spine. But she hurries past me.
She looks beautiful in a conservative black dress, probably something her father picked out or at least approved ahead of time. Lev offers her his arm, and they enter the restaurant together.
I follow after them. The interior looks like it was renovated in the last few years with nice, dark hardwood floors and a modern decor. The place is closed to the public, but it’s filled with people from both families.
Nat’s father stands with a group of older man, laughing and talking. Some of them I know, others I don’t. I assume they’re from the Italians. I spot Roman Egorov and Konstantin Pavlov, both extremely high-ranked members of the Zeitsev Bratva, plus several more well-placed lieutenants and soldiers. I know a few of the Italians too, mostly in passing though, and I hang near the front of the room for a moment before making my way to the bar.
I’m not needed anymore.
This is Natalya’s show now. I ask for a whisky and take a sip as I watch Lev awkwardly introduce her to a tall, decent looking man in a dark suit. Her future husband is a powerful member of the Marino Famiglia, the son of the Don, and a successful businessman in his own right.
I understand why this is happening. Natalya’s father wants Marino connections back to the old world. The Federov wing of the Bratva is known for their jewelry deals and fine watches, and the Marino’s have fingers in the European market. It makes sense to mesh the two businesses together, and if the pakhan blessed this arrangement, then he must be happy with it too.