From Russia With Fangs

by Jacey Conrad

  “You—” Irina pointed at her sister. “We’re going to have a talk.”

  “About what, dearest sister?”

  “You know, you have a little carpet fuzz on your dress,” Viktor told her, waving his hand at her skirt.

  Galina stuck her tongue out at Viktor as she grabbed Irina’s wrist and dragged her out of the box. She spoke so only Irina could hear. “Consider it payback for finding you in the funeral home after you rode Viktor’s hand to happy land.” She grinned when her sister looked offended.

  “That is hardly the same situation at all!” Irina exclaimed as they carefully made their way down the sweeping staircase.

  “Apples and oranges, but it’s fruit all the same,” Galina told her.

  The menfolk were waiting in the atrium with their coats. Andrey helped Irina on with her delicately beaded silver wrap, much to Alexei’s chagrin, while Konstantin did the same for Galina. Papa returned with Uncle Petyr and Maksim, who had skipped the ballet entirely and had been bellied up to the bar for the last hour. Petyr invited Papa to join him at their “gentleman’s club” and insisted that Alexei and Andrey join them to discuss business. Alexei agreed eagerly, always open to the opportunity to expound on his “business theories.” But Andrey demurred, explaining that he appreciated the invitation, but had an early meeting in the morning. His using an excuse from He’s Just Not That Into You to avoid Irina’s father made her feel almost a little sorry for Papa.

  “I’ll get Mrs. Volkov home safely,” Viktor assured Papa.

  Papa beamed at Viktor and patted him shoulder. Alexei saw immediately that he’d been rooked and tried to hedge his way out of late-night drinks at the club. “Well, maybe I should take Irina home. I don’t know if I trust Viktor to keep her safe.”

  “Viktor has my complete trust,” Papa announced, making even Andrey’s eyebrows sweep up to his inky hairline. Irina clutched at Galina’s hand, her eyes wide. It was the first time she could remember Papa contradicting Alexei in public since they were kids. Could this mean that their father’s “eldest first and only” mind-set was finally changing? Could Galina’s careful maneuvers be undermining Papa’s stubborn confidence in Alexei’s ability to lead?

  Viktor inclined his head and fell in step behind Irina. “Thank you, sir.”

  “Then Konstantin should go with Nik, if Andrey is okay with that, since Viktor will be coming with me,” Irina suggested in melted sugar tones.

  Andrey’s lips twitched as he said, “That’s fine. I can see Galina home.”

  “I can see my own self home, thank you very much,” she said. “I did make my way here all by myself, after all.” Galina smiled sweetly at everyone, which Irina knew was silent Galina-speak for “fuck you, fuck you, and you over there—yes, you—fuck you!”

  “Of course,” Irina insisted with an even more saccharine smile. “But personally, I would feel more comfortable if you had an escort.”

  “Fine, fine,” Papa said dismissively, and cuffed their brother on the shoulder. “Come, Alexei, Maksim, join the men at the club. We have many things to talk about.”

  As Papa dragged a reluctant Alexei toward the door, her brother shot poisonous looks at Galina, who was laughing her ass off. “I wish I could have recorded that and posted it on YouTube,” Galina hooted. “Alexei knows he just got tricked, but he’s not sure how. The gears in his head are smoking!”

  “Well, I can’t look at any of you right now, so we’re going to go,” Irina said, taking Viktor’s arm. “Galina, if you’re not at my house at nine a.m. sharp, I will bring a tranq gun and a net to yours.”

  “You are so dramatic sometimes,” Galina sighed.

  The next morning, Galina rang Irina’s doorbell and barely got her finger off of the button before she was dragged inside. Irina shoved her down on the sinfully comfortable white couch she’d just purchased to replace her old black-and-gold pimp sofa. Galina grumbled, “Nice to see you, too.”

  “Explain.” Irina sat down and stared at her, the “I am your big sister and I know everything” glare that had always worked on Galina when they were kids.

  “Okay, so there are clearly some developments we need to talk about,” Galina said, casually.

  “Explain,” Irina said again.

  Galina smiled. “I can draw diagrams if you need a visual,” she offered, making Irina shudder. “Okay, okay. What do you want to know?”

  Irina crossed her arms over her Team Jacob T-shirt, the one Galina had given her for her birthday. She deadpanned, “How about you start when you met Andrey and somehow ended up on a double-date family outing with a gawky caviar scion and end when you climaxed in the coatroom? By the way, how did you manage to find the one coatroom in Seattle without an attendant guarding it?”

  “Bribery,” Galina told her. “And I’m going to assume you mean meeting Andrey this year, not meeting when we were kids.”

  Irina knew her surprise showed clearly on her face. “You met him when you were younger? Where was I?”

  “Training to be a cosmonaut. I don’t know!” Galina exclaimed. “I saw him again the night Sergei was shot—he was at Katya’s party. We kind of hooked up in the kitchen.”

  “Galina!”

  “Oh, don’t act so scandalized, Miss Funeral Fingerbang. We didn’t get too far because Sergei getting shot sort of killed the mood.”

  Irina scowled. “Do you actually hear the words coming out of your mouth?”

  Galina shrugged. “Sorry.” She leaned back against the couch cushions and wallowed a bit, even though Irina hated it when she did that. “We’ve kind of been seeing each other on and off for the last few months.”

  “So when you say you’re seeing each other, what you really mean is seeing each other naked, right?” Irina asked carefully.

  Galina deadpanned, “Yes, Irina. We fuck. I’m sure you’ve heard of it. It’s what we do.”

  Irina rolled her eyes. “Well, that might be a little hard to continue to do since Papa wants me to marry your boink-buddy. And he wants you to marry Maksim. Hence, the family outing from hell.”

  “I highly doubt Andrey’s going to let that happen.” Galina sniffed, then smiled for reasons Irina didn’t even want to fathom. And while she wanted to find encouragement in Galina’s certainty, Irina had a hard time understanding why Andrey hadn’t already protested the writing being smeared on the wall.

  “If you say so. Just so long as I don’t walk in on you ever again.” Irina raised a hand. “I will never get the image of your O face out of my head. I am cursed to walk in on Sudenko siblings mid-coitus.”

  “Wait, who else did you walk in on besides me and Andrey?” Galina started. “Oh god, did you walk in on Alexei with one of his cocktail skanks?”

  Irina giggled. “No, it was Nik.”

  Galina furrowed her brow. “Who did Nik—Konstantin! Holy crap, he got it on with Konstantin!”

  “I know, I am weirdly proud of him,” Irina said, smiling. “He must really like Konstantin if he’s willing to take the risk so close to home. I mean, I know it’s a huge risk and it could go badly at any moment, but really…good for him. I feel like we should get him a cake or something to celebrate this momentous occasion. What kind of baked goods do you get for someone to say ‘congratulations on getting a blow job from a person you’re going to see regularly’?” She thought for a moment. “Italian cream?”

  Galina shook her head. “Cannolis.”

  Irina winced. “I gave you this idea. I had that coming.”

  Galina hopped up from the couch, her phone in hand. “I’m ordering them now,” she said.

  “From where?”

  “La Vita e Bella,” Galina told her. “Where else…? And they put me on hold. Oh, while we’re on the subject of inappropriate public behavior, here.”

  Galina dug through her enormous shoulder bag and handed her a clear glass bottle with a perfume atomizer attached. It was unlabeled and when Irina spritzed it in the air, she didn’t smell anything beyond a light floral scen
t. She waited patiently while Galina ordered cannoli in perfect Italian.

  “Weakest perfume ever,” Irina said, wrinkling her nose as Galina hung up the phone. “By the way, people who live in coat closet-sized glass houses, shouldn’t throw stones.”

  “It’s weaponized wolfsbane,” Galina said, ignoring the jab. “Spray that stuff anywhere near you and it will mess up the senses of any werewolf in the room. And considering how you and Viktor keep finding yourself in naked situations, I thought it would be a good precaution.”

  “Did you already give a bottle to Viktor?” Irina asked. “Before the ballet?”

  Galina nodded and then yowled with Irina frog-punched her in the bicep. “Ow!”

  “Damn it, Galina!” Irina cried, hissing when Galina slapped her arm.

  “What?” Galina demanded. “I was trying to help!”

  “Help? What you did was give Viktor some sort of inspiration to get me off with our insane brother and our father just a few yards down the hall. You might as well have given a handgun to a toddler.”

  “Wow, what is it about the ballet?” Galina wondered, hissing again when Irina punched her other arm. “He really enjoys manipulating your lady bits in public places, huh?”

  “I don’t know what Viktor enjoys,” Irina grumbled, flopping back on the marshmallow couch.

  “We both know that’s not true,” her sister said.

  “I know he enjoys having sex with me,” Irina countered. “But there’s no future in it. We both know that. And we’re just sort of ignoring that in favor of crazy, risky sex.”

  “And you’re loving every minute of it,” Galina reminded her.

  Irina pressed a forest green throw pillow over her face, muffling her “Yes.”

  “And you love Viktor?” her sister asked, her tone more gentle.

  “I don’t know,” Irina said, shaking her head. “I mean, obviously, I like him. He’s decent and he’s kind, even though he claims otherwise. He’s smart and he makes me laugh. And he makes me feel safe without smothering me. I know I don’t want to be with anyone else, or to have anyone else touch me—no offense to Andrey. But after Sergei, I don’t know if there’s anything left in me that’s capable of loving someone.”

  Without warning, Galina’s fist came flying toward her arm, Irina’s own hand snapped up and caught Galina’s, flinging it away before her punch could land on Irina’s bicep.

  Galina’s jaw dropped. “Wow.”

  “Yeah, I’ve been paying attention in the Systema lessons like sixty percent of the time. What the hell are you doing?”

  “I was smacking you for talking that way!” Galina told her, with her finger planted firmly in Irina’s face. “Don’t know if you have anything in you capable of love—what the hell, Irina? Of all the fucked up personalities in our family, you are the one person whose capacity to love I can trust in. Hell, Irina, you’ve been more of a mother to me than a sister. You love all of us, even crazy-ass Alexei, when it would be smarter sometimes for you to run for the fucking hills. If you can’t love, what kind of hope is there for me? So suck it up, sort out your feelings, and stop having sex in public places which may lead to your untimely demise.”

  Irina pulled the pillow away from her face. “I hate it when you’re right.”

  “And yet, I’m right so often, you’d think you’d be used to it by now,” Galina said, hissing when Irina punched her in the arm. “Ow! I don’t want you training with Viktor any more if you’re going to use it against me!”

  Galina did order several dozen cannoli and sent them to Nik’s house with a card that said, “Congratulations on getting laid. Love, your sisters.” In return, they each got a gift bag filled with English fruit puddings, and a message telling them to “Eat a bag of spotted dicks. Love, your brother.” Galina responded with a box of eclairs labeled with, “Cream-filled, just the way you like them. Love, Galina.” Nik volleyed back, sending her a frangipane tart, with, “Because you are one. Love, Nik.”

  The dessert-sex puns continued in this vein all week, but it was a fun bonding activity for the siblings, since they couldn’t talk about their relationships openly. Irina had just received a box full of ladyfingers at Red Crown, with a note stating:

  I am giving you the finger(s). Love, Nik

  Viktor scarfed down his fourth ladyfinger as Irina packed up her purse and shut down the shop for the night. “I think I like it when you and your siblings snark at each other. See if you can get Nik to send you a pun based on Franny’s cinnamon rolls.”

  Viktor and Irina were alone in the shop for once. Ivan had taken off early for a doctor’s appointment and Vlad was sent home after he burned a hole through her chair with undetermined chemicals.

  “I hate that your metabolism will keep you from ever suffering the consequences of those carbs,” she grumbled as he ate another cake.

  He scanned the mostly empty street through the window. Irina noted that there were no suspicious blue vans parked out front. He looped his finger into her waistband and pulled her close. “Here, you can have pastry by proxy.”

  He kissed her lightly on the lips, where she tasted sugar and vanilla and Viktor.

  “I also hate that that just worked,” she pouted as Viktor plucked the keys from the counter. Irina hefted the flat rectangular case of newly set engagement rings, which were destined for the family’s shop in Miami. She shoved the case in her shoulder bag. She planned to have dinner with Papa at the big house later in the evening and would transfer the case to his care. Her dinner plans also precluded any happy naked fun time in the back of the shop. They were on a tight schedule.

  Irina hopped from foot-to-foot, bracing herself against the blustery spring wind as Viktor struggled with the shop’s front door. The lock, which was original to the circa 1947 building, refused to turn. “You couldn’t get a digital system for this place, too?” Viktor asked.

  “Who would be crazy enough to break into a jewelry shop owned by the Sudenko family?” she asked.

  “Good point,” he huffed as he jiggled the key again. “But if we did leave it unlocked, your father would never let me hear the end of it. I hate being mocked in Russian. It’s demeaning.”

  “I’m not going to just stand here and wait for the inevitable rain. I’m going out to the car,” Irina said. “Unlike my father, I don’t think there are werewolf Mafiosi crouched under every minivan.”

  “I’ll be right there,” he promised, kicking the door. “Just lock, you bastard!”

  Laughing, Irina turned the corner and strode into the dark employee lot. She teetered a little on her heels, rifling through her bag for her keys under the yellow-green glow of the streetlamp. As soon as she reached the driver’s side door, a slurring, high-pitched voice sounded behind her.

  “Hey, Pretty Reeny. How’s it going?”

  It was Marty, a small-time hood who sold dime bags on the corner for the Mancusos. Reed-thin, with a narrow face covered in pockmarks, Marty was a none-too-bright fixture in the neighborhood. Sometimes, he called out to Irina when he saw her in the parking lot, complimenting her legs and asking her out on dates. Sometimes, he wandered into the store, reeking of weed, asking to use their bathroom and joking around about knocking over the store.

  Irina glanced at the sidewalk, hoping to see Viktor. She guessed he was still fighting with the door. And she was corralled between two cars, trapped between Marty and the brick wall behind her. Irina cleared her throat and shifted her shoulder bag behind her. “Marty, can I help you?”

  “I just wanted to talk,” he said, leaning against her car, his Chargers jacket making slick noises against the town car’s hood. “So, how have you been? You were missing from the shop for a few days. Have you been sick?”

  “Marty, I’m pretty sure you know why I was out. My husband died. Now what can I do for you?”

  Marty’s pimpled brow furrowed. “Hey, hey, I was just offering my—what do you call them?—sympathies. There’s no reason to be rude. So what’s in the bag?” He nodd
ed toward her shoulder bag.

  Irina’s brow lifted at Marty’s dramatic departure from his usual goofball, inept criminal charm. “You know what’s in the bag.”

  “Okay, then.” Marty struck fast, faster than Viktor ever moved in their sparring sessions, even with his werewolf speed. His hand closed around her throat and he shoved her back against the car. “If we’re cutting the shit, how about you give me the bag?”

  Irina coughed, pulling at Marty’s spindly fingers with her free hand while kicking off her heels.

  “You know why, Marty. Now, you need to leave before you do something really stupid,” she ground out through clenched teeth as Marty’s sour breath hit her full in the face.

  Marty smiled, his teeth as jagged as broken porcelain. “No, how about you give me that bag and I leave before you do something stupid, like not giving me what I want.”

  Irina slid her hand around the strap of her bag, yanking the ring case free. This was an incredibly stupid move on Marty’s part. There were maybe one to two hundred thousand dollars’ worth of jewelry in this case. It wouldn’t be enough to help him run once her father heard about this. Ilya would string Marty up by his innards from the tallest building in the Mancuso territory to set an example.

  Irina opened the case, showing Marty the selection of rings. She watched his face transformed with a greedy, blissful grin, then she tossed the rings aside, dumping them out on the pavement. As he turned his head to follow the rolling jewelry’s progress across the parking lot, Irina closed the case and swung it up, bashing him broadside in the face with it.