Chapter 12
NATALIA
Agrowling voice and the distant sound of my phone alarm pulls me out of a restless sleep.
“You said you wanted this.” Aleksandr switches on the overhead light and the fluorescence is unbearable. He’s standing in the doorway smirking with satisfaction, as though he was right about something.
“I do want this,” I protest, in a tone that isn’t enough even to convince myself. I drag myself to a seated position, stretching with a yawn.
When I look back at Aleksandr, he’s staring at my nightdress.
Chanel. Silk. Pale teal, a color that offsets my eyes. Much too nice to be worn in a bed where the sheets are so rough they practically leave my skin in hives. I make a mental note to bring some linen with an acceptable thread count the next time I visit home.
The look on his face reminds me of what Vera said. That Aleksandr is attracted to me, whatever he said on our wedding night. In moments like this, I start to believe it, before he pushes me back to arms-length again.
He drags his gaze back to my face. “You want to work, princess? This is the time you have to wake up.”
He throws me a bundle of … nylon? In a fluorescent shade of orange?
“What is this?”
I stare at the bundle of brightly-colored fabric in my hand.
“That’s a hi-vis vest, princess. Never seen one before?”
He narrows his eyes at me as I unfurl the nylon and velcro.
“You don’t have to do this, you know,” he reminds me. “Not sure it’s going to match anything in your wardrobe.”
“Do you have to wear one of these?”
I’ve never seen him wear a color other than black. His wardrobe is as minimalist as the dark apartment decor.
A smirk pulls at the corner of his mouth, letting me know that no, he doesn’t wear an orange vest to work. He’s trying to mess with me.
I stretch and yawn, making clear that I’m really awake, and he slouches away from the door. Maybe it’s wishful thinking, but I think I detect a hint of resentment in his footsteps.
Choosing an outfit is hard, given that I’m not sure what my day will hold, but I hope the bright yellow summer dress will make up for the hi-vis vest that I’m definitely not going to wear. By the time I’ve done my hair and a light layer of make-up, I almost forget the listening device.
I find the tote bag in the back of my wardrobe, casting a nervous glance over my shoulder.
There’s no reason Aleksandr would come into the room right now…
but I can’t help worrying that he’ll somehow know about it.
My heart races as I slip three of the small black devices into my purse.
My papa said I shouldn’t plant them all at once, to make sure no one notices.
I grab a banana before I head out the door, planning to eat while I walk to the office, but I’m shocked when Aleksandr slides a plate of French toast over the countertop, topped with freshly sliced bananas and blueberries.
“You made this?”
I don’t think my father’s ever set foot in a kitchen. I didn’t think men could cook…except for celebrity chefs. Okay, I didn’t think Bratva men could cook.
Aleksandr just shrugs his shoulders and looks around the room, as if to ask me, do you see any servants here?
I can’t resist the pull of the mouth-watering food, the fluffy bread cinnamon sweet and light on my tongue.
Every time I glance up, his heavy blue gaze is on me, so I concentrate on the food.
Aleksandr watching me eat food he cooked while he sips from a mug of bitter coffee feels almost as intimate as his touch.
As I head out the door, I can’t believe this plan actually worked. Aleksandr wasn’t the least bit interested in what might be in my purse. And he’s agreed to let me work with his friend, at the top levels of their operation.
How many Bratva men would put their wife to work on the docks, surrounded by other men? Then again, how many Bratva men refuse to touch their wife on their wedding night?
I guess I should give up on expecting Aleksandr to act normal. He obviously doesn’t see this marriage as any more real than I do.
At ground level, I can barely see where I’m going, even in platform boots.
I’m trying to find the warehouse Aleksandr pointed out from the window, where his friend Yuri works. As soon as I’m on the docks, in a sea of noise and men and vehicles, my head starts to spin.
This is hell.
Kill me now.
I briefly consider ducking back inside and giving up, but I don’t want to give Aleksandr the win. I can do this and prove that I’m useful, if it means helping my family.
I can endure it.
I might like attention for the brief second where I get to be right about something, specifically asshole-ish men, but I do not like it when every head in a room turns towards me in unison.
Maybe my fashion choices haven’t helped me, but I don’t think the Valentino summer dress is the issue here. Even if I blended in with everyone wearing their uniform black jumpsuits and ugly vests, I would still be the only person of my entire gender for what feels like an entire mile.
Everyone is staring at me. Unfamiliar faces, all of them male, all walking around like they own the place.
“Excuse me, do you know where I could find Yuri?” The reactions range from curious to annoyed to total stonewalling.
The eyes of strangers narrow as I approach them. One man driving a forklift yells at me to get out of the way.
For a shipping heiress, I have no idea how the port operates. For obvious reasons. I can’t turn anywhere without seeing a rough-looking man cursing or speaking in a dialect so filthy I can’t understand it.
One of them even winks at me.
Eventually, I find someone who points me towards an industrial looking building, looking dubiously at my outfit choice.
Just as I’m about to give up, a voice booms out from behind me.
“Saw that you were looking for me.”
I thought Aleksandr was huge. This man is a giant. He towers over me, stroking a hand through his thick beard as he looks down at me.
“I’m Natalia.”
He chokes out a laugh. “I know who you are, Natalia. I’m under strict orders to make sure you don’t do any damage to that pretty face of yours.”
I hold out a hand for him to shake, which he does with surprise, tucking a cigarette behind his ear. Nothing about his grip on my hand makes my nerves tingle with excitement the way Aleksandr does.
“Well, Yuri, I need a job and I guess you’re the one who’s going to give it to me.”
He rakes his eyes up and down my dress and heeled boots. They’re not stilettos, they’re block heels, and they’re the most practical footwear I have. I stuffed the hi-vis vest in a trash can on my way here. I figured that the bright colors would make me visible enough.
Yuri nods his head towards his office, and I follow him.
There’s none of the strange tension that I feel when I’m sitting in a room with Aleksandr. It’s a relief to have some normality. To talk to a man who doesn’t make my stomach flip with nerves whenever he looks at me.
Yuri is just as confused as I am about what I’m meant to be doing here. “What kind of work did he think you’d be doing?”
“He said you’d be able to show me what it’s like to work in the real world.”
Yuri lets out a bark that’s somewhere between a cough and a laugh. So he thinks I don’t know the real world either. Where does he think I’ve been living?
“That does sound like Leks.”
“How long have you known Aleksandr?”
Yuri chuckles at that, pausing for a minute to roll a cigarette. “I’ve known him since he was a kid who didn’t know what he was fuckin’ doing down here. Got Leks out of quite a few messes until he was old enough to do it himself.”
“So you’re an old friend of Aleksandr’s.” He chuckles again and I narrow my eyes at him. “What’s funny?”
“Just your accent, darlin’. Like a boarding school teacher or something. You make Leks sound like a motherfucking prince.”
I like Yuri, I decide. He might look like he would eat me alive, but he’s softer than he lets on. Unlike Aleksandr. Aleksandr is like a black hole — all-consuming and endless.
“I kinda thought he was the prince. Of this place, at least.”
“Nah,” Yuri snorts. “That was your brothers.”
My heart tumbles right down into my stomach.
“You knew them?”
“Course I knew them, darlin’. Everyone round here did. They were the life of the party, ever since they were little kids running around here and making havoc out of anything. ”
I haven’t spoken about Fyodor and Pyotr with anyone who knew them in… years.
My parents don’t like to talk about them.
Yuri’s words send hot tears straight to my eyes. He panics as soon as he realizes what’s happening.
“Oh fuck. I didn’t mean to…”
His first reaction is to leave the room. He comes back with a strong cup of black tea and adds a shot of whiskey.
“I don’t drink whiskey,” I protest, wrinkling my nose, but he pushes it across the desk towards me anyway.
“Yeah, but it’ll help. Trust me. You’ve had a strange week, darlin’.”