Total pages in book: 56
Estimated words: 54103 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 271(@200wpm)___ 216(@250wpm)___ 180(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 54103 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 271(@200wpm)___ 216(@250wpm)___ 180(@300wpm)
It’s an undercurrent, a vibe beneath a vibe, something that an artist might dream up or might truly be happening. Either way, it doesn’t matter to me. He’s a mob monster. A stray bullet. He’d be the end of my happiness. He represents all the darker shades of my life.
“Please, let me help,” a man says in a Russian accent, approaching me as I carry the vacuum back. It’s the same man who knocked over my tray, with a broken nose, a scar on his forehead. A thin smile in place.
Nico strides into his path. “You forget yourself.”
A moment later, Viktor Barinov stands and strides toward us. The restaurant goes quiet, the Pat Green record seeming louder in the silence. Viktor stands beside his man.
“Explain yourself, Sergei,” he grunts.
“I was going to help, boss.”
“The job is already done,” Viktor snaps. “Nico, you must understand, some of my men are morons. Please, forgive him.”
Viktor is a tall, thin man. If I were to draw him, he would look like an eagle. His age adds to the look, his facial structure pressing through his tired face like a faint pencil sketch through deep charcoal.
Nico’s body is as tight as a bow. “I understand, Viktor. Sergei wanted to seem funny, so he asked if we needed help when we were clearly already done. Now, he should head back to his table.” Nico’s voice grows volcanic.
I’ve sometimes dreamed of someone protecting me, sticking up for me, for a change. So when the flurrying feeling touches me, the undeniable appreciation, I try not to freak.
“He’s right,” Viktor says coldly. “Back to the table.”
“But,” Sergei protests.
“But?” Nico growls, curling his hand into a fist, his eyes hard.
I want to reach out, tell him he doesn’t need to do this for me. But I sense he can’t be stopped. I figure he’s doing this for himself somehow, maybe to justify who he is, what he is.
He’s a puzzle. I want to figure him out. Or waste time trying.
But this standoff proves it. What if one of them has a gun, starts shooting, and then just like Mom—I can’t think about that.
“Sergei,” Viktor says in an ice-cold tone.
“But… nothing,” Sergei grits out, shuffling back to the table.
“Who is your friend?” Viktor asks casually, but I feel the question is anything but innocent. “Can I say hello? I don’t bite.”
Nico moves aside slightly but stays close enough so that he’s shielding me with his body. I like it a little too much, but it’s gone far enough. I walk around Nico. “We spoke before, Mr. Barinov. You asked me how long I’ve worked here.”
“Ah, yes, hello…” He looks down at my name tag, his gaze lingering for a moment longer than it needs to on my chest. “Sienna. That’s right. You’ve worked here a week.”
“Yes,” I say.
“When was the last time you visited the Vine, Nico?” Nico just stares at him. From this angle, I can see his blue eyes are practically glowing with rage. When Nico doesn’t answer, Viktor goes on, “I’m curious. How long has it taken Sienna here to make such a dazzling impression?”
“We met tonight,” Nico growls. “She’s here to do her job, not to be subjected to interrogations by you. You’re drunk. And you’ve overstepped.”
“I’m Russian, Mr. Moretti. Please don’t talk to me about drunk. But yes, I will leave you. I apologize, once again, for Sergei’s behavior. Oh, and Anya sends her love.”
“Okay.”
Viktor tears his eyes away from Nico to look at me. “Anya is my daughter, my jewel, my princess. She has been quite smitten with this one for a number of years.” Viktor laughs, waggling his finger at Nico. “But he has been as stubborn as a big American mule.”
He laughs, returning to his table. I’m shaking as I carry the vacuum and the brush into the back room. I don’t want to be overdramatic, but that was terrifying. It wasn’t anything that was said. It was the tightness in the air.
Rachael rushes over, positioning herself in the doorway of the supply closet. "Oh, my gawd. What was that about?"
"I don't know. Nico stood up for me, I guess, and then it was... It wasn't anything that was said." I inhale deeply, close my eyes momentarily, then reopen them. "I'm going to forget about that incident entirely. Just focus on work. That's all I want to think about. Compartmentalize everything else."
"You're not going nutty on me, are you, hon?"
"I'm perfectly fine."
"You're my star waitress tonight."
"Even after all those blunders?"
She envelops me with her arm. “It’s all thanks to your kick-ass attitude."
"Thanks, Rachael."
I return to the main floor of the restaurant, realizing the folly in hasty judgments. Initially, I thought her insufferable. Yet her words are comforting.
For fifteen minutes, I work diligently, acutely aware of the Russians' scrutiny and Nico's gaze as well. Nico ignites something within me—a spark I might acknowledge in another existence, not this one, not in a reality where the mob ended my mother's life.