4. Alex
ALEX
So, tonight, I meet with Nona Sokolov.
My father says that she’s pretty. Personally, I’d like to at least have a photo of her to judge for myself. Not that looks are necessarily everything. Being hung up over a woman’s looks is a younger man’s game, in my opinion. I’m more interested in what else comes with that beauty.
I suppose that’s the whole point of this dinner. We sit down, drink a little wine, get to know one another. And then in a few weeks, we will get married.
It’s all so asinine, but I can’t disobey my father. So, here I am, looking over myself one last time before I venture out into the world.
The mirror before me reflects a handsome man. Tall, dark hair with silver streaks decorating the front, a low cut but well-maintained beard… and my mother’s pale blue eyes.
The suit I’m wearing is one of the more expensive ones that I own, tailored to fit with embroidered silk lapels and deep creases in the slacks. I adjust my gold cufflinks as I debate whether or not to wear any other jewelry. A gold chain against the white of my shirt… maybe one of my signet rings…
“Look at this pretty motherfucker,” I hear behind me.
“Now you see what I have to deal with.”
I start slightly and look toward the door of my bedroom.
Kostya and my brother are standing in the doorway of my bedroom, smirks on their faces and arms crossed.
Kostya is my father’s sovietnik, but also my best friend since childhood, and of course, he’s here to see me off.
I’m a little glad for it, so I laugh and they both laugh with me.
Kostya’s permanently serious expression melts with the coming of laugh lines around the corners of his mouth.
“Who let you idiots in?” I ask. “Thought I told the staff to keep out the riffraff.”
“You know we couldn’t stay away,” Rikki says as they walk all the way into the room. “When Kostya told me that you were meeting your fiancée tonight, well, I just had to see it for myself.”
“And here you are, dressed all nice and pretty for your date,” he says with another laugh. He nudges my shoulder and I bat him away playfully.
“You know,” I say, “Rikki and I have only known about this date for about twenty-four hours. How did you find out?”
“I’m not your father’s favorite spy for nothing,” Kostya says. “And even if I weren’t, I’m pretty sure Yeva’s been talking about this whole disaster to anybody who will listen.”
I shake my head. Of course, it would be Yeva to spread the news around. “One day, my sister’s mouth is going to write a check her ass can’t cash.”
Kostya leans against my dresser, tilting his head as he checks out my suit while Rikki stands by my side, still looking me up and down. He points to my cufflinks, flicking them. I slap his hand away.
“Your sister being a gossip seems out of character,” Kostya says.
Rikki scoffs. “It would be if that’s just what she was. She’s addicted to drama.”
“It’s true,” I say as I adjust my collar. “Little sister likes being in the middle of the trauma and the drama. It’s her thing.”
“True enough,” he says. Rikki tries to grab at my cufflinks again and I yank my hand away. “Those are mine.”
“They are not,” I say. “These are the ones that Father got me for my birthday.”
He narrows his eyes and looks at them skeptically, but he doesn’t argue. I finish adjusting my outfit and turn, holding my hands out to display the fit.
“Nice?”
“It’ll do,” Kostya says.
“Needs more jewelry,” Rikki says.
“Yeah, okay.” Guess I look fine the way I am. I turn back to the mirror and check my hair again. It’s gelled and in place. The silver’s shining in the light above me.
“So, who’s gonna be your best man?” Rikki asks.
“What?”
“Your best man. You need one if you’re getting married,” Kostya says.
“I don’t know. Hadn’t thought about it. Don’t really care.” I turn to them and point my finger at them. “Eenie, Meanie, Miney, Mo.” My finger stops on Rikki. “Rikki, you got it.”
“That is hurtful,” Kostya says.
“Nothing to be hurt about. Not a real marriage,” I remind them. I straighten my jacket once more. “Hey, Kostya, you wouldn’t happen to know anything about Nona Sokolov, would you?”
“Like what?”
I shrug. “Anything. What she looks like, what she’s into. I kind of need tonight to go smoothly since I’m going in blind.”
He sighs and says, “Word on the street is that she’s a smoke show, but she’s young.”
My father did hint at that. “How young are we talking?”
“Around Yeva’s age.”
I shake my head distastefully. “That’s just great.”
“Hey, that’s not so bad, you know. She’s the daughter of a Pakhan and you know we all had to grow up fast to survive. She’s probably just your speed.”
“She'd better be,” I say, a bitter tone coming out. “You know, the toughest thing about dating is finding a woman who can hold my interest. Or at least one who can keep up with me in the bedroom.”
He shrugs. “I mean, I don’t see what the big deal is. It’s a political marriage. You fuck her once to consummate the thing and then you never have to do it again. At least not with her, anyway.”
I scoff. “Anything else I ought to know about her?”
Kostya thinks for a minute. “Well, she was going to college out of state. Guess that’s not happening anymore. Not that it was going anywhere. She was about three years in and she hadn’t declared a major.”
I pause. “Three years in… and she’s Yeva’s age? Yeva’s already in graduate school.”
“She took a couple of gap years after high school,” Kostya says.
I don’t like the sound of this. She sounds like a flake at best, a bimbo at worst. Neither bodes well for a companion. Kostya sees the look on my face and walks up to me, pats me on the shoulder.
“Maybe she’s a party girl. Could be a great lay.”
I scoff but say nothing to that.
“That should be interesting when you become Pakhan,” Rikki says. “Sounds like the kind of marriage our grandparents had.”
He’s not wrong. My grandfather married a woman from his village. She was young and pretty and as dumb as a box of hair. My father used to tell us that if my grandfather had ever left her alone in their backyard, she’d never find her way back to the house.
“Just let her have a brain in her head,” I say. “The last thing I want is to lead this woman around like a fucking dog.”
“At least you know she can read.” Rikki chuckled. “She made it to college.”
I roll my eyes. In my mind, I’m picturing some skinny party girl who spends all her time at frat parties feeling up, making out with jocks and doing keg stands. I’ll probably have to spend my days worrying about her fucking my brothers if I don’t watch her closely.
“It’ll be fine,” Kostya says. “You’re the future of this brotherhood and as such, you will make this work. You always do.”
“Yeah, whatever.” I pull my phone out of my pocket and look at the time. “I gotta get going or I’m going to be late,” I say. “Hang out here for a couple of hours until I get back? I’m pretty sure I’m gonna need a drink and I’d rather not do it alone.”
“We’ll be here,” Rikki says. “Good luck.”
It’s a good night for an intimate dinner date. A bad night for a blind date when meeting your future wife.
I’m sitting at a table in the corner of a half-filled room of people on a weeknight. The tablecloth is crispy, clean white linen. The centerpiece in the middle of the table is a small bouquet of fresh red roses. Clean menus sit next to fine China and heavy silver cutlery.
And the decor is nice, Old World Italy with stucco murals on the walls that are purposely faded as if they are ancient landscapes stolen directly from Rome. Little chandelier lights hang above almost all the tables, giving the whole room a warm glow…
It’s just the kind of place that I might take someone I wanted to impress, and I guess that’s the point. I do want to impress this woman. If things go well tonight, it’ll make everything else go so much smoother.
I take a drink of water and look at my phone. She’s already about five minutes late. I see the waiter notice me and suddenly, I’m feeling a little flustered.
If she’s stood me up…
A flash of red behind him catches my attention.
I look to see a beautiful redhead walking into the room.
Her long hair flows around her shoulders like cascading waves of crimson.
She has an almost criminally youthful face, big, round, pond green eyes and full lips the shade of roses.
She’s clearly wearing makeup to highlight her features, but I can see a hint of freckles across her nose.
And the dress she’s wearing… A little cocktail dress that’s cut so low, her cleavage is the first thing that grabs me.
Perfect, full breasts pushed up against the cloth, the faint outline of her nipples peeking through the material.
The short hem shows off shapely thighs and long legs as she walks forward in shiny, fire engine red high heels.
She’s being accompanied by two people—the hostess and a large man wearing a suit and sunglasses.
And the moment I see him, I realize who the woman is.
They walk over to my table and I stand politely. The hostess sets down her menu next to her plate and says, “Enjoy,” before making herself scarce and disappearing from sight.
“Nona,” I say, taking her hands and pulling her into a gentle kiss on her cheek. Her chaperone stands a few feet away, watching us carefully. “It’s a pleasure.”
Her face flushes across the bridge of her pert nose. In this light, I can see the slight, telltale signs of freckles under her makeup. “Sorry,” she says. “No one ever told me your name.”
“Alexandr,” I say. I pull her chair out for her. “Molotov.”
“Nice to meet you.” She sits, and I go to the opposite side of the table and take my place across from her. She looks around herself quickly. “This is a really nice place.”
I nod and sip my water. “Best Italian food in the city,” I say.
We both go awkwardly quiet and she says, “So, um, Alexandr. Is it… Alex or Sasha for short?”
I bristle a little. “It’s Alexandr. No one but my brother and father calls me Alex, and absolutely no one but my sister calls me Sasha.”
She nods, her lips pursed. “It’s nice to have a nickname. My name is too short for one, so…”
I throw her a tight smile. This is going to be a great night.
I grab the menu and say, “The White Truffle Risotto is good here. Do you drink?”
“Um, I’m sorry?”
I look up at her from the menu. “Sorry. Maybe I should ask if you’re old enough to drink. Are you?”
Her smile fades. “I’m twenty-three,” she says. “And I’m partial to Merlot.”
Of course she is. She’s probably used to drinking it out of a box. “I’m a Bourdeaux man, personally.”
She nods. “Well, I hope the wine is good here.”
I scoff. I can’t help myself. What is she talking about? The cheapest dish here is at least a hundred dollars. She glares at me.
“Something funny?”
“Not really,” I say. “This is a five-star restaurant. Everything is ‘good’ here.”
She narrows her eyes at me. “You know, you don’t have to be rude. I’ve eaten at expensive restaurants before. I’ve lived in Manhattan my whole life and trust me, I’ve had bad food at some of the best places in the city.”
I raise my eyebrows at her with surprise. So, she does have a little fight in her. “Apologies,” I say. “I wasn’t expecting you to be…”
“What?” she says, setting the menu aside. “Aware of restaurant prices? I wasn’t raised in a slum. I know something about it. I was raised in the same environment as I imagine you were.”
“You were not raised in the same environment as me,” I say. “Your father is Pakhan to the Irkutsks. They are a very different brotherhood from mine.”
“So, what does that mean? Yours is better?”
She’s getting pissed at me. I set my menu aside. “Listen, I think we got off on the wrong foot here. We’re supposed to be getting to know one another.”
She crosses her arms and her breasts jiggle slightly. “I’m not sure exactly what you were expecting, but I’m not some airhead. If you want to get along with me, you can start by treating me like I’m a person.”
My eyes dart down to her tits and she rolls her eyes.
“Let’s be real here, Nona,” I say to her. “I just found out that I’m supposed to get married for the good of my brotherhood. And as pretty and nice as I’m sure you are, I’m not really interested in getting to know you at all.”
“Same,” she says. “You think I want to marry some old man for my father instead of going back to college?”
That stings. Old? “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
She’s pouting a little, and strangely, I feel myself start to get hard. The idea of wiping that childish look off her face is enticing.
“In fact,” she says, scooting her chair back and standing, “I think maybe we should call this a night.”
“Sit down, Nona.”
“You can’t tell me—”
“Sit. Down.”
She stares at me, her eyes wide with shock, then she sits.
“I’ll be honest with you,” I say, leaning in.
“I don’t care for you. And it’s pretty clear to me that the feeling is mutual.
But the reality of this situation is that liking one another is not a requirement for this union.
We’re not getting married for love, here, Nona. We’re doing this for our families.”
Her jaw clenches and I just know she’s got so much more to say to me.
“That said, I think it would be a pretty bad night for both of us if it ended early. Don’t you agree?”
Something in her eyes softens slightly. I don’t know what her father told her to convince her to come out tonight, especially in that dress, but whatever it is, it’s enough for her to take me seriously.
I nod toward her menu. “Pick up your menu.”
She does and says, “You’re not going to order for me, tough guy?”
That brings a smirk upon my face. “You’ve got quite a mouth on you,” I say.
“And you’re a rude asshole.”
She looks up at me and we lock eyes. Oh, this is going to be a shit night… and an even worse marriage. I suppose right now, I should focus on what’s in front of me and try to salvage some civility.
The waiter comes over finally and says, “Welcome to Brizetti’s. Can I show you the wine menu?”
“No need,” I say. “We’ll have a bottle of Bordeaux, please.”
Her eyes flash with anger and my dick gets a little harder.
Maybe we’ll never be friends or even civil to one another, but if I have to marry this vapid little thing, then I suppose I can spend the time making her as miserable as she’s going to make me.