3. Nona
NONA
Ithink about what actual prison must be like.
Papa’s told me stories over the years about spending time in prison.
He’s done time both here in America and in Russia.
Usually, when he talked about that, though, it was always in the form of some kind of parable, so he mostly just ever talked about how awful Russian prisons were.
Always in a kind of back in my day kind of way.
I’m thinking about that now on day two of my own incarceration.
My bedroom is nothing like what actual prison must be like.
For one thing, Papa said that the cells were so small, you could barely turn around in them.
I, on the other hand, have plenty of space.
My room is big enough for my queen-sized bed, all my bedroom furniture, and even a corner where my vanity sits.
I look over at it from my bed. It hasn’t been touched since I left.
The salmon paint job that it’s had since I was a little girl is chipped in spots.
A counter that’s about a million different shades of eyeshadow, blush, and lipstick.
I’m actually glad he never cleaned or repainted it.
Somehow, the stained surface makes me feel welcome.
Like it’s the one space in this house that’s truly mine.
Papa has also told me that in prison, the toilet is in the same little space as the beds.
And sometimes, you have to share that space with someone else.
I can’t imagine what that must be like, trying to sleep and your roommate pissing inches away from your head.
At least I’ve got my own bathroom, the only space in my room that has been cleaned since I’ve been away, and for that, I’m grateful.
Not sure how much I could have tolerated a dirty bathroom over the last couple of days I’ve been in this room.
I’m in a gilded cage, as they say. I can see outside my window. Food’s brought to me on a daily basis—good food. Not the slop that Papa always said they serve in prison. I can read my books. I can sleep in peace. If I could come and go as I please, I’d call it a sanctuary.
This is a sanctuary that I can’t leave without my father’s permission.
I shouldn’t have eavesdropped, but since I did…
I’ve been holding onto that fleeting moment of happiness when I heard that Papa is trying to broker peace with his rival.
Peace means that I’ll be able to move around the whole of Manhattan freely for once, not just sticking to the Upper East Side and Midtown.
That’s something I’ve never really been able to do.
My father has always had rivals and they’ve always been looking for ways to get at him.
It’s why I went to private school my whole childhood. So he could keep a better eye on me.
The other thing is that peace also means that my father might live a little longer. The fewer enemies he has and the more allies he gains, the better his chances of survival. Or at least, that’s how I see it.
Kind of seems foolish to think about that now, being that I’m at the business end of his latest punishment, but he’s the only family I really have left.
I don’t know what I would do if he were gone.
I’d like to think that he would make arrangements for me, give a final command to the brotherhood to watch out for me while I move through a world that doesn’t have him in it.
I suppose that’s how it’s supposed to go.
I hear the door unlock and I sit up in bed, watching the door. Oh, thank God. My incarceration is over.
The door opens and my father walks in. His clothes look even more relaxed now—Polo shirt and slacks, tennis shoes that are a little too clean. “Good morning, my dear,” he says.
Maybe I’m too tired to be angry at him for locking me away. Maybe I just don’t care anymore. It’s not like this is the first time. “Good morning, Papa,” is all I have to say.
He smiles, then he walks all the way into the room and presents me with a saucer that has a cinnamon roll on it. “Brought you breakfast.”
He sits down on the bed and places the saucer between us. Out of all the breakfasts that he’s had carted up here, he’s never brought me anything sweet. This is a nice change of pace. I pick up the cinnamon roll and thank him.
“You’re welcome,” he says to me. He watches me take a bite, then he says, “We need to talk about your future, Nona.”
I blink. I finish my bite and start searching for another one as I turn the roll around in my hands.
“My… future?” My mind immediately turns to my studies.
I’ve been trucking along in Liberal Arts for the last three years and I still don’t know what I want to do once I graduate.
I’ve flitted around to a few majors. Philosophy, Education, Physical Education…
Honestly, I was kind of hoping that Papa hadn’t noticed.
“Yes,” he says. “I know how important school has been for you… but I think it’s time that you consider a different path now.”
“Papa,” I say, “I know I’ve been kind of vague about what I plan to do after school, but—”
“What I’m saying is that you don’t have to worry about that any longer.” He pats me on my knee. “Things are going to change for you now that you’re home. I’ve already made the arrangements. You won’t be returning to college after your break ends.”
A tiny sliver of terror pierces my stomach. “What do you mean?”
He stands and takes a few steps away from me.
“As I’m sure you probably overheard,” he says, “I am trying to broker peace with the Rostov brotherhood, or so I would have them believe. There have been some… developments that have given me a reason to think that they are now too weak to continue in earnest. Their numbers are decreasing. They’re not making as much money as they used to.
This puts the Irkutsks in a very good position to crush them once and for all.
For once, we may have the advantage against them. ”
Oh. My heart sinks a little. He’s not actually trying for real peace with his rival at all. Dammit. I sigh and set my cinnamon roll back down on the saucer, wiping my hands on my comforter.
“Okay. So, you’re planning some kind of coup. What does that have to do with my future?”
“I need a spy, Dochurka. One who can get into their most intimate settings. Close enough to sit as adjacent to the throne as possible.”
I’m still lost. A spy? I don’t understand what that could possibly do with me. He has plenty of spies working for him. He must see the confusion on my face because the next thing he says is, “You are going to be married to Fedor Molotov’s son, Nona.”
I blink, dumbfounded. “What?”
“It’s all being arranged. You will meet him for dinner at a very expensive, very nice restaurant. You two can talk, get to know one another—”
“Wait, Papa… married?” I can’t believe my ears. How is he talking about this like it’s nothing? “I can’t get married. I’m not ready to get married. And I don’t even know Fedor Molotov’s son.”
“That’s why I have arranged the dinner,” he says, his smile fading. “And besides, all you need to know about him right now is that he is Fedor’s top Brigadier, his right hand, and the one among their brotherhood who has his ear. Marry him and you will be privy to every move they make.”
I just gape at him. “But,” I manage to utter, “I don’t love him. I don’t even know if I’ll like him. You want me to marry a man I barely know?”
“This isn’t about love or affection, Nona. None of that matters. This marriage is a political arrangement. Nothing more, nothing less. You will marry him under the guise of loyalty to this brotherhood and to the cause of peace. You will be doing this for the greater good, Nona.”
“But Papa—”
“This is not a debate,” he says, his face deepening into a scowl. I’m on the edge of punishment once more, so I close my mouth. “You will meet him and you will marry him, and once you do, you will spy on the Rostovs for me. Am I understood?”
“Yes, sir,” I say.
“Good. I’m glad we understand one another.” He walks toward the door. “Get yourself together. I’m having Nikolai take you shopping. You need to get a proper dress for the dinner. And I do mean proper. I expect you to look like a lady tonight.”
“I always look like a lady.”
“You know what I mean. No man wants to marry a prostitute. I expect a modest cocktail dress for this dinner.”
I have nothing I can say, so all I mutter is “Yes, sir.” He leaves, and I’m left with this information floating around in my head.
Married? Married? Even if it’s fake, I don’t know this man. I haven’t even considered a future where I’d be someone’s wife. At least not this soon.
I don’t know what to do with this. I’m not prepared to be a spy any more than I am to be someone’s wife. And what if he’s ugly? Or gross? Or just wholly unattractive in one way or another?
This is probably worse than being locked up in my room. I kind of wish Papa would come back and lock me back in.
“Hurry up.”
Nikolai’s on the other side of the door.
He’s one of my father’s enforcers and he’s as big as he is wide.
As we were walking through the mall in his black suit, sunglasses on, he looked less like a bodyguard and more like a giant war dog at my side.
I did my best to ignore the looks we got all the way to this store.
I’ve managed to find a couple of adequate dresses. The one I’m trying on now is black, long-sleeved, with a hem that goes right down to my knees and no cleavage. The neckline is practically a turtleneck. I look at myself in the mirror and scowl. I look like I’m going to a funeral.
The other two I picked out are just variations of this one. I can’t choose anything too flashy or too short or showing any hint of cleavage. Papa would be very happy if I showed up to this dinner like I’m his sweet little chastity belt.
This whole thing reeks of a medieval wedding and I hate it. And now that I think about it, I’m actually surprised he’s gone through the effort of having me even meet this guy. He’d probably just be fine with shoving me down the aisle on the day of the wedding.
Dammit. I don’t even know this guy’s name.
Over the years, I’ve learned some names of my father’s enemies and associates off and on, but I have to admit, I haven’t the slightest idea who Fedor Molotov’s son is. In fact, I don’t know all that much about the Rostov gang outside of the bits and pieces that Father’s fed me over the years.
And here the very first impression of me is going to be in what amounts to a nun’s gown. All I need is a habit to complete it.
“Nona,” I hear Nikolai prod from the other side of the changing room door.
“One second,” I call back. This whole setup is ass.
I take off the dress and start putting on my clothes. I guess it doesn’t matter which one I choose as long as it covers most of my body. I decide on the last nun’s habit I tried on and open the door.
Nikolai’s standing there waiting for me. I huff. “You know this is the ladies’ changing room. You could give me a little space.”
“Your father told me to keep a close eye on you,” he says.
I motion around the hallway full of half open changing room doors. “Where am I going to go? All I have is my father’s credit card. I didn’t even drive here.” He just stares at me with a blank expression. “Just stand at the entrance. I’ll be right out.”
He looks me over carefully, then turns and walks toward the entrance. And I stand here watching him go, holding these ugly dresses in my arms.
At the very least, I should be able to wear what I want. If the point is to spy on the Rostov gang, then I should, at least, turn some heads. After all, who’s going to believe that anyone would want to marry me in one of these things?
It is what it is, I guess. I leave the changing room and put two of the dresses back, holding the one that I guess I’m going to wear in my arms. I walk toward the door and past a bin full of discarded clothes… and I pause.
Why shouldn’t I wear what I want? If I show up at this dinner wearing something a little slutty, what’s Papa going to do?
If I leave right on time, he won’t risk getting into it with me and making me late.
And either way, the bottom line is that he’s going to want to look good in front of the Rostovs.
I’m sure to pay for that kind of disobedience later.
Might be worth it if I can gain approval with Fedor’s son, though. I push some of the dresses aside and immediately come across fire engine red material. I pull out the dress and suddenly, I’m faced with a cocktail dress with a cut so low in the front, I’d have to go braless if I were to wear it.
If my father saw me in this, he’d lose his mind.
But I’m sure to get the attention of my would-be husband. And whatever happened after the dinner, well, that is the whole point of all this.
I grab the dress and go back into the changing room. I toss the nun’s tunic to the side, jump out of my clothes, and shimmy into this little red cocktail dress.
It’s tight around my hips and the hem comes to the middle of my thighs… but oh, my, do I look good in this. I turn around to get a good look at my ass in the dress. It’s riding high enough to lift the hem just a little more.
I turn back around and look at myself full on. Sexy, red-headed girl in a sexy red dress. My eyes fall to my cleavage. The dress isn’t cut all the way down to my navel, but it is a few inches above it. My tits are sitting full and high and enticing, even without the bra.
It’s a risk. A big risk. But… it’ll be worth it if Fedor’s son is a little more enthusiastic about this union.
I take one last long look at myself in the dress, then I take it off. I grab the nun’s tunic and one of the other chastity dresses and wedge the red dress between them so that Nikolai doesn’t notice when I pay for them.
“Ready to go,” I say when I walk out of the dressing room. I don’t wait for Nikolai to acknowledge me. I just walk for the checkout counter. He follows, but he’s also too busy looking around me for any danger that might be lurking between the racks of clothing.
The checkout girl takes the clothes and rings them up and I pay for them with my father’s credit card, and out of the store I go. Mission accomplished.
At least until he sees me in the dress.