1
Anton
Gray. That’s all the world is now—shades of gray that fill my vision like cold ice that has slowly been working its way into my soul over these many years.
As a young man, I worked hard. Seeking my father’s approval, I obeyed his every command. Vicious, ambitious, I was the perfect son. A ruthless prince, I created a path of bodies in my wake, reinforcing the Todorov family empire and further establishing us as the dominant hand of the Russian mob in the United States.
I expected gratitude. Some expression of love from my father. But what did I get? A simple nod of approval like I was a trained dog simply doing what he had been trained to do.
If my heart had not gone cold and had still been capable of breaking, it would have shattered.
But there is nothing left there any longer.
Nothing to move me. Nothing but a muscle to pump blood through my chilled veins.
My father may be the kingpin, but I’m the second in command. While he’s smoking cigars and laughing from his office, I’m the one making the big moves, making the multi-million-dollar decisions that cause shifts in power behind the scenes that affect countless lives in our criminal empires.
Politicians at every level. Bankers, lawyers, accountants, bookies. Up and down the chain, everybody earns, and everybody pays. That’s how you maintain the order of things. That’s what my father taught me, and that’s all I know. The minute you slip up, that’s the minute you die. And I’ve spent my entire adult life preserving that mentality. Making sure I don’t slip.
But now, my father wants to retire. Move back to Moscow and leave me in charge. But there’s only one hitch.
He wants me to get married.
“You must settle down, Anton,” he told me last week, as though it’s just that easy. “It’s just not fit for a man like you to be seen running around with all these women. Find yourself a girl and put a ring on her finger. A good girl like your mother.”
My mother may be many things—she may even love me in her own way—but she is not a “good girl.” She’s an ex-stripper and an escort. My father bought her from her parents back in Russia before he moved here. I’m the only one who knows about her past.
“Oh, and make it quick, son,” he told me. He gave me until the end of the week. “Or the empire goes to your brother.”
If that doesn’t tell you all you need to know about my relationship with my father, I don’t know what will. When my father wants something done, he wants it done now. It doesn’t matter if it needs to be done today, tomorrow or next year. If he wants it, he gets it. And the price for disobeying him? Well, let’s just say it doesn’t matter if I’m his son. He gets what he wants.
My brother, Dimitri, is still in Russia. He’s a flat-out psychopath who uses the family money to indulge his habits of torturing and murdering women. If I had my way, I’d kill him myself.
So that’s why I’m here now, drumming my fingers on the armrests of my chair at Juicy Lucy’s, a trashy strip club in town where I’m hoping to find a girl who at least looks like she could wear a high-class dress without looking like she wants to take it off for money.
“Well, you look lonely, big fella,” a girl purrs, trying to ease her way past my men. She speaks the truth, but I don’t like the look of her, so I shake my head, and they escort her away.
“Fuck this,” I growl, rising from my chair. Flanked on both sides, I exit the club and head to the car. “Becky’s,” I tell the driver. “Step on it.”
Becky’s Diner is a dump—a converted train car going for that ‘50s charm and failing miserably, but the one place in town that makes a decent cup of coffee at this hour, and I could use one. I’ve been going at it all day trying to find a girl who I could bring around my dad without him finding something negative to say. And that’s the real catch. He wants me to find a girl now, but if I bring the wrong girl, it’ll be worse than bringing no girl at all.
Pretty much a no-win situation.
Sometimes I wonder if there’s a way out of this life. But then I remember who my father is. He claims to love me, but I wonder if even he believes that anymore. The illusion of a happy, cohesive family matters more to him than the real thing I suspect.
The driver parks, and I get out and find a booth in the diner. A few people recognize me and avert their eyes as people normally do when they see me. I expect to see Donna, Bertha, or maybe the new old lady with the thick glasses come out of the back to wait on me, but instead, a new girl comes out of the swinging double doors to the kitchen, and something moves inside my chest that actually takes my breath away.
Jesus, who is that and what is she doing in a dump like this?
She doesn’t look like a waitress. More like an A-list actress, or an up-and-coming actress researching the role of a waitress for her next film. And if this is her audition, I’m the lucky bastard with a private viewing.
Christ, my heart is pounding, and I haven’t even had a cup of coffee yet. I’ve only just caught a glimpse of her, and I’m fascinated. Doing what I do, I’m damn good at sizing people up, but she’s the first person I’ve seen in years that I haven’t been able to read in seconds.
I may not know everything about her, but right then, I know I’ve found my wife.
“You,” I bark. Her eyes, beautiful, a deep almond brown, snap to mine, causing my heart to palpate. I motion to her. “Come here.”
“Sir, I just have to give this gentleman his peach cobbler and—”
“Now.”
The girl clearly has no idea who I am. Confused, she glances around at the other patrons. They do know and give her the look that lets her know she should obey. I watch her as she moves, my eyes glued to her body.
I can see she has a pair of baby-making hips on her.