Kostya

by Roxie Rivera

  Leaning forward to pick up the cigarette butt marring the otherwise spotless porch, he said, “I don’t know about luck.” He tossed the butt into the ceramic wastebasket tucked away under the patio table between their chairs. “What do you want me to do about Spider?”

  “Depends on what he has to say.” Nikolai scratched at the stubble on his chin. “I’d rather leave it to Romero. We don’t need the added trouble. We still haven’t found Lorenzo, and he’s actively trying to kill my wife, my baby, my friends, my crews.” He touched his chest with each word. “This shit with Marco and Tiffany was a distraction. Find out what Spider was doing there and let it go.”

  The back door opened, and Vivian stepped out onto the porch. Clearly not expecting to find anyone but Nikolai out here at this time of morning, she quickly grabbed the sides of her thin robe and drew them closed across her growing stomach, hiding the wide swath of skin peeking out between her tank top and pajama pants.

  “Good morning,” he greeted, keeping his gaze trained on her face to set her at ease.

  “Morning.” She gestured to the door. “I didn’t realize you had company. Would either of you like some coffee?”

  “No,” Kostya said as Nikolai shook his head.

  Lowering his foot, Nikolai patted his lap. Vivian smiled and accepted her husband’s invitation, leaning into his embrace as he placed a lingering kiss on the side of her neck. His arm curved around her belly, his hand resting on the fullest part in a protective touch.

  The achingly sweet and intimate moment did strange things to Kostya. It was painfully easy to imagine Holly like this, pregnant and happy and seeking the warmth and security of her husband. The acknowledgment that he would never be that man for her slashed at him like razor blades, leaving him bloody and weak.

  Not wanting to intrude on Nikolai’s home life any longer than necessary, he stood up. “I need to go, or I’ll be late for my meetings.”

  “Don’t’ forget to stop by the gym to talk to Vanya. He’s leaving town with Sergei for the fights in Vegas. I told him we would look after things while they’re gone.”

  “When are the boys from New York coming?” Mentally shuffling around all the available men he could assign to Bianca or Erin, he was reminded that they were running low on manpower. If a fight was coming, they needed every capable hand they could get.

  “Soon. I’m working out the details.”

  “Before you go,” Vivian interjected, an impish smile curving her mouth, and held out her hand. “Do you have something for me?”

  “I do.” Kostya retrieved the gold bracelet from his pocket and handed it to her.

  She accepted it with a triumphant grin. “Tell Holly thank you for me.”

  “I will.”

  “When?”

  He ignored Nikolai’s intense stare. “Tonight. Probably.”

  Her smile grew even bigger. “Tonight is good.”

  The puppy began to bark, and the surprisingly loud sound drew Kostya’s attention. He had been around full-grown Great Danes before but had no idea the puppies had such a powerful bark at such a young age. He stepped off the porch to get a better look at what had caused the dog to bark and spotted a neighbor’s cat walking atop the fence. The puppy jumped at the fence and made a terrible racket trying to scare it away.

  Nikolai whistled sharply, and the puppy scurried back toward the porch, its uncoordinated gallop making even Kostya chuckle. The dog paused to bark at him before trotting off to return to his master.

  “Stasi,” Kostya called out as he took the cobblestone path toward the garage. “Name it Stasi.”

  Nikolai’s laugh echoed across the yard as Kostya let himself out and returned to his car. He doubted Vivian would care for the name, but Nikolai would probably insist on it now. After the way she had manipulated the situation with Holly, he didn’t feel too bad about it.

  Chapter Fourteen

  THE THUDDING, THROBBING ache in my head was a fierce reminder of why I stayed away from sweet, dry wine. It was too enjoyable, too easy to over indulge, and I was an absolute baby when it came to hangovers.

  Nauseated, I rolled over in bed, confused to see a ceiling that wasn’t mine and to feel sheets that were too silky against my skin. It was the glass of water and the two aspirin on the bedside table that helped me remember where I was. Marshalling my energy, I sat up, swiped the two aspirin and swallowed them with long gulps of the still cold water.

  Closing one eye, I managed to read the alarm clock on the bedside table. When I saw that it was only five o’clock, I groaned. Mom was probably downstairs in her gym, already sweating through an hour of cardio and weight training. The thought of exercising made my stomach lurch and my head swim. I dropped back to the pillow and draped my arm across my eyes while I waited for the aspirin to work.

  My mind was a jumble of thoughts, words sliding around and bouncing off the walls of my brain as I tried to make sense of everything that had happened last night. I had more answers about my father, but I also had so many more questions.

  What was his name?

  What did he look like?

  Did I have sisters? Brothers?

  Could I meet him now that I was grown and things were different?

  Would he even want to meet me?

  That was the most troubling question. What if he didn’t want to meet me? What if he was content with the current arrangement? Would I ever get to know about my ancestors, my history, my people?

  “You’re still in bed?” My mother came into her bedroom wiping sweat from her forehead with a towel. She seemed amused to see me so obviously hungover. “I have to shower and get to the office. Would you like me to make you breakfast?”

  The thought of food made my stomach turn. “No, thank you.”

  “Should I call a driver for you?”

  “No, I’ll be fine.” She gave me a look, and I said, “If I don’t feel up to it, I’ll get a Lyft or something.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “Just call for a car, Holly. I’ll pick up the tab.”

  There was no use arguing with her about the cost of a private car and driver. “Okay.”

  “You can borrow some clothes from my closet.” She bent down and kissed my forehead. Her warm fingertips brushed hair away from my face, and she smiled down at me. “I miss having you just down the hall.”

  I touched her hand. “I miss spending time with you, too.”

  “We should do something about that,” she decided before straightening up and heading to the bathroom. She lingered in the doorway. “Maybe you could move in with me.”

  “Mom, I have a house and a mortgage and—”

  “Just think about it,” she pressed. “Please?”

  “All right. I’ll think about it.” As she disappeared behind a closed door, I couldn’t help but wonder what in the world was going on with her. Last night with that comment about grandkids and now asking me to move in with her? She had insisted she wasn’t sick, but now I was gripped by fear. What if she was lying?

  Stop. She would tell me if she was sick. She wouldn’t lie to me.

  She lied about my dad…

  Feeling lost, I hugged a pillow and closed my eyes. I want Kostya.

  It was a strange feeling to acknowledge. I wanted him with me. I wanted to feel his arms holding me close. I wanted to hear his strong, calm voice as he told me everything would be okay. I wanted to hear him say that my mother was fine and that he would help me find my father.

  But after my mother left, and I dragged myself into a shower, I decided that asking Kostya to get involved in my family drama was a bad idea. If my father had gone to such great lengths to keep me safe, he wasn’t going to be happy if Kostya started poking around in my life. Considering my mother had confirmed my father was involved in the Russian criminal underworld, I had to be careful. For all I knew, my father might have bad blood with the mafia family Kostya served.

  But how would I get the answers I wanted? I couldn’t ask my mother. I could try looking onli
ne to make a list of likely candidates—but then what? What would I do to narrow it down? To identify my father?

  DNA.

  It struck me suddenly. There were databases of criminal DNA, right? What if my father was in one of those? What if I had my own DNA profile? Could someone find my father by using the paternal half of my DNA? Was that even possible?

  I didn’t know anything about DNA really, just the things I had seen on television and in movies. I only had a vague idea of how paternity tests worked. My gaze settled on my mother’s toothbrush and her hairbrush. It would be easy enough to get my mother’s DNA if I needed it, but what about my father’s?

  If he wasn’t in a database, how would I manage to put together a list of possibilities? If I had a list of possible fathers, how would I get their DNA? I couldn’t exactly swan over to Russia and start asking random strangers for blood samples. Where would I even start?

  Vivian. She had told me that I could come to her. She could help me.

  But she’s pregnant.

  Not wanting to put any unnecessary stress on her, I decided I couldn’t go to her. I wouldn’t put her at risk or ask something like that of her.

  But I could go to her husband. I could ask him for help. The worst he could was say no, right? He would be able to give me a list of names. He might even have contacts who might remembered my mother.

  Wondering how to approach him about my problem, I finished dressing, texted my mother to let her know I was leaving, set the alarm and left her house. I hit up Starbucks for the biggest jolt of caffeine and sugar they offered and grabbed a pastry and breakfast sandwich to quell the gnawing hunger of my hangover.

  When I arrived at the salon, Savannah had already opened the building and Billie was setting up the reception area for our first early guests of the day. Sunglasses still in place, I avoided their curious glances and waved silently before scurrying across the cutting floor.

  Safe in my office, I opened my closet and removed the small luggage tote where I stored an extra set of necessities in case of salon accidents. I peeled out of the borrowed dress and draped it over my desk chair so I could change. Savannah walked into my office as I was shimmying back into the dress, covering up my pair of clean undies and bra that I’d fished out of my tote.

  Savannah snorted with laughter before closing the door behind her and leaning against it. “Well, this looks like an interesting story.”

  “Not really,” I replied, trying to smooth out the front of the dress. It was one size too big but the style and cut draped nicely.

  “Let me decide. Spill it! Tell me all the delicious details.”

  “Well, there’s not much to tell. I destroyed two bottles of wine with my mother as we had a lovely chat about my biological father who apparently is a widowed criminal kingpin back in Moscow and then I passed out in her bed and woke up with a hangover from hell.”

  “Jesus.” Savannah seemed taken aback. “And I guess you borrowed that dress from your mom’s closet,” she remarked, gesturing to my back. “That still has the tags attached.”

  “What? Shit!” I craned my neck to see the tags dangling there.

  She motioned toward the Starbucks on my desk. “Please tell me you used the drive-thru and did not embarrass our entire salon by walking through a Starbucks with wet hair, no makeup, no panties and Saks tags hanging off your ass.”

  “Drive-thru,” I confirmed, reaching for the top drawer on my desk to get a pair of scissors. “Will you clip them for me?”

  She took them but hesitated. “What if your mom wants to return it? They won’t take it back without the tags.”

  “I’ll tell her to take it out of my inheritance.”

  “You sass her like that and she’ll take it out of your backside,” Savannah warned.

  “Mom never spanked me when I was little. I doubt she’s going to start now.”

  “For nineteen-hundred bucks she might…” Savannah snipped the tag and then grabbed my Starbucks bag and drink. “Come on. Let’s get you in a chair and make you pretty.”

  The salon wouldn’t open to our earliest clients for another half hour so we had some time. Savannah plopped me down at my station and grabbed some styling products from the shelf on the nearest wall. While she dried and styled my hair, I gobbled down my breakfast and checked my email and social media. Knowing our clients would find this moment amusing, I snapped a pic with Savannah and posted it to our social media accounts with a fun caption.

  “You want to talk about your father?” Savannah asked while handing me disposable applicators and brushes as I made use of the makeup counter.

  “There’s not much to say.” I made a face while drawing on my eyeliner, and Savvy clicked her teeth next to me.

  “Here, let me do it! You’re going to end up looking like a hungover raccoon if you keep dragging that pen like that.”

  Grateful for her help, I sat down on the closest makeup chair and closed my eyes so she could work her magic.

  “So…? About your dad?”

  “Mom said that he was married. She told me that he is the Moscow underworld.”

  “So, what? He’s a mafia boss? Like a godfather?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe? Probably. I mean—is that what they’re called in Russian? Godfathers?”

  “Hell if I know,” Savannah said with a shrug. “He sounds dangerous, Holly.”

  “He must be. Mom warned me not go looking for trouble.”

  “Which means you’re definitely not going to leave it alone,” she said while expertly applying a nice winged line.

  “No, I’m not.”

  She went quiet as she applied eyeliner to the other side. “Please be careful, Holly. You know that I understand what you feel more than anyone else. I’ve wanted to find my bio parents since I was, like, seven, but sometimes, I think, maybe it’s better not to know. Maybe there’s a reason why they left me in a backpack in a church pew.”

  I grabbed her hand and held her gaze. “Savannah, if you ever want to try to find them, I’ll do whatever I can to help.”

  “I know you will, but I don’t want to know. Not now, at least.” She squeezed my hand. “Just make sure you consider all the ways this could go if you start knocking on doors back in Russia. Once you open those doors, you can’t control who or what comes through them.”

  Her warning remained in the back of my head as I greeted our first guests and styled clients. Mid-afternoon, I had a block of free time. After cleaning up my station and letting Savannah know where I was headed, I stopped by the front desk where I found Billie and Lana talking about the weekend.

  “What are you doing on Friday?” Billie asked as she handed Lana a stack of matte black gift bags to open and fill with client freebies.

  “I am doing nothing,” Lana answered, her English greatly improved with the help of Billie’s constant chattering. “It is my day off.”

  “You want to go see a movie? Have lunch?”

  Lana beamed excitedly. “I would like this very much.”

  Glad to see Lana had found a real friend in Billie, I stepped forward and caught Billie’s attention. “I need to run some errands.”

  Billie gestured toward the sleek computer screen displaying the day’s appointments. “Your book is clear until six.”

  “I’ll be back by five, maybe a little earlier. If you need me for anything, call and I’ll hurry back.”

  After a quick detour into my office to get my handbag and sunglasses, I left the salon. Once in my car, I didn’t give my destination a second thought. I drove straight to Samovar and slid into a parking spot just a block away. Feeling a bit nervous, I smoothed a hand down the front of my dress and removed my sunglasses, tucking them inside my purse.

  When I entered the restaurant, I was taken aback by the rich colors and décor. It was like stepping inside a Faberge egg. The lobby’s ruby red walls and dark chestnut leather couches were inviting and warm. In the main dining area behind the hostess’s podium, the walls were a deep emerald
green. Shiny red booths lined each side, and square tables with crisp white tablecloths dotted the center of the large room. There were gilded doors along the left and rear of the room, probably leading to private dining areas.

  As I stepped up to ask for a table, the hostess smiled apologetically. “I’m sorry, ma’am. We’ve stopped seating for lunch.”

  Feeling foolish for not checking the restaurant’s hours, I murmured, “Oh.”

  “We open for dinner at six. Would you like me to reserve a table for you?”

  “No, I came here to—”

  “Miss Philips?”

  Not used to being addressed so formally, I glanced behind me to see Vivian’s husband just coming through the front door. Flanked by men in dark leather jackets and jeans, Nikolai cut an impressive figure in his bespoke steel gray suit and ice blue tie.

  “Hello.” I had only spoken to him two or three times at the salon so I wasn’t quite sure how to address him. It was strange, though. When I was in his presence, I felt as if I had known him for years. There was something strangely familiar about him. Something about his eyes and his nose…

  “Are you looking for Kostya?” he asked, stepping closer. He looked me up and down with one glance, as if trying to decide if I was in trouble. “I can call him if you need him.”

  “Um, no, I wasn’t looking for him. I was actually looking for you.”

  “For me?” he seemed surprised.

  “Yes. I think I need your help,” I admitted, holding my breath as soon as the words were out.

  “My help?” he seemed taken aback. His expression turned dark with concern. “Is someone bothering you?”

  “No.” Surprised by his strong reaction, I quickly added, “It’s a personal matter.”

  “I see.” He studied me for a moment. “Have you eaten?”

  “No. I was hoping to try the food here for a late lunch, but I didn’t know that you’re closed.”

  “You’ve never been here?”

  “No.”

  “Kostya’s been remiss. He should have brought you here on your first date.”

  So he knew we were together. “We haven’t exactly had a first date yet.”