5. Alexander

Chapter 5

Alexander

N atalya 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.

But a deep, primal part of me hates every fucking second of this.

She’s talking with him. They stand at a polite distance and there’s no real spark, and her brother Lev is a part of the conversation, but I’m fucking burning inside.

How does this bother me so much? I knew Nat was going to be married off to the Italians when I went out to get her from Paris, and it didn’t bother me then.

But ever since hearing that song and tasting her that night?—

A part of me can’t let it go.

She’s fucking mine .

But she isn’t, and she never will be, because this is happening.

I slam back my whisky and ask for another. I can’t stand to watch her talking to that man, that fucking stranger, when it should be me in his place. I’ve known her for so long, and he’s a god damn nobody. We had that night together, and we know what it’s like when we drop our guard.

That wasn’t reality though.

That was a fucking fantasy. A puff of god damn smoke, and now it’s gone.

Natalya hates me, and for good reason. I should have told her about Stepan the second I walked into her apartment, and I never should have slept with her, especially knowing she was going to marry someone else.

If anyone knew what we did, we’d both be killed.

I don’t regret it at all, but I had to let it go.

“What’s your deal?” Lev asks, sitting down at my elbow. He nods at the bartender and asks for vodka. “You look fucking depressed.”

“You know I hate these things.”

He grunts and clinks my glass with his. “We all do, bro. I just introduced my sister to the stranger she’s going to marry in a couple weeks.”

“How’d it go?” I ask and immediately regret it. I must sound desperate.

But Lev doesn’t notice. “Awkward as hell, but fine. From what I hear, Adriano’s not such a bad guy, all things considered, and it’ll be good for the family.”

“But will it be good for her?”

He glances at me, eyes narrowing. “Since when did you care about that?” Before I can answer, his expression fades, and he shrugs. “I don’t know. It’ll be fine, I guess. I know how she feels about arranged marriages since she ran out on one already, but this is just how things are. This is how she contributes to the family. We risk our lives every day, and she marries an Italian.”

I take a drink of whisky. Even though Stepan was my best friend, I’ve been close with Lev for a long time too, especially in the last few years. Step’s death has only pushed us closer together, which means I need to be careful, because he might see through my bullshit.

“That’s the best we can do then,” I tell him, turning my whisky in a circle. “If we can give everything to the family, that’s the highest form of honor.”

Lev snorts and punches my arm. “Sometimes you sound like a fucking robot, man.”

“It’s true.” I don’t let his reaction bother me. Step was much more serious than Lev and our views on the Bratva meshed very well. But Lev keeps himself hidden beyond layers of irony and humor, in a way that makes it impossible for him to give a damn about anything.

“The family is just a family,” he says, staring back over his shoulder. A crowd’s gathering again and hush falls over the group.

“Maybe to you, but you know it’s everything to me. Before Step brought me in, I had nothing. I had less than nothing.”

“I know, you’re right. The Bratva’s good for people. Gives them purpose. But sometimes I wonder.”

I don’t press him on what exactly he wonders, because a gap opens in the group and I spot Natalya standing with Adriano.

She looks perfect. Her blond hair is swept back and the dress clings to her body, making her look both elegant and strangely erotica, despite the high neckline and the quarter sleeves. Her lips are painted red and her cheeks are blushing, and I can tell she’s deeply uncomfortable with the crowd around her. I wonder if anyone notices, but I see every line of her, all the tension and the nervous energy, and her hands come up to her face as her eyebrows raise in surprise?—

In front of her, Adriano’s down on one knee and holding out a ring.

I don’t hear what he’s saying. The guy’s not even smiling as Natalya holds out her hand and he takes it. I throw back my whisky and get to my feet.

“Where are you going?” Lev asks, barely paying attention to me. “This is just getting good. God, look at her, she’s mortified.”

“I’ll be back,” I mutter at him and glance one more time to Natalya.

She’s holding the ring up and showing the crowd. Her smile looks fake, like the grin of a woman who knows she’s about to be led by her hair to the gallows soon.

I can’t fucking watch this charade.

It fucking kills me, watching that man put a diamond on Natalya’s finger, and I don’t even know why. It’s not like I’d rather be in his place. Marrying her would be like chaining myself to a needy, bratty fucking doll. It’d be a fucking waking nightmare, and I don’t envy poor Adriano—I bet the guy has no clue what he’s getting into with Little Nat.

Except even as I tell myself how much I dislike that girl, a sick feeling washes over me. I stand outside in the cool air and try to get it together, but it’s like I’m going to vomit on the fucking sidewalk. I have to lean up against a parking meter and take deep breaths to get myself together.

What the fuck is going on with me? I don’t understand it. Watching Nat get engaged shouldn’t send me into a fucking panic spiral, but here I am acting like a young soldier taking his first life. It’s weak and pathetic, and I hate myself for indulging in this absurdity.

I’m better than this. I make a fist and bang it against the meter. The metal hurts my hand, but I do it again, and again, letting the pain seep into my bones.

I’m better than this .

I work twice as hard and ten times longer than anyone else in this family. I breathe the Bratva, because like Lev said, it gives me purpose and guidance.

Without the Bratva, I’d be nothing.

Once I have myself under control again, I walk back inside. The party’s beginning to wind down and Nat managed to extract herself from the crowd. She’s sitting at a table alone near the entrance, looking down at her big diamond ring, and I wonder if it’s what she’s always wanted.

“Congratulations,” I say, forcing the words out.

She looks up, startled. Then a scowl settles on her face. “Very funny.”

“You’re not happy? I thought you’d be excited. Look at that ring.”

“If you like it so much, you can fucking wear it.”

“Right, of course you don’t like it. Nothing’s good enough for you, right?”

“You don’t get it at all, you asshole.”

“Alright, Nat, good talking to you.” That’s what I get for trying to be nice to her. I turn away and storm back to the bar.

Lev’s waiting there and he greets me with laughter, back to his usual boisterous self, and I drown myself in whisky to get the image of Adriano sliding his ring down Natalya’s perfect finger.