He greeted me formally, “???????????,??????? ????????????.”(Zdrastvuite, Dominic Konstantinov.)Without waiting, I laced my fingers with Rosa’s, walking to my usual table on the summer veranda, which opened onto Red Square. People had to reserve the veranda hours or days before, and only the pakhan had a permanent table. I helped Rosa get seated, then occupied the chair next to her, and Grisha, the waiter, placed a menu in front of us. “I’ll come in a few minutes to take the order.”
Rosa gazed to the side with a wistful expression while the Kremlin reflected in her eyes. “Were those wives really unhappy?” she asked out of the blue.
“Which ones?”
“The ones who lived in the Kremlin. That’s where all the presidents and leaders of Communism lived, right?” Fuck, she wanted to go into history with me? Not the topic I had in mind for this place.
“I think it depends what one considers happiness.” Pausing, I thought about it. “They were just prisoners of the rules. Aren't we all though?”
“I guess.” She shifted her attention back to me. “Same with mob women, huh?” The joke fell flat as she grimaced.
“We respect our wives and daughters, if that’s the question that bothers you.”
“Those leaders probably did too.”
Leaning back on the chair, my hands gripped the corners of the table. “We haven't lived back then, so we cannot judge them. Where is this coming from,krasavica?”
“I don’t have much to do, Dominic. I’m not sure sitting at the headquarters waiting for you to have time for me is good enough for me.” Before she could add anything else, the waiter interrupted us while holding a white pad and blue pen in his fingers.
“We didn't have time to consider our order,” I barked.
The man paled and was about retreat, when Rosa’s gentle voice stopped him. “Actually, I’m fine. Do you have chicken risotto?” He nodded. “Then that and white wine, please.” He wrote it down.
“The usual steak for me.” Promising to be as quick as possible, he disappeared between the tables like lightning.
Guess my love for steaks came from my Texan blood.
“Rosa, you can explore life to the fullest here,” I jumped to reassure her, and she looked at me skeptically, biting her cheek from the inside. “Tons of good universities here. Classes. As long as you understand you are mine and no one else’s, and the bodyguards have to be with you 24/7, we are good.” Hope flared in her beautiful eyes.
“Are you serious?”
“What did you think? I didn't bring you here to put you back in the protective cocoon Damian and Don had you in. As much as I’m grateful for that, trust me, you don’t have to be afraid of it with me.” She rose from her seat swiftly and sat on my lap while squeezing the life out of me.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” Patting her back, I didn't give a fuck if anyone watched. Plus, most of the people knew me by name.
And none of them wanted to deal with my wrath.
“Krasavica, I have a feeling you’ll like Russia,” I whispered into her ear, hoping with all my beat-up heart it would be the truth.
Holding her here against her will didn't appeal to me, but life without her was impossible.
Man with the dragon tattoo
Don finally woke up, and with the special papers the Mob had in those rare cases someone ended up in the hospital, they allowed me inside to check on him. Playing the Good Samaritan grated on my nerves, but what choice did I have?
The machines beeped loudly and steadily, as Don slept restlessly, while the bright sunlight in the room illuminated his face and the burns, which would hurt for years.
Fucking great, at least one good thing came out of it.
My eyes landed on the pillow at his feet, as my hands twitched with the all-consuming desire to grab it, push it on his nose, and press with all my might so he’d suffocate to death, but not before he suffered for few moments. His fitful breaths would have been the best song to my ears. The ward had no cameras and the nurses were missing, to my surprise, so who would really know or stop me once—
“Regazzo, you came,” he said weakly.
Through my gritted teeth, I replied, “Of course.” He coughed several times, and I placed my palm over his bandaged one. “I’m so sorry for this, Don.” My voice actually held concern. God, I should have had an acting career on the side. Would have made millions, since everyone believed the bullshit spilling from my mouth.
“Where is your father?” His voice was barely a murmur, as he still required a breathing mask.
“He’s at the warehouse, taking care of business while you can’t.”
