My Mobster

by J. L. Drake

  With my hair up, he had a perfect view of my Christmas Eve Bullshit Boris had imprinted on me after the football game. He drove a bar of soap back and forth over the foot-stomp impression still hanging on between my shoulder blades. It was as if he thought he could magically erase it—or maybe he was rubbing it in.

  While the conditioner set in, he scooted my body back and rested my head on his chest. He lifted my left leg, lathered it with soap, and commenced shaving. After both my legs were smooth, he ran a washcloth down my body, starting at my neck and working his way down to my feet, stopping at all ports on the journey south.

  After he polished my body, he rinsed my hair and washed my face. Neither one of us said a word. I understood: I was disgusting. In his mind, the game was over. He had won. What use was I to him anymore? Now that the skank was clean enough to sit in one of his fancy cars, he could send me back home to my papa dirtier than I was before I left the house.

  Bravo. Well done, Vladimir. It must feel awesome to con a virgin into letting you work your magic down there. Is there a special tattoo for that achievement?

  Sophia huffed.

  The devil pumped his fist.

  I stood up and got out of the tub. Dirty gray suds clung to my body. I covered myself with a towel, collected my rumpled clothes off the floor, and scurried back to my bedroom to shower off the grime. I sent Boris a text and asked him to take me home. He would be giddy knowing he was rid of me once and for all.

  I put myself back together, slid on my coat, and braided my wet hair as I waited in the kitchen for my keeper to show up. When Vladimir found me, I wouldn’t look at him.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Boris is coming to get me. I asked him to take me home.” I hid my hands in my pockets. They were shaking like rattlesnake tails.

  “Why?”

  I sucked in a deep breath. “Stop pretending. You got what you wanted. Leave me alone and go back to Russia.”

  God, I hate myself. He tried to put his arms around me, but I shoved him off. “Just open the gate. I’ll walk home.” I ran to the kitchen door.

  He bear-hugged me from behind, pinning my arms at my side. “I don’t understand. What did I do?” He dragged me away from the door.

  “Cut the shit. Let me go.”

  “Talk to me. I honestly have no idea why you’re so upset.”

  I struggled to get free which only made him squeeze me tighter. “You won, okay? Let me go.” I rocked my body side to side and back and forth to throw him off balance—no luck.

  “You think I’m leaving you?”

  Resilient and still high on the idea I could out-muscle him, I tried to weasel my way out of his arms. “Duh, genius. You are leaving me.”

  He exhaled, and his body lightened like all the air had been let out of his soul. “Moy slomonnyy angel.”

  “Don’t call me that. I Googled it, you jerk. I’m not ‘broken,’ and I’m not your ‘angel.’ Get off me. Let me go!”

  He loosened his grip, and at the same time, I lunged forward, lost my balance, and crash-landed on the kitchen floor. Vladimir knelt beside me, scooped up my deflated body, and cradled me in his arms. I buried my face in his chest, hating myself for craving the warmth and comfort I felt cocooned in his arms.

  “You are my world, Carter.” Vladimir picked up my right hand and kissed my knuckle. “I planned to do this in a more romantic way this evening, but you leave me no choice.” He pulled a gold ring with a huge blue-green stone out of his pocket and slid it on my finger. “This belonged to my mama. She’d want you to have it.”

  My face was wet with tears, snot, and sweat. “Why?”

  He studied my bewildered expression. “I want to spend the rest of my life with you, Carter. Marry me.”

  I blinked at the exquisite engagement ring on my finger. “You want me to go back to Russia with you?”

  Vladimir blotted my face with the sleeve of his starched shirt. “We have fine colleges in Russia—tennis courts, too. I’ll hire the best coaches to train you.”

  As I considered Vladimir’s proposal, still curled up on his lap on the floor, the kitchen door opened. Boris towered over us with his arms crossed, stance wide, eyes narrowed. Nothing fazed the big guy.

  “What do you say, angel?”

  I couldn’t imagine living my life without Vladimir by my side. I needed him. I loved him. “Da,” I answered.

  “Da?”

  “Da, I’ll marry you.”

  Boris exhaled, mentally exhausted by our crazy. Apparently, the pakhan hadn’t consulted with his sovietnik about his marital plans or our future together back home in Mother Russia.

  Vladimir and I stood up.

  “Surprise.” I held out my hand to show Boris Irina’s ring.

  Boris patted Vladimir on the back, clutched his shoulders, and said something encouraging in Russian that made Vladimir smile. It looked like an endearing father-son kind of moment. Boris even called him “Vova,” which must be an affectionate nickname.

  Boris turned to me. “Welcome to the family, lapsha.” My future papa-in-law of sorts pulled me in for a hug and kisses on my cheeks. He held out his fist for a celebratory bump. I lifted my hand, made a fist, and squinted in anticipation of the customary way-too-hard knuckle-knock. Boris lightly bumped my hand and gave me a tiny smile. “You’ll make a fine Russian.”

  Chapter 50

  Plan Of Attack

  From that point on, our sovietnik insisted on being involved in all our endeavors. We huddled around the bar, an unopened bottle of vodka between us, and devised a plan that seemed as complicated as overthrowing the Kremlin. The demands of Vladimir’s position were heating up in Russia. He and Boris would leave the States in three days to settle some sort of rival conflict that had escalated back home.

  Of course, Vladimir wanted me to drop everything, ditch life as I knew it, and board his private jet. That game plan had compounded problems. Small detail, but I didn’t have a passport. Vladimir scoffed at the idea and said he could get me one in five minutes, but Boris intervened on my behalf and denied him. I was an adult and there was no need to leave the country illegally—or against my papa’s wishes. Boris sealed the deal by adding it was best to handle the conflict before introducing me to the life.

  Vladimir held out a moment more, until Boris flashed the For Her Own Safety card. I’d stay here, waiting.

  Their world was fascinating, really. I wondered if rival conflict translated to mafia war, but I didn’t push for details. I got the sense this was the minor issue back home that had him all fired up on my first day of work.

  The Official Game Plan:

  Vladimir and Boris would go back to Russia in three days.

  I would apply for a passport and have it in hand in time for spring break.

  Vladimir would fly back from Russia, and together we would confess our love and marriage plans to Dad.

  I would fly back to Russia with Vladimir, we would spend spring break at his dacha, summer home, and we would plan our June wedding.

  These things were decided, but the last piece of the equation—when or if I would return home to America after spring break to finish the last few weeks of the semester and to reach a peace agreement with Dad—was still under negotiation.

  “Vladimir, we’re going to spend the rest of our lives together. I need time to ease out of my life here. If I drop out, it won’t look good on my record when I apply to colleges in Russia.”

  “You’ll go to any college you want. I’ll see to it personally.”

  “Newsflash: I don’t need you to see to it. I earned my way. I’m not going to throw away everything I worked so hard for.” He’s like me; he has to understand that.

  Vladimir tapped the tips of his fingers together and eyed the vodka bottle. “As my wife, you’ll enjoy the privileges that come with being married to a man of a certain influence, understand?” His cheeks were red, jaw clenched.

  “Of course she understands, boss.” Boris reached for the bottle
.

  Vladimir held up his hand to Boris in a stop motion and took a deep breath. “Let’s do this. We’ll stick to the plan as it is, and you will decide when or if you go home after spring break. You might love your new country so much you may never want to return to America.” He picked up my hand and kissed the inside of my wrist. “Your happiness is my only concern.”

  “Perfect. Spasibo.” I stood on my toes and kissed him. He ran his fingers through my hair with one hand and with the other he squeezed his arm around my back. He was a different person without the vodka, and he was willing to give up drinking—for me. In return, I would give up my family, friends, and country to spend my life with him in Russia.

  When you love someone, you make sacrifices.

  Our make-out session was getting a little sloppy. I could tell he was excited when he whispered in Russian and nibbled on my ear. I cracked up, embarrassed the Juicy Love Fest was going down in front of Boris.

  “There you go, boss.” Boris patted him on the back. “Now, let’s talk about the wedding. Russians believe in elaborate celebrations. My mama will spoil you rotten, lapsha.”

  “I can’t wait to meet your family, Vova.”

  “My family can’t wait to meet you, angel.”

  Chapter 51

  Izvinite

  When Boris drove me home, the car was silent except for the sound of his gold rings tapping on the steering wheel.

  “You have your sovietnik face on,” I said. “Is something wrong?”

  He glanced my way as he drove down the winding road. “Why do you say that?”

  “You look deep in thought,” I pointed at his hands, “and you do that tapping thing when things are messed up.”

  He thought a moment before he responded. “I don’t like surprises.”

  “You’re surprised Vladimir wants to marry me?”

  “I’m surprised you want to marry him.”

  I scoffed. “Why?”

  By the incredulous look on his face, it had appeared my Stupid Girl meter had tipped over into the red zone. “You do know what we do for a living, right?”

  I nodded.

  Tap, tap, tap, tap…

  “You’re a nice girl, Carter, with a bright future. You can handle being married to the pakhan?”

  “Well, he’s not bad—like you.” I peeked over at him. “He does the cyber stuff and you handle the other side of the business.”

  “Ah, now I understand. He’s the good kind of bad guy.” He chuckled. “What he does is okay as long as no one gets hurt, right?”

  “I know he had a hard life growing up behind the Iron Curtain, not to mention he lost his entire family, and went to prison,” I placed my hand over my heart. “After all he’s been through, how can I judge him?”

  “You’re a very understanding young lady, Carter.” He parked at our meeting spot. I opened the door to get out of the car, but Boris held my arm. “Once you’re in the family, there’s no getting out. If you have any reservations—”

  “I love him.”

  Tap, tap, tap, tap…

  “There’s nothing to worry about, Boris.”

  Tap, tap, tap, tap…

  “The boss is a lucky man.”

  “Spasibo. I’m lucky, too.”

  Tap, tap, tap, tap…

  ***

  That night, Vladimir invited the family to a Middle Eastern restaurant for a going away party. Bongos, belly dancing, and falafel balls would have been fantastic under different circumstances, but my fiancé was going back to Russia without me in two days.

  When Dad, Karen, Megan, and I arrived at the restaurant, Boris greeted us at the door. I didn’t know how Vladimir and I were going to hide our feelings for each other in front of Dad, but knowing Boris was there to keep us in line eased my stress.

  “Ded!” Megan bounced over to Boris holding a fuzzy black kitty in one hand and a lanky white beanbag cat with blue eyes in the other. “This one is you.” She held up the black one. “And this is Dyadya.” She held up the white one. “Santa put them in my stocking.”

  Boris studied his feline representative. “Too fat.”

  “He’s not fat, his fur is fluffy.”

  “If you say so, dear.” Boris patted her on the head and handed her a chocolate bar.

  “I hope I don’t cry,” Karen said. “I can’t believe you two are leaving us. Wouldn’t you rather stay in America?”

  “Nyet. I miss my wife, family.”

  “You’re married?” Karen and I said in unison.

  “Thirty-two years.”

  I knew he had kids and his mama back home, but he’d never mentioned his wife. “What’s her name?”

  “Anya.”

  I smiled. “Pretty.”

  “Vladimir and his guest will join us momentarily,” Boris said to Dad and Karen.

  Guest?

  While the hostess collected our coats, Boris emblazoned a mind-melting mental warning directly onto my corneas. After that non-verbal assault, I decided to keep my coat on—my wardrobe choice was a tad questionable.

  Mystery Guest: Vladimir arrived fashionably late with a green-eyed redhead, with cascading curls, huge boobs, and legs longer than a camel’s. He introduced everyone to his ‘girlfriend,’ Svetlana, adding that she only spoke Russian.

  My mouth gaped. What the hell was he trying to pull?

  “Good to see you again, Miss Cook. You look well. Over your boy troubles?”

  “Da.” I evil-eyed the bombshell. “Do svidaniya.” I extended my hand to her.

  “You mean privet?” Vladimir laughed. “Do svidaniya means goodbye.”

  “My bad.”

  Karen and Dad exchanged glances. “You picked up some Russian over Christmas break, sweetie?”

  “Da, Papa.”

  Vladimir laughed and patted me on the head like a child. I wanted to smack his hand away, but I had to keep it together in front of my family.

  “Let’s have a seat, shall we?” Vladimir asked.

  Dad and Karen walked ahead of me, Vladimir behind. I unzipped my coat, slid it off, and peeked over my shoulder to gauge his reaction to my sexy duds. I had on low-rise jeans and a curve-hugging sequined top, with a matching shrug, a belly chain, and a rose-gold choker in the shape of a tigress chasing her tail.

  I wore my hair down in a wavy messy sexy do and turned up the heat a bit by tracing black eyeliner around my eyes like a cat to accentuate my fiancé’s favorite feature of mine. He bit his lip and chuckled at my crazy.

  “Whoa,” Dad said when he caught an eyeful of my dinner attire.

  “What? I was going with a theme outfit. Too much?”

  He gave me the look.

  “Izvinite.” I tipped my head with my hand on my heart, apologizing for my bad choice.

  “You sure picked up a lot of Russian in two and a half days,” Dad mumbled.

  Vladimir motioned for everyone to have a seat. I headed for the chair next to him, but Boris caught my elbow and pointed to the other side of the table. Karen and Dad settled in seats across from Vladimir and his date, and I got marooned next to Boris.

  Megan pulled her doppelgänger cat family out of her backpack and set up a nest for them using starched white napkins from the table.

  A text came in on my special phone:

  Boris: My idea. Relax.

  The band began warming up as the server brought pita bread, tabouli, and a pitcher of margaritas to the table. Vladimir poured the drinks and handed one to Karen, one to Svetlana. He said something to her in Russian that made her giggle.

  I swayed and bounced to the beat of the drums, completely ignoring him. It may have been Boris’s idea to bring Miss Moscow, but Vladimir didn’t need to enjoy it so much.

  A foursome of dancers, two ladies in belly dancer costumes, and two dudes—one hot, one not—in turbans, stretched out in the corner by the band. The hot guy busted me staring and swished a scarf at me. I turned away and pretended I hadn’t noticed. I could feel Vladimir glaring at me, but I wouldn�
��t look at him. He sent a margarita down to me. Apparently the rules of underage drinking didn’t apply to him anywhere, but I held up my hand and refused. “I’m going to stick with water tonight. Thanks anyway, Vlad—Mr. Ivanov.”

  “Good choice, Carter. You can be the designated driver.” Karen sucked down half of her drink, and then turned and smooched Dad on the lips. They had already had a few beers before we left the house.

  This could get interesting.

  I got up and excused myself. I walked past Vladimir and ‘accidentally’ bumped his chair. When I came out of the bathroom, he pulled me into the kitchen. I tried to slap him across the face, but he caught my hand and trapped me against the wall.

  “Nice girlfriend, you jerk. You two make a charming couple.”

  He put his finger to my lips to shush me. “It’s for appearances, angel. Svetlana is one of Boris’s girls. No one could ever take your place.”

  “If she belongs to Boris, then give her back.”

  “How else can I mask my attraction, angel? I’m doing this for you.”

  Satisfied with his explanation, I stood on my toes and kissed him. Our public display of affection in front of the staff was getting a little sloppy. The owner came over and asked us to go back to our table, under the guise that our appetizer course was being served.

  Back in our private room, Vladimir and Dad dove deep into a conversation about some technology thing. Dad had bought out Vladimir’s shares of the company and was taking over as CEO. There was no way Dad could’ve afforded it without financial help. I knew without asking Vladimir had made it possible. Boris had told me the truth when he said the business was legit, and Vladimir meant what he said about coming to America to help my family.

  Svetlana sat quietly drinking her margarita with my fiancé’s arm around her narrow waist. She was a distraction for him, but what about me?