All moisture dried in her mouth and she had to swallow a few times before she could speak. Having a witness would be wise, she reminded herself. “I am sorry.” She switched to English and dug her fingers into Justin’s arm where she was holding him. “Could you repeat that? In English, please.”
As Alekzander had in front of the restaurant, Justin put his hand out and introduced himself.
Anton politely shook and did the same, giving only his first name again. “Crisp evening,” he commented casually. “Though I hear the temperature is about to drop to uncomfortable levels.” Returning to Sacha with a knowing smile curving his mouth, he went back to their language, rudely excluding Justin. “There is no need to involve outsiders here. We have been instructed to allow you to carry on with your routine as you normally would. Maksim assumed there would be little disruption since you do not work outside the home. Though you may not appreciate it,” he finished, “we are to accompany you if you take the children off the premises.”
“Sacha?” Justin patted her back where his hand rested.
Torn between wanting his aid and not wanting to reveal she’d spoken about the organization to “an outsider”, especially because she knew Anton would be reporting this interaction to his superiors in the next few minutes, Sacha erred on the side of caution and protected her friend rather than lean on him.
“Anton was saying the weather back home has been similar but with more snow.” She looked away from the goon’s approval to see the police officer was watching their exchange. He came forward. But rather than ask her if everything was okay, he put his hand out to Anton, who shook it and offered him a thank you in English. Any badge number she might have taken note of was hidden under his coat.
“No worries, man,” the officer said. “I’ll let the other boys know about the security detail. We’re good here. ’Night.” He nodded at Sacha and Justin before walking away.
Instinctively, she went to raise her hand, but Anton clicked his tongue to get her attention.
“As I said, outsiders are not welcome in our business. There is no need to cause a scene that will end in disappointment for you. You must know he is ours. As are many others.” He didn’t speak in a threatening tone, just matter-of-factly enough to have her stop Justin when he went to follow after the officer.
“We are good, Justin,” she said, forcing a smile.
“Say goodbye to your friend now and go inside,” Anton continued. “From what I gathered, Alek should be along in the morning.”
A combination of affront and fear roared through her, making her stomach twist into painful knots. Who was this minion to tell her what to do?
And what did she do? Nothing. She stood on the sidewalk outside her home and experienced helplessness in its most basic form. Her beautiful secret was still only hers, but the rest of her life was already an open book. How long before that changed? Twelve measly hours? Twelve imprisoned hours?
As she flashed a shaky smile at Justin and pulled him along toward the front door, she couldn’t help but think if she’d needed a blatant and timely reminder of who she was dealing with, she’d just gotten one.
♦ ♦ ♦
As Dmitri pulled the Maybach to the curb in front of a small tavern in the Flatiron District, Vasily Tarasov looked out at the damp sidewalk covered in dirty snow and slush. New York was so messy in the winter. Back home, winter was white. Here it was wet.
“Since we’re only a few blocks away, I’m going to stay at the apartment tonight,” Alek said as they got out, referring to the place he and Sacha had shared.
As cold air flew up Vasily’s pants legs, he nodded. “I had a feeling you might say that.” Which was why the unit that had been sitting empty for over a year was currently crawling with sweepers. The men would check for planted explosives or anything that could cause injury or death. It was second nature to regularly go through the routine with their cars, homes, and businesses. Around the clock, the sweepers’ only job was to search and deem safe.
Vasily hoped their clean track record would remain, but wasn’t optimistic. Especially now.
They went through the door of the pub that Dmitri held open, and in the next few minutes, were sitting with a young Russian couple. It didn’t take long for Vasily to relax and lose himself in one of the perks this life offered, one he truly enjoyed; helping those not able to help themselves. He would never consider himself a do-gooder, not in any form. These cases were more about him and his connections bypassing a broken system. Sure, it was illegal. Funnily enough that didn’t bother him.
After a few minutes speaking with the young man, who was in his early thirties, about how he and his wife were settling in after the big move from Yekaterinburg, Vasily turned to the woman. She was younger, probably Eva’s age, and appeared shit-scared.
“Would you rather we spoke Russian?” he asked.
Her eyes darted around the group before she answered in Russian, which gave him a big clue. “Whatever you are most comfortable doing.”
He smiled in appreciation for the show of respect. “Since we are discussing yours and your husband’s new life, I would say you should be involved. That would make the choice yours. If you are as comfortable and fluent in English as your husband, we’ll continue. If you are not, you should admit that, and we will accommodate you.”
Her face went red. “My English is not as good as my husband’s.” The confession obviously embarrassed her. That reminded him of Sacha’s never-ending resolve to get the difficult language right.
“My woman was in your shoes not long ago,” Alek cut in, his tone kind. “She’s come a long way. It will be easier for you now that you’re submerged in it. Sacha used to watch cartoons.”
“I have heard this is a good way to gain the basics.”
“Then you’re halfway there.”
As pride sparked in Vasily’s chest at the man his nephew had become, they sat back so a waitress could deliver their drinks.
“Can I get you anything else?”
“We’re good, thanks.” Dmitri nodded at the pretty girl with inked arms holding the now-empty tray.
“Just wave if you change your mind. I’ll be close by.” She waited until he looked up before smiling, causing the piercing in her dimple to wink. Dmitri watched her ass go as she walked off but otherwise showed no sign of interest. She wasn’t intimidated by the harsh gray stare and ink climbing his thick neck to disappear into his dark cropped hair. Proof: When Dmitri lifted his glass, a piece of paper with a name and phone number scrawled on it fell into his lap.
Vasily was never sure how to view women like that. Good for them for taking charge and going after what they wanted? Or condemn them for not being the soft, feminine, you-do-the-chasing-because-you’re-the-man type he’d fallen so hard for all those years ago?
As they got down to business and the couple at the table was replaced by a new one four times over, the small place filled up. Which was good. It made the exchange of envelopes disappear in the hum and jostle of the crowd. Dmitri accepted a final payment from each of the men while Vasily and Alek insisted the young doctors go through their newly printed degrees and transcripts of records from a respected Ivy League college. It was equivalent to the same degrees they’d received from MSU—Moscow University—that weren’t recognized by a U. S. credential evaluation service.
After going through each of the medical researchers’ employment histories and experience, and their impressive academic accomplishments, the Tarasov’s private MD, Yuri Davidenko, had come to Vasily raging at the injustice of it. Vasily had put Maks and Alek on it. Now four gifted researchers were able to do the same work here as they’d been doing back home. Who knew, one of them might just be the man to rid the world of cancer or diabetes or muscular dystrophy. Wouldn’t it be a shame for them not to have the opportunity to try because of where they’d received their education?
By the time the fourth couple had offered their thanks for the fifth time, the muscles in Vasily’s neck ha
d begun to tighten, and he and the boys said their goodbyes. It wasn’t a surprise to see the pretty waitress’s number left behind under an empty glass as they headed for the exit.
As they got in the car and aimed for Alek’s apartment, Vasily’s phone rang over the Bluetooth. Seeing Yuri’s number, he nodded for Dmitri to connect the call by pressing a button on the dash.
“Yuri.”
“I just saw the MD,” the gifted surgeon and Vasily’s long-time friend said in place of a greeting.
The “MD” would be Dr. Tegan Mancuso. A bright and bubbly girl who’d been a permanent fixture in Alek and his friends’ lives since their school days. Tegan had recently been drawn into their world and used to send a message to Maksim. She’d been assaulted, to an extent they still didn’t know and had refused to see anyone since. Vasily knew her loss was deeply felt. Maksim—who’d had the pleasure of taking out the degenerate who’d gone after her—was having a hell of a time with it. He would crack soon and go to her, Vasily knew. He just hoped the hothead didn’t push too hard too soon and drive the girl away for good.
“Do you mean Tegan?” Alek asked.
“Yes,” Yuri confirmed.
“Where did you see her? At the hospital?” Vasily guessed since Yuri had surgical privileges at Coney Island where Tegan worked in the Emergency Department.
“Yes. I came out of the operating room and went to the closest lounge. She was just leaving. I thought I would feel her out by making it so she could not ignore me. I stepped in front of her and asked for a moment.”
Vasily winced. “Really, Yuri? I’m sure that went over well.”
He chuckled. “After she leaped away to avoid touching me, she threatened my reproductive organs and ordered me to join my brethren around a brimstone hearth.”
They all found some humor in that, knowing Yuri had rephrased, but it didn’t last.
“Shit. That sounds so like her,” Alek murmured. “How is she?”
Yuri paused, and when he spoke, his voice was subdued. “I cannot say for sure, of course, but if you are asking for my professional opinion, I would say the girl was sexually assaulted. Her signals were not the same ones you see when dealing with Vincente’s woman. Tegan kept five feet between us, was hidden beneath a god awful disaster of a sweater, wore no makeup, had that beautiful hair of hers concealed beneath a wool hat that was much too warm to be wearing indoors. Her eyes were overly-watchful, she was jumpy, curled in around herself as though trying to hide her body. If she could have stripped herself of her gender, I am sure she would have. She simply did not want to be seen.”
Curses blended as they all reacted to that.
“Of all men to dispose of so quickly,” Alek growled. “There would have been a long line for that piece of shit had he ended up on Maks’s wall.”
“If you see her again, keep your distance,” Vasily instructed, hurting for the girl. “No good will come from pressuring her. But if there’s anything you can do for her, do it. Without her knowledge, of course. And I don’t want any of you mentioning this to Maksim. He wouldn’t take it well. He feels responsible enough as it is.”
Alek’s mouth tightened as Yuri said goodbye.
“It isn’t good to keep shit from him. He’ll be insulted if he finds out he wasn’t told because you didn’t think he could handle it.”
As if Vasily wasn’t aware of that. “It isn’t that he can’t handle it, it’s more that he doesn’t need to feel this any deeper than he already is. Maksim doesn’t process and then move on the way ordinary people do. He absorbs the tragedy and holds it in, like a sponge. It sounds cruel, but I’m glad Tegan isn’t around him during this. He would take in everything she’s going through and internalize it until…fuck. Who knows where it would come out?”
Even though he was still reluctant, Alek nodded. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.” When he saw Vasily watching him, his pale eyes that were so like his father’s skipped away.
Vasily frowned and reached out to slap an expensively clad thigh with his gloves. “What did you do?”
“Nothin’.”
Vasily had heard that same word spoken in the same evasive tone since Alek was five years old. “Alekzander…”
“Seriously. It was just a drive by. Didn’t see her, so she has no idea her wishes aren’t being honored. Her place looked closed up. As if she hadn’t been there in a while.”
“And you saw this from the car as you drove by?” he said dryly. He got nothing but a shrug and more of the back of his nephew’s head. Vasily whacked him with the gloves again.
“Okay. Okay. Gabriel and I went by last week.” His hands came up in a helpless gesture when Vasily scowled at him. “We can’t just walk away from her, Vasya. She’s one of us.”
Ah, love and loyalty. It was at times like this that Vasily saw why he loved these boys as deeply as he did.
FIVE
“That’s your plan?”
“I thought it best to keep it simple,” Sacha said, trying not to sound defensive as she turned from staring out the second-floor window at the Tarasov soldiers down below. Justin and Steve were gawking at her, and Lekzi was asleep in her bassinet next to the desk Angela used when she brought work home; she was a crisis counselor at a women’s center.
“Simple is smart.” Angela came from the kitchen, giving Sacha an apologetic smile as she handed over a cup of tea.
“Or it’s just simple,” Steve countered. He and Justin worked together.
Angela turned on her husband with her head tipped to convey annoyance in that way only a regal-looking black woman could. Her tight afro glistened in the light—it appeared every single one in the apartment was turned on.
“You’re gonna hold tight to that crime-novel opinion until we hear a little more of what our girl has to say. Right, Steve? Just like we discussed behind her back before she got here. Right, Steve?”
Steve, looking properly admonished, sliced a hand through his sandy hair and looked at Sacha. “Sorry. She’s right. We did discuss keeping an open mind and not freaking you out with our suspicions—”
“Your,” his wife cut in.
“Fine. My suspicions and fears over the fact that there is now a dangerous crew of Russian mobsters surrounding our building where our son lays his innocent head every night.”
“Steve,” Angela ground out with a swap to his bicep. “Something you don’t seem to understand is that we’re probably safer with Sacha mobsters surrounding us than we’ve ever been.”
“She’s right.” Justin looked at the TV where the security cameras Angela’s father had installed a few months ago perfectly highlighted Anton and two other men he’d introduced as Grigori and Lucas. Grigori had immediately slipped into a pocket in Sacha’s heart because he shared her beloved father’s name. “If Sacha’s as important to Tarasov as he made it seem, these guys are here to protect her from any and all things. They won’t back down for shit.”
“See? Justin gets it,” Angela said at her husband who exchanged an extended look with his friend before dropping his eyes with a guilty flush to his cheeks. His wife frowned at that and Sacha would bet all that she owned he would be questioned about it once he and his wife were alone.
“They’re mafia,” Steve ground out, making Angela roll her eyes.
“So? And the boys who hang out on the corner are thugs. No difference except their skin color and bank balance. They’re a family.”
“I can’t picture those boys chopping off someone’s hand for stealing from them, Ang.”
It wasn’t just Angela who gaped at him over that naïve remark.
“No,” Justin drawled. “They’d just shoot the stupid bastard. Or circle him and lay the boots to him until he stopped moving. All of them have their ways of dealing, Steve. These guys spook you because they put themselves above you socially. They’re not street thugs and that’s intimidating.”
He chuckled, and Sacha saw again this different side of Justin that sometimes came out. It wasn’t often, but
when he let his guard down, he was nothing like the composed lawyer she’d initially gotten to know so well.
“You should have seen the arrogance in that group,” he went on. “The leader, even as pleasant as he was, knows he has the world by the balls. You don’t get an attitude like that without earning it.” Justin dropped his solid body down on the couch with a crooked smirk on his face. “Power is a cozy partner. Now I get why my brother, of all people, has such respect for them. They’re…impressive.”
“Careful. They’re gonna draw you in, and you won’t find your way back out.”
Sacha buried a smile in her mug and took a sip of her tea. Steve was so dramatic. Justin, on the other hand, sounded unconcerned.
“Ugh,” Angela groaned. “You have to set some time aside and purge yourself of all the Hollywood crap, baby.” She grabbed her husband’s solemn face and smacked a kiss to his mouth. “Jot it down. Maybe we can work it into a screenplay and my brother can shop it around L.A.” She dropped a comforting pat to his chest, then went to get Justin the beer she’d promised.
Already feeling so much better than she had when she’d come up here, Sacha was never more grateful for her friends. She and Angela had hit it off the first time they’d met. Sacha had come to look at the apartment, and by the gentle way Angela had treated her, Sacha had known the other girl recognized heartbreak when she saw it. When it was time to fill out the paperwork, and Sacha had given the name Sarah Brighton, Angela had lifted her head and given her a look filled with sympathy.
That bad, huh? Fake names always jump out at me. You’re not a Sarah any more than I’m a John. But that’s okay, girl, I’ll cover for you. Just tell me he’s not going to show up here waving a gun around because I have a bun in the oven, and momma bear is roaring good and loud already. Plus, my daddy has a bad temper and a lot of friends.
He will not come for me. I…I am also…carrying a bun.
Angela had gone crazy at hearing Sacha’s bumbling reveal, squealing about fate and sisterhood. From that moment on, Sacha had held dear the closest friendship she’d ever had with another woman.
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