Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Nico
“She seems nice,” Mom says, when Adrian excuses himself for another bathroom break… he’s probably doing coke in there, a discreet key to the nose, thinking it makes him more insightful, cleverer. But it just makes him easier to read.
“Who？” I say.
“Don’t ‘who’ me,” Mother retorts. “That sketch was you all over.”
“As she mentioned, she didn’t sketch anything tonight. I’ve never seen her before tonight, so how the hell would it be me?”
“Easy, Nico. I’m not trying to fight.”
“I’m not fighting,” I tell her. “I just don’t see how or why a complete stranger would’ve sketched me.”
“Didn’t you notice how the features, the smile especially, had been added later? She hadn’t filled it in. It was your smile.”
I roll my eyes. “You’re turning into a conspiracy theorist.”
“In any case, she’s far too talented to be working as a waitress.”
“You sound like you’ve got a plan.”
“ Now who’s paranoid?”
I shrug. But I can’t pretend that I’m unbothered by any of this. When that notebook fell out of her pocket, and during the banter afterward, I felt like a normal man. She wasn’t afraid to challenge me, to give me some serious sass. She’s hilarious. Talking to her made me feel alive.
“Even if I were interested, it wouldn’t be fair.”
“Why?” Mother asks.
“Viktor has seen her. He’s spoken with her. You know what that was when he called her over. It was a threat. Don’t embarrass Anya. His precious Anya… who I don’t want to marry.”
“An alliance is an alliance, some would say.”
“Are you with them now, too?”
She looks at me with an unflinching expression. “I’ve lost a husband and a son. I know how you feel. Neither of them was perfect, but they were mine, ours. Nico, dear child, I just want you to be happy.”
“You’re overreacting. It was just a short conversation.”
“Are you going to make me play matchmaker?”
My response is cut off when Adrian returns, a big grin on his face, powder still on his nose. I could’ve reprimanded him as soon as he brought the bottle of whiskey over. I could’ve put my foot down and ordered him to take it back. But that would’ve been counterproductive. A smart wolf is one who lets his prey bleed.
“Sorry, what were we talking about?”
I cut into my steak. “You were telling me what avenues you’ve made in the laundromats.” I want to know how he is making use of the money from our off brand electronics, and how it's being laundered through local businesses. But I won’t say that openly.
“I’m getting there.”
“Getting there,” I repeat.
“It’s not as easy as…” He stops himself from going on, but what was he going to say? As running dope. As selling sex. “As you make it seem, Nico.”
Now he’s just kissing my ass. “As my consigliere, you have two jobs. Make money. Keep the filth out of the city. Others said it was impossible, Adrian. They said no one could clean up the mess the Brava and my father, and my brother made, the depravity, the evil. But I did. I did .”
Adrian pulls away, looking scared. He tries to hide it. But he can’t. There’s only one way to stop predators from killing the livestock. I have to become a demon even the devil would fear.
“I know.” Adrian swallows. “You okay, Nico?”
No. I want to know what Viktor said to Sienna. I have ever since he called her over to him. It’s a clear sign that he noticed something between us. Or maybe I need to relax. The Russians keep to their territories. But Viktor is getting older. Anya remains unmarried. He’s always wanted me for her.
When I don’t reply, Adrian sighs. “Is that asshole still staring?”
“Which asshole?”
“The Russian.” Adrian picks up his steak knife. “I’m telling you, just say the word.”
“And you’ll… what? Slit Viktor Barinov’s throat in public? With witnesses? For staring? When you want to kill a man, he should never know you were coming, and after, people should either not know it’s you. Or they should be too terrified to seek revenge.”
My mother puts her hand lightly on my arm. It’s a sign I know well. To everyone else, my doting mother is offering me comfort. But in reality, my consigliere, my true second-in-command, is advising me to regulate my emotions.
“Does anyone want coffee?” She asks.
“Sure,” I say.
“I’ll have an Irish coffee,” Adrian replies.
She gestures to the staff… and Sienna walks over. She smiles with that alluring awkwardness that makes her instantly endearing. “The other waiter finished his shift,” she informs us. “So, you’ve got me… if you’ll have me. Ha, bad joke. There’s not really a choice.”
“Oh, Sienna,” Mother says. “This is wonderful. I was going to ask you something.”
“Yeah?”
“She’s here to do her job, Mother.”
But when Gianna has got her mind set on something, it’d take more than a Bratva army to stop her. “Just a quick little question, dear.”
“You sound like the other guy,” Sienna mutters.
“Excuse me?”
Sienna indicates with her eyes that she means the Russians. “He wanted to know how long I’ve worked here. Are you going to ask to see my GED?”
“Barinov wanted to know how long you worked here?” Adrian asks.
Sienna nods. Something about Adrian talking to her, even looking at her, pisses me off. Does that make me a possessive lunatic? Do I give a fuck? Her pants clinging tightly to her hips, her determined expression. She’s young, but she gives an air about her of being self-reliant, tough.
Viktor was quizzing her about work. Was he fishing to see if we’d had time to get to know each other? He needs to back off.
“Curious,” my mother mutters. “But Sienna, do you sketch for commission?”
“I do portraits,” Sienna replies. “Charcoal and oil or acrylic. But that’s more a… side gig.”
“I’d like to hire you.”
“Don’t you want to see my website or something first?” Sienna looks unsure, as if she doesn’t want to take work from us. My gut tightens. Obviously. Someone must’ve told her I’m the big bad wolf.
She knows I’m a Don. Or, at least, in the mob. Her demeanor obviously suggests she knows something.
“I’ve already seen what I need to,” my mother says.
“I’d have to check my schedule.”
“I’ll pay you five thousand dollars for a pencil portrait.”
Sienna gasps, her eyes going wide. I’m suddenly painfully aware of the differences in our means. To her, that is life-changing money. To us, it’s pennies. I feel guilty. And then I think of all our numerous charitable ventures, like I’m trying to justify it.
I give voluntarily. Sienna has no choice but to grind.
“Is that enough?” My mother goes on. “Or do you usually charge more?”
“Nuh…” No , is what she was going to say, but then stopped herself. She gets a wicked look in her eyes and nods. “Sorry, yes, I do. For a pencil, that’s usually seven thousand and five hundred dollars.”
“Done,” Mother says, standing and offering her hand.
Sienna still doesn’t look too happy about it, even when they shake hands. I want to tell my mother to quit whatever game this is. She’s going to bring me into Sienna’s orbit when it’s clear Sienna wants nothing to do with us. But she’ll do it for the money. It’ll turn into a seductive, misleading temptation. That was how she described sketching, wasn’t it? It applies to both.
“I should take your orders,” Sienna mutters.
“Wait a second,” my mother says. “Don’t you want to know who the portrait is for?”
“I assumed it was for you.”
“No.” My mother turns to me with a self-satisfied grin.
“Look who’s in the hot seat,” Adrian lets out, laughing.
“I’ve been wondering what to get you for your birthday,” my mother says.
“My birthday isn’t for ten months.”
“Your last birthday. I forgot to get you a gift.”
She didn’t. She bought me a watch made the very year I was born. I clearly remember, and so does she. I raise my eyebrows at her, but she doesn’t back down. I know what she’s trying to do.
“Is that going to be a problem?” She asks, turning to Sienna.
Sienna looks at me, this friendly stranger, this young woman who might’ve only bantered with me because it’s her job. I’ve become one of those deluded millionaires, thinking a service worker’s fake kindness is real.
“Nope,” she says, popping the P resentfully, her lips puckering tightly like she’s holding back a scream. “That’s fine. A pencil portrait will only take an hour. I’ll touch it up later, on my own.”
“Perfect, dear.” My mother winks. “An hour is all we need. Let me give you my number. I’m Gianna, by the way.”
After exchanging numbers and taking our drink orders, Sienna leaves us. I run my hand through my hair in frustration. Mother, on the other hand, looks rather pleased with herself.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” I reprimand.
“Why?”
“Did you see the way she was looking at us? She wants nothing to do with the likes of us. But perhaps she’ll pretend to… for the money.”
“You can’t expect her to work for free. Unless you weren’t talking about the portrait?”
“What else would I be talking about? I just don’t want to force someone into a situation they’re uncomfortable with.”
I don’t want to be judged. I don’t want her looking at me like I’m some kind of monster. It doesn’t matter what she thinks of me. At least that’s what I try to tell myself. But it rings false. It rings like a screeching lie.
I care. My mother can plainly see it as well.
Sienna brings our coffees and then picks up empties from another table.
“They should have busboys to do that. They’re running her off her feet,” I grumble.
My mother smirks.
“Don’t look at me like that. Complaining about working conditions isn’t the same as a serenade. I might just buy the place, force them to get their acts together.”
“This is neutral ground,” Adrian jumps in. “Buying the Vine could be seen as a punch in the face to Viktor.”
My cousin seems very concerned about Viktor Barinov.
I watch as Sienna walks around the restaurant, smiling at customers, sharing a few words here and there. She’s doing her job, just like she was with me. I need to stop thinking about her charm, stop looking at the tempting fullness of her plump, round ass.
But I can’t look away when a Russian in a leather jacket and a scar on his forehead walks directly into her path. He waves a hand at her. In Russian, he says, “Silly woman. How did you not see me waving? Don’t you have eyes?”
I sincerely hope Sienna doesn’t speak Russian. I don’t want her to hear how this asshole is talking to her.
He slams a glass down on her tray, then grunts in English, “Beer.”
When he hits her tray, it causes the other glasses to tumble off. They smash loudly against the floor. The Russian walks away without looking back. Sienna, flustered, puts her tray on a nearby table and kneels to pick up the glass.
“Leave it,” Adrian says. “Ignore it, Nico.”
“He’s right,” Mother whispers urgently. “Poor girl, but… Yes. You have to leave?—”
I don’t have to do anything. I’m the Don of this Family.
I march across the restaurant.