3. Natasha
3
NATASHA
“ N o really, Russ just stood there, staring at me, mouth open, face red. And it’s like all his words just came rushing out at once,” Tatiana explains, sending me and our mother into a fit of giggles as she relives her latest experience of having a man attempt to ask her out.
It’s the perfect story to distract us from the fact that Papa’s running late for dinner.
“I’m pretty sure he asked if my date wanted a meal I would never forget—his question made about that much sense.”
“Poor guy!” Mama chuckles, her fingers delicately hiding her smile. “He must have been so flustered. But really, can you blame him?”
“And you just turned him down flat?” I snicker.
“Who has time for romance? Besides, he’s not my type.” Tatiana flips her auburn hair over her shoulder and settles comfortably against the back of the wingtip chair she’s occupying.
Fair enough. The business tycoon is one of those shifty-eyed nervous guys whose palms are always sweating.
Papa would never condone it anyway. The guy works for one of our rivals in the concrete industry, which serves as our main source of legitimate income.
Dating Russ Highwater would be as counterproductive to our image and empire as having a relationship with one of the reigning mafia bosses in the surrounding New York boroughs.
Speaking of which …
Just the thought of said mafia bosses gives me a headache.
Until recently, I always thought the worst possible mafia boss to show interest in Tatiana was Saturo Takumi, head of the yakuza who rule over the Bronx.
Not only is he nearly twice my sister’s age—but the yakuza are notorious backstabbers. She would have to sleep with one eye open for the rest of her life if she accepted his proposal.
Then again, that might not be the worst option now that Killian King has come out of the woodwork.
I always thought of the ruggedly handsome Irishman as kind of roguishly cheeky, maybe a bit devil-may-care about things I deem worthy of deeper consideration. I saw him as entertaining in a wild, reckless kind of way.
But now? After weeks of his constant antagonizing acts, I don’t know which would be worse. Certainly, Russ Highwater of High Street Concrete and Construction couldn’t be as bad as either the Japanese or the Irish mafia leaders.
Still, it puts a stitch in my side to think of the fifty-something-year-old businessman—who happens to be worth billions and could probably buy himself a handful of Russian mail-order brides—stuttering over his words to ask my sister out. And he did it at the start of a licensing agreement meeting no less. Wonders never cease.
But when it comes to the Sokolov empire, it’s easy to see the money in men’s eyes when they set their sights on Tatiana—even if she’s also breathtaking.
Before Mama and I can dig further into how the board members responded to Russ’s clumsy advances, the front door slams closed.
The force is hard enough to make the walls rattle, and I assume that means Papa’s day was nearly as bad as mine. I know he was meeting with Don Lucian, so I can only imagine how that went.
“Anastasia!” he bellows from the front room, anger seething from his tone.
“In the study, darling,” our mother calls.
Papa enters through the open glass French doors a moment later, his expression thunderous.
“I take it the conversation with the Italians didn’t go well, then,” Tatiana observes dryly as soon as he slumps onto the couch next to my mother.
In the safety of our home, Tatiana and I don’t have to hide behind our carefully cultivated public facade. Here, we can discuss family and business matters with our father like the equals he’s brought us up to be.
And of course, as heir apparent, Tatiana is always business first.
Papa shakes his head, combing his fingers through his thick Russian beard, the streaks of white appearing more dominant every day. “Connivers, the lot of them,” he growls. “Believe it or not, Lucian wasn’t even the worst of it. Though the persistent little snake seems to think he’s going to charm me into an arrangement, and I won’t have it.”
“So, what could be worse than that?” I press, eyebrows arching in surprise.
“Killian King,” he snarls.
My skin tingles from the mere mention of his name, and I hate to admit how much the Irish mafia king has come to affect me.
Not that I give a lick that he’s a dangerous kind of bad-boy handsome.
Or that I can’t stop thinking about that provocative wink he gave me the night he suggested Tatiana and I ought to be auctioned off like livestock.
No, it’s the fact that he’s been a nonstop nuisance to my family since that night.
Provoking bar fights with my father’s men, stomping across our territory so loudly we can’t ignore it.
He’s needling us, and as infuriating as my father finds it, I seem to feel it ten times more intensely. Because it’s my job to keep the high-and-mighty idiots like Killian from succeeding at initiating a clan war.
And if he doesn’t knock it off soon, I know my father will be calling me into action.
“What did he do this time?” Tatiana asks, snapping me back to the present.
“He had the audacity to force entry into the back room of Nebo, where I was chatting with Lucian. Strolled in like he already owned the place. And cocky as can be, he informed me that he’d continue to be a royal thorn in my side until I sat down with him at the negotiating table.”
“Like that’s going to happen,” Tatiana scoffs. “He can’t really think all this bluster is helping his case.”
“He’s probably doing it to provoke us into doing something rash,” I state cooly. “If we start the territory war, they’ll be on higher ground—have the home-field advantage.”
Papa’s sharp gaze flashes to me, and my stomach warms at the hint of satisfaction in his gray eyes. “My thoughts exactly.”
“He’s nothing more than a stray dog who’s discovered that if he keeps hounding us, he can pick off the scraps we leave behind,” Tatiana says.
“Don’t underestimate the strays, daughter,” our mother warns gently. “I don’t trust him, Boris. The Irish might not be as treacherous as the yakuza or have the same size force as the Camorra, but they’re scrappy fighters, and their hold on Brooklyn is growing rapidly.”
Papa takes Mother’s hand, and his responding smile softens his face, making my heart melt. They’re a team, a proper king and queen that know how to move across the chessboard with seamless coordination.
If only there were someone like that for Tatiana, we might not be in the square we are now. But all she has is me, so we’ll have to make do with my skill set and her knack for strategy.
“I’m not underestimating him. I’m saying we should put him down because it seems he’s decided he has a place at the dinner table.” Tatiana looks pointedly at our father.
Papa’s thick eyebrow quirks, and he considers her statement. “Perhaps you’re right.”
“Just say the word,” I add, anticipation building in my core when I think about removing Killian King from the equation.
Like Papa said, he’s become a royal thorn in our side, and I’m more than willing to fix that.
“Maybe silencing him would put Don Lucian back on his heels as well,” Tatiana adds.
“He was there to witness all of that peacockery the Irish put on this evening,” Papa acknowledges. “If Killian King were to turn up dead, I imagine Lucian might be able to put two and two together.”
“Especially if word were to get out that your secret weapon came out to play.” My sister smirks, her full red lips curling at the corners.
I love it when her villainous side comes out. She’s normally so passive, ready to reason and logic her way out of using unnecessary violence—a lot like our dad in a way. But poke the bear long enough, and you’re sure to get the claws.
Papa nods again, and this time when he meets my eyes, the resolve is unmistakable. “Yes, I’ve had enough of the Irishman’s antics. Do what you do best, lapochka ,” he says, and his eyes glint with pride.
Excitement bubbles up inside my chest, and I smile. “With pleasure.”