33. Radimir

33

RADIMIR

It was hell.

Ever since I arrived in America, I'd kept my life pared-back and simple. Suddenly, everything was messy and complicated.

The penthouse used to be ruthlessly bare and efficient. Now it was full of books and blankets and candles — why did women need so many candles? —and there were jars of chocolate hazelnut spread in the cupboards and throw cushions on the couches even though couches are already soft and?—

And I liked it. I didn’t want to admit it, but I liked it. For the first time, it felt like a home. Things that I’d never used, like the leather couches and the enormous copper bathtub, now got used all the time. She’d lie on a couch when she was on the phone to her friends, unaware of how fucking hot she looked, with her denim-clad legs languidly stretched out and her copper hair waterfalling over the arm. And she’d soak in the tub for hours while I went quietly crazy, listening to the sound of the water sloshing in the bathroom and imagining her bare, wet breasts bobbing.

I couldn’t take my eyes off her. I used to be able to just robotically grind away at work for hours. Now I kept glancing up, looking through the open door of my office to watch her lying on her stomach reading. I’d fantasize about grabbing her wrist and flipping her onto her back. Bringing my mouth down on her startled lips and filling my hands with those full, soft breasts. Or unbuttoning her jeans and tugging them down to reveal her creamy-white ass, then pulling her up to her knees and burying my face in her pussy, thrusting my tongue deep into her while she gripped the arm of the couch and moaned. I’d lose myself in all the ways I wanted to fuck her, staring at her until she finally looked up and caught me.

But however much I wanted to fuck her again, I wasn’t going to touch her...not unless she asked me to. And I knew that wouldn’t happen.

She’d never fall for me. She was horrified by the Bratva, and it was part of who I was. Just yesterday, I’d caught two of the Armenian gang dealing on our territory and taken them to the warehouse to teach them a lesson. When I was done, my knuckles were raw, and they were barely alive. Fall for me? Who’d fall for a monster? She deserved better.

And it wasn’t like I felt anything for her. Right? The thought triggered a sudden flutter of... something in my chest. She had no idea, but sometimes, while she was still sleeping, I’d just lie there drinking in her beauty: the silky pout of her lips, the way her copper hair spilled across the pillow like fire…

I crushed the feelings down inside. I was fond of the woman. That was all it was.

Work was no escape. It didn’t matter if I was in meetings, visiting a construction site or thrashing out the details of something less than legal with my brothers, I was thinking of her.

Like right now. I’d driven past the store even though it was way out of my way, just so I could check on her. But that wasn’t enough. I got out of my car and crossed the street, then crept closer until I could watch her through the window. As usual, the place was almost empty, just Bronwyn and one customer. The store wouldn’t last much longer if she didn’t get more people through the doors, and seeing the stress on her face every day… I scowled, and had to force the feelings back down again. Seeing her stressed... displeased me.

I heard breaking glass behind me and turned around, then stared in disbelief. Two guys had just smashed the side window of my Mercedes and were opening the door. Maybe I’d been stupid to leave a car like that unattended in this neighborhood, but it was broad daylight. They must be desperate.

I marched across the street towards them. They’d both gotten into the car and were so busy trying to start it, they didn’t see me until I was almost next to them. Then one of them glanced up and his jaw went slack in horror as he recognized me. “Oh holy fuck,” he whispered.

He looked about fifteen. The other one wasn’t any older and neither of them looked like they’d eaten in a week. “We didn’t know!” babbled the one in the passenger seat. He looked around at the broken glass, the wires they’d pulled out of the steering column. “Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.” I saw him glance at his door, wondering if he could run for it before I could get around the car. But then he looked at his friend: he didn’t want to leave him.

I grabbed the first one, hauled him out by his shirt and slammed him up against the side of the car. I reached for my gun: I’d put a bullet in each of them and leave them on the street. Word would spread: those idiots tried to steal Radimir Aristov’s car.

And then I thought of her. What she’d think of me. How she’d look at me.

I scowled at the kid. He stared up at me, panting and terrified...

I nodded across the street. “Do you see that bookstore?”

He nodded frantically. “Yes sir.”

I reached into my pocket and pulled out twenty dollars. “Go and buy a book.”

He blinked up at me, incredulous. “What book?”

“Any book.”

He nodded, snatched the money and ran. He disappeared into Bronwyn’s bookstore and a few minutes later came back clutching a thick paperback. “Now you,” I told the other one, handing him a twenty.

He ran across the street and bought a book, then came back. The two of them stood there clutching their books. “Now what?” one asked.

“Go! Go home,” I snapped.

“What do we do with these?” he asked, looking at the books.

“Read,” I growled. They ran.

“Hey, I’ll do it,” said a voice behind me.

I turned around. A kid of about twelve on a bike had ridden up and must have been listening. I put a twenty in his hand and he rode over to the bookstore and went in. He was back a few minutes later with a book. “Want me to do it again?” he asked hopefully.

I frowned, thinking. She’d recognize him if he went in again. “Got any friends?” I asked.

The kid pulled out a phone. He kept his voice low, but I still heard him. “ Crazy Russian dude’s giving people cash to buy books! ”

Soon, I had a crowd around me and a steady stream of kids running over to Bronwyn’s store. I kept it going until I ran out of cash, then swept the broken glass off my seat and drove to a garage.

That night, I was working in my home office when Bronwyn came and leaned against the door frame. “I had a really good day in the store today.”

I glanced up, my face carefully neutral. “Good.”

“ Really good.” She came closer and I tried not to watch the sway of her hips. “ Suspiciously good. Kids kept coming in and buying books.”

“Children do love to read.”

“One bought a book on Keynesian economics.”

I looked down at my work. “Precocious child.”

She planted her hands on my desk and leaned forward. I caught her scent, that strawberries and violets smell, and had to look up. She was so close that a few strands of copper hair tickled my nose. Her breasts were swaying forward under her sweater and all I could think about was burying my face between them. But I forced my face to be impassive and just raised one eyebrow.

“Thank you,” she said gently.

There was no point denying it. With hindsight, maybe I should have stopped after twenty kids. But the idea of making her happy had been addictive. “You’re welcome.”

“You can’t do that again,” she told me.

I pouted and frowned. “Yes I can.” I could do it every day and it would barely put a dent in my finances.

She sighed. “I mean...I want to make the store work. But I’ve got to do it on my own.”

I scowled stubbornly. But I had to admire her strength. I hadn’t realized it before, but she reminded me of me, when I first came to America, building things up from nothing. “Very well,” I allowed.

She nodded gratefully and left me to my work. My eyes followed her as she went into the kitchen area, probably to make one of her enormous sandwiches. I suddenly didn’t want to be shut away in here, working. I wanted to be out there, with her…as a couple.

Ridiculous. I had no time for a relationship. I had a corporation to run, an Armenian gang to keep out of our territory and a police investigation to worry about. At any moment, they might find something that linked me to Borislav’s murder, and if that happened I wouldn’t even make it to jail because Spartak would wipe me and my whole family out in revenge.

And yet… I looked down at my paperwork, but I couldn’t concentrate. Even without seeing her, I knew exactly what she was doing, her little ritual burned into my mind. The way she peered into the refrigerator so seriously, figuring out exactly which toppings to use...the way she hummed to herself as she buttered the bread. It was milyy . Sweet.

My fingers stiffened on my pen. Since when did I find things sweet?

Something else was bothering me, too: what had happened with the two car thieves. A few months ago, I’d never have spared them.

It was just a moment of weakness. That had to be the reason, because there was only one other possibility: she was changing me.

That evening, we visited Baba at her new care facility. We’d been going every few days and every time, we could see a small but real improvement: she was able to take a few steps, now, with the help of a couple of walking sticks, and she was talking. Her color was better and there was a light in her eyes that hadn’t been there before. She was doing so much better that we borrowed a wheelchair and took her to a shopping mall so she could get an outfit for the wedding.

I waited patiently while Baba and Bronwyn debated between six different outfits that all looked identical to me. It should have been infuriating but it wasn’t. Every time I glanced at Bronwyn, I felt this lift in my chest.

Then Baba sent Bronwyn off to look for a matching hat. As soon as Bronwyn was gone, Baba turned to me. “What’s the real story with you and her?” she demanded, her voice slurred but iron hard.

I tried to play dumb. She poked me in the chest with one of her walking sticks, pressing my white shirt so my tattoos showed through. “Don’t bullshit me, Mr. Aristov. I’m old but I still know who’s who in this town. I know what you are. I know there’s something going on.”

I looked her right in the eye. “And yet you haven’t tried to stop the wedding.”

“Because I see the way she looks at you,” said Baba.

Deep in my chest, childish, giddy hope flickered into life. I looked away and straightened my tie, trying to crush the feeling.

“Be careful, Mr. Aristov.” Baba poked me in the chest with her stick again and glared up at me: I knew now where Bronwyn got her fighting spirit. “If you break her heart, I’ll beat you to death with this thing.”

I looked her in the eye, saying nothing. Then I nodded solemnly.