8. Alexander

Chapter 8

Alexander

I unwrap a Rolex Datejust 41 from its plastic sleeve and start taking pictures of it for the shop’s website. It’s boring grunt work, and there are normal employees that can take care of this stuff, but I hate hanging around the shop and not doing anything.

This musty little store in the heart of Jeweler’s Row has been like a second home to me for a very long time. It’s where I got my start in the Bratva, where I met Step for the first time, where I got my first job, where I learned how to be the man I am today. I still come in with Lev most afternoons, take inventory, make some calls, meet with clients both legal and not-so-legal, and basically do our business.

Fed Jewelers is a legit business. It’s profitable all on its own, even if we didn’t deal in stolen and fakes out the back, but that’s what Fed’s really for. It’s a front for the real family business, and it’s one of the most successful in the entire industry. It doesn’t hurt that it’s been around forever, and Philadelphia’s Jeweler’s Row is one of the oldest diamond districts in America, second only to New York.

“You know you don’t gotta do that shit,” Lev says through a mouth full of hoagie. He chews and swallows. “Seriously man, let Katarina or Dasha do that shit. It’s what we pay them for.”

“Kat and Dash are front facing. We’re back of the house.” I finish the photos and upload them straight from my phone.

“We’re also not fucking picture guys. Your time’s more valuable than that.”

I wave him off, put the watch away, and start on a really nice Submariner. “We got that Italian shipment coming in soon, which means we need to make sure there’s enough space back here for the new inventory.” I gesture at the nightmare surrounding us. There are watches, necklaces, half-finished resizings, a dozen repairs, basically just crap lying all over the place with no real attempt at organization.

Half this stuff should be kept in the main safe, but nobody in Philly would be dumb enough to steal from the Zeitsev Bratva, so we don’t worry too much about it.

“I hear you, but like I said, that’s for Kat and Dash.”

“And I heard you, but like I said, I’m trying to fucking keep busy.”

Lev shakes his head at me. “Man, you’ve been in such a shitty mood lately. What’s your deal?”

I sit back and glare at him. “I’ve been fine.”

“Bullshit. You’ve been like a filed-down trigger. One little squeeze and bang.” He makes mock gun and pretends to fire it. “And you’re been aimed at my god damn skull.”

“Beautiful metaphor. That’s some serious poetry.”

“And now you’re doing it again.”

I put the watch down and force myself to take a beat before barking at him some more. He’s not wrong, but the second I start admitting it out loud is the second I might have to explain myself.

But there’s no way I can do that.

“I’m fine, alright? Just stressed about the business.”

“The business is good and you know it. A couple days ago, I caught you nearly getting in a fight with my sister like you two were kids again. Ever since you came back from Paris, you’ve been on edge. I’m just trying to figure out what the problem is so we can handle it, that’s all.”

I stare down at my phone. The mother fucker can be extremely perceptive sometimes. I forget that while Lev comes off all lighthearted and full of laughs, he’s still Stepan’s brother and Oleg’s son, and he’s just as sharp as they are. Only he hides it much better.

“Everything’s good, alright? You know I don’t like change, that’s all.”

“What, because Nat’s back home? I never understood why you two hate each other so much.”

“I don’t hate her.”

“Bullshit. You two can’t be in the same room for more than a minute without arguing with each other. It’s annoying, honestly.”

“Now you know why I try to avoid her.”

“Why?” he asks, sounding very sincere. He even puts his hoagie down, which means he’s being very serious right now. “What is it about her you dislike so much?”

I don’t know how to answer. How can I tell him that his sister is stubborn, selfish, stuck-up, and spoiled? How I’ve had to work for absolutely everything in my life—I’ve had to fight, kill, and bleed for what I have—while she’s been handed an entire lifestyle without having to lift a finger? And even with so much, she still seems like nothing’s ever enough.

How can I tell him that her music haunts me, and I hate her even more for that? And that I hate myself too, for what I did to her in Paris?

How can I tell him that it kills me, knowing she’s going to marry that Adriano prick in a week, when it’s clear he doesn’t appreciate her at all?

“She’s just annoying,” I say at last and start snapping pictures of the Rolex.

Lev clearly isn’t happy with that answer but he lets the subject drop when Dasha pokes her head back and tell us the Italians have arrived. We head out back to take delivery: several big boxes of imported fake watches, masterfully made little devices from some unnamed and secretive factory in Italy. A small fortune, assuming they’re as good as we’ve been told.

I lose myself in work and Nat doesn’t come up again.

At least until later when we head back to the house. I bring a couple samples to show Oleg, and I’m admiring one of them on my wrist while Lev heads up to his room to get changed, when I hear it again.

That fucking music.

There’s another reason I hate her: that god damn music . Ever since hearing it for the first time, I haven’t been able to get it out of my head. And somehow, it sounds even better now that we’re back home and she’s playing on a legitimate piano again. I drift closer to the door, my heart racing like it does every time, totally immersed and moved by her playing, and I don’t understand how she does this to me. I don’t get what’s happening.

I shouldn’t want to listen this badly. She’s going to marry another man—a man hand-picked by the pakhan himself. I know my duty, and I know I should keep my distance from her, but I can’t stop myself.

It’s like a drug. I have to listen.

I can see her in that little sweaty apartment again, topless, sweat rolling down her pink nipples, her mouth open in concentration, her eyes focused on nothing, swaying ever so slightly, her fingers moving across the keys like graceful dancers.

Beauty, pure and simple.

I want to open the door. I want to see her, desperately, badly. I’ve been staying far away from her for the last two weeks because of tis, right here, this overwhelming urge, this obsessive need . It’s ruining me and I hate it, but I still want to watch her play so badly it hurts.

“Alex? You dead or something?”

I flinch and look back. Lev’s standing nearby in the hall, frowning at me.

“Sorry, what?”

“Did you really not hear me?” He grins and gestures with his chin. “Come on, Dad wants to talk to you. You’re pretty fucking spaced out.”

“Just tired,” I tell him and tear myself away from the door to follow him back into his father’s office.

Another familiar room. If I was born in in the jewelry shop, I came of age in here, sitting with Step and his father and listening to them discuss business, strategy, everything it takes to be a good member of the Bratva.

This is where I learned duty and honor.

This is where I figured out how to be more than the worthless, beaten, bruised, ruined little rat I was before.

“Boys,” Oleg says, sounding almost warm, or as warm as he ever gets. “How are my watches?”

“I think you’re going to be happy, Otets,” Lev says and gestures for me to show him the goods.

Oleg inspects the fake Rolex with a jeweler’s loupe. “From the outside, it looks perfect,” he murmurs. “You’re sure this is fake?”

“Unless the Italians are giving us an amazing deal on the real thing.” Lev sits down and I take the chair beside him.

“I’ll have to look at the movement later, but this will pass any test at a glance.” Oleg puts the piece down and nods to himself. “I’m very pleased.”

“This is why we’re marrying Nat off to Adriano, right? Because they’ve got the best product and we’ve got the best client base.”

“Yes, among other reasons.” Oleg sits back and looks at me. If I feel anything about Nat and Adriano, I make sure it doesn’t show anywhere on my face, or else Oleg will notice.

He’s a clever bastard. Ruthless, efficient, and smart as hell. He’s difficult to please, but not shy with praise when its earned. I’ve based my world view on very hard lessons learned in his service and molded myself into the man I am today with his help.

I owe him everything and love him like the father I never had.

“I have good news for you, Alexander,” Oleg says and there’s the barest hint of a smile, which is unusual.

“We’re doing that now?” Lev asks, brightening. “I thought you wanted to wait.”

“I decided there’s no reason to hold off.”

I frown between them, suddenly on guard. “What’s going on?”

Lev’s grinning like a maniac. Where his father is normally stoic bordering on grumpy, Lev can’t hide his joy. He’s usually bubbling over with it.

“When Stepan died, he left a very big hole in our family,” Oleg says, bowing his head grimly.

Lev’s smile faltering. “God rest his soul,” he mutters.

“My younger son here has been moved into Stepan’s former position as my heir,” Oleg continues. “But that means I need to find someone to move into Lev’s role.”

My guts clench. My heart rate doubles. Sweat breaks out on the palms of my hands.

Lev’s grin returns twice as big.

“Congratulations, brother,” he says.

Oleg nods once. “Yes, I’d say congratulations are in order. From here on out, Alexander Sorokin, you will be my top brigadier, and you will be entrusted with more responsibilities and duties within our organization. Of all my men, you are the most trustworthy, competent, and reliable, and I know I’m making the correct choice.”

My mouth opens, but nothing comes out. I stare between these two men, a father figure and a friend I think of as a brother, and I can’t find the words.

This means everything to me.

I’ve worked twice as hard as anyone else in this Bratva. I’ve sacrificed, killed myself, broken bones and bled for these people. My entire life and my soul is wrapped up in the family, and I would gladly die if Oleg commanded me to.

And now, to be given this gift, this promotion up the ranks, it’s overwhelming.

It’s everything I’ve always wanted.

“Thank you,” I finally manage to say.

Lev laughs loudly and pours three drinks. Oleg sits back, looking smug and satisfied with himself. I accept my glass of whisky and hold it up as Oleg gives a toast to our family, to my promotion, to the pakhan , and to the Bratva.

We drink and I wait for the joy I know should be coming.

I’m finally being recognized. This should be the pinnacle of my life works, all my achievements wrapped up in one tight moment.

Instead, I keep hearing Nat’s music in my head, and I can’t seem to feel anything at all.