Dante would burst into flames if he walked in here right now. Despite showing no signs of jealousy toward Anatolij, his territoriality would surely rear its head. I try to ignore Anatolij’s people gawking at us on our way upstairs. Thankfully, despite the raised eyebrows, no one dares to comment.
“I’m sorry my people scared you,” Anatolij says, climbing the third flight of stairs.
“You’d think I’d be used to gunshots by now. I guess I was for a while, but then the shots no longer meant a hole in a paper target.”
Even covered with the towel, my cheeks burn, matching the temperature of my thighs when Anatolij sits me on the bed in my room.
“You should take this off,” he points at my jumper. “I’ll get the bath ready.”
This time, I don’t hesitate before yanking the sweater off over my head. A black Cami top underneath keeps my modesty somehow intact. If it was Dante trying to submerge me in a cold bathtub, I’d argue until I’d turn blue in the face. I don’t dare argue with Anatolij. The aura of authority surrounding him doesn’t differ much from what Dante emanates, but it is different somehow. I nod along to everything he says.
“Let’s get it over with,” I mutter, crossing the room.
Anatolij holds my hand until I sit in the cool water, legs straight, hands on the edge of the tub. My breaths come in sharp gasps, goosebumps dot every inch of my skin, and my eyes fall shut, while I imagine that the water’s not cold at all. Not that it’s working. My body knows better.
“I’m fine,” I assure when a worried look taints Anatolij’s aristocratic features. “Too bad I won’t dance tonight.”
“Why do you think I told you to get in the tub? You’ll dance. The maid will bring the first aid kit soon. Stay in the bath for ten minutes, then apply the cream.” Two vertical wrinkles in his forehead deepen as he rises to his feet. “I must call Dante.”
“Why? He doesn’t have to know. He’s got a lot on his mind, and you said I won’t have a scar.”
“I promised to call if anything happens. Something did.”
“I think he meant something more important than a first-degree burn of...” my hand hovers over the burn to measure the extent of the damage, “...about eight percent of my body. If Dante decided he needs space, it means he’s trying to focus. Please don’t bother him. I don’t want him to beat himself up later that he didn’t do enough.”
A shadow crosses Anatolij’s face, and a slow glow of anger works through his body, tightening the muscles in his jaw. “You don’t believe he’ll close the hit?”
“I believe he’ll stop at nothing, but... I don’t expect a happy ending. He’s just one man, Anatolij. One man against, God only knows how many. He can’t win.”
Mafia is no place for sentiments. Dante won’t bribe everyone. My father orchestrated the hit, and if he put half the effort and brains into it as he put into manipulating me through the years, there’s no way I’ll come out alive. Frank was meticulous, always covered all bases, and prepared for a sudden wind change. The bounty on my head is plan B, and Frank’sBplans never failed.
Anatolij crouches beside me again, his hands on the tub's edge. He looks like a man torn between right and wrong when he stares me down with light-gray eyes. I can’t get over how different he is from Nikolaj. No common features, nothing that’d portray they were related.
“Dante’s not alone,” he says. “He has his men, there’s Julij who, not unlike Dante, will do all in his power to protect you. There are Dante’s partners from Detroit and whoever else he works with. He already bribed a few of the major bosses. This won’t happen overnight, baby girl, but itwillhappen. Dante won’t rest until you’re safe.”
A small, forced smile curves my lips. Hope still smolders inside me, but I try not to let it burn bright. Being a realist got me through the life Frank gave me. I won’t become an optimist at the last stretch.
“Julij wants to help, but not many bosses respect him yet. The V brothers from Detroit have no reason to protect me. They’ll stand back when it gets too hot—”
“Don’t forget me,” he cuts in. “You’re safe here. If everything else fails, you and Dante can move to Moscow.”
“And what’s your motive? Why have you invited me to stay here with you?”
A pained expression flashes across his face again. “I can think of a reason. I’ll tell you about it one day, but today isn’t that day.” He crosses the room and lingers with his hand on the handle. “I think you better get out before you catch a cold.”
“Don’t call Dante. He doesn’t need to know.”
With an apologetic smile, he closes the bathroom door behind him.
***
A young man whose name slipped my attention talks about the joys of living in America. He moved to Los Angeles two years ago and can’t praise the city enough. For almost ten minutes now, he’s been listing his favorite Lakers players since the early fifties. I wouldn’t be surprised if LeBron’s poster hangs above his bed. He probably kisses it goodnight too.
Bored describes my mental state perfectly, which is why I finish the second glass of champagne, despite arriving in the ballroom thirty minutes ago.
Anatolij introduced me to a dozen people before the basketball fanatic started his monologue, overly excited to chat to a‘fellow American’here in Russia.
I scan the room, searching for a waiter, but instead of a floating silver tray, my eyes lock with Anatolij. He smiles over the sea of heads and shoulders. With practiced nonchalance, he raises his chin, pointing to my companion. I don’t want to be rude, so I plaster a convincing smile on my face, one that always worked on Nikolaj, and return to scanning hundreds of guests in search of the Holy Grail.