6
Viktor
I call Petr again and let it ring five times before the automated voice clicks on to tell me the recipient of my call can’t make it to the phone and his voice mail is full.
I know. I’m the one who filled it.
We are supposed to meet this morning to talk about consolidating the business. The renovation to the motels is costing more than we expected, and I’m not confident we’ll make back the money we are spending fast enough for it to matter. Besides, we are operating with fewer men now that Fedor took half of them, so fewer moving parts mean fewer things to guard. It might make more sense to sell off a few nonessential motels that we aren’t currently using for stash houses, consolidate our men, and use the money from the sale to cover losses. I planned to talk it over with Petr. Except, he hasn’t shown up.
Petr has never been late to a meeting before. He has shown up half drunk and in pajama bottoms before, but he has never been late.
All I can think is that he is dead. Somehow, Fedor got to him and he has been killed.
I call anyone who might have an idea where Petr is and ask everyone at the office, but no one has seen him all morning.
Shit, shit, shit.
I call him again and again for almost an hour, growing more frantic with every unanswered call.
Then, just when I’ve decided to get up and go search the city for him myself, he answers.
“Hello,” he says, out of breath.
I let out a relieved breath, and then my relief instantly shifts to fury. “Where have you fucking been all fucking morning?” I growl.
I can practically see Petr wince through the phone. “I was tied up. I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”
“Unless you were actually tied up, you should have been able to answer your phone. We had a meeting this morning. Or, we were supposed to. Where were you?” I press.
There is a moment of hesitation, a beat of silence too long to miss. Then, he answers. “My mom is sick, and I don’t have cell signal in her apartment. It’s a dead spot for some reason. I’m sorry.”
“Aunt Vera?” I ask. “Why didn’t you just say so?”
Petr and I have a working relationship, but he is still my family. I’m his boss, but I like to think I’m not a monster.
“I don’t know,” Petr sighs. “I didn’t want you to think my attentions were divided. I thought I could handle it all without telling anyone. I’m sorry.”
I’m still frustrated, but it feels wrong to yell at him about this.
“Just get your ass to the meeting,” I command. “That will show me your attentions aren’t divided.”
Petr agrees with my plan to drop a few of our fronts to consolidate, and even though it was my plan, I’m disappointed.
I built those businesses myself. I put them in place and kept them running. They made us money and operated as stash houses for our less legal dealings. Even though I didn’t go around bragging about them, I was proud of what I’d built. And now, because of my own brother, I have to give some of them up to protect what I have left.
It is necessary, but the meeting leaves me feeling restless. I have too much energy to just go home. I need to go out.
Before Molly, that would mean stopping off at the club, tossing back a few drinks, and then dragging one of the willing club girls back to my bed. I’d fuck her until exhaustion and then kick her out to find her own way home.
Now, I just want Molly.
I’ve been trying to keep my distance from her. Not only to give her time to adjust to this new element in our relationship, but also because I need to keep my sights focused on Fedor as much as possible. I need to stay cold so I can react and make decisions as necessary, and being with Molly gets me anything but cold.
I’m calling her before I even realize what I’m doing. She sounds hesitant when she answers.
“Hello?”
“Do you want to go out with me?” Again, I’m operating on autopilot. The question blurts out of me before I can find a more eloquent way to phrase it. “Like, to lunch?”
The silence stretches out so long I’m sure she has hung up, but finally, Molly clears her throat. “Hannah would have to watch Theo.”
That isn’t a refusal. She’s willing.
“I’ll call the nanny to come back over, too.” I hope she can’t see my offer for what it is—distrust of her friend. “Just in case,” I add.
To my surprise and delight, Molly doesn’t argue or refuse. She tells me to pick her up in twenty minutes.
She meets me outside wearing a devastating pair of jeans and a low-cut gray sweater, and I whisk her towards my favorite lunch spot—a quiet Italian joint with flickering candles on the tables and soft music in the background. When I’m halfway there, however, I remember the night after the ceremony. The way Molly felt uncomfortable in the fancy environment of etiquette and gowns. The Italian place isn’t fancy, but it isn’t what she is used to.
On nothing more than a feeling, I turn away from where I was headed and casually scour the roads as we drive, searching for a suitable alternative. When I see a greasy spoon I’ve been to a few different times, I pull over and help her out of the car.
The booths are lined in red vinyl, neon lights wrap around the ceiling, and pictures of Elvis and Marilyn Monroe cover the walls. It is Americana in all of its glory. The menu is, too—nothing but hamburgers, French fries, and milkshakes. Given Molly’s recent penchant for onion rings, I know she’ll approve. The smile on her face as we are seated confirms it.
“I can’t believe a lunch with Viktor Kornilov involves paper cups of ketchup,” she says, dunking a French fry in the sauce.
“What did you imagine?”
“Silver serving trays and five-hundred-dollar bottles of wine.”
“Only five hundred?” I ask, brows pinched together in mock surprise. “You insult me.”
She laughs, and the sound of it rings in my chest, opening my lungs for what feels like my first breath of fresh air in weeks. This is what I want my marriage to Molly to look like. My entire life has been heavy. Death and drugs and crime. It is the life I’ve known and, there is no sense denying it, loved. But it feels good to balance that with Molly’s lightness. Her laugh and her ease. I worry every day that my darkness will drag her down with me, but I pray that isn’t true. I hope, once everything with Fedor is settled, she’ll pull me a little closer to the light.
“This is amazing, though. Really.” There is a soft emphasis in her voice, and she purses her pink lips together until I can’t think about anything other than leaning across the table and kissing her. It has been several days. Too many days. I miss her.
I ask her how classes are going, and she tells me she is as determined as ever to get the necessary certifications to become an interior designer. She wants to own her own company and have employees, and hearing her talk about her future makes me wonder if I’m part of her plans.
If we make our marriage official, she certainly won’t need a job, but I would never tell her she couldn’t have one. My brother derailed her life, and maybe this is just another instance of me wanting to clean up his messes, but I would like to help her put it back on track. I want Molly to accomplish all of her goals. I don’t want Fedor’s action to steal anything from her.