Once Dominic gave me the green light for anything as long as I had bodyguards at my side, I searched through different universities here to find something suitable for me. They had one of the best medical schools, but unfortunately, only Russian speakers could attend. While I shared my frustration with Dominic, he spoke with the Dean. I had no clue what he promised him, or what he did for that matter, but they enrolled me in their medical program with the condition that I’d intensively study the language. Meanwhile, Columbia University allowed me to take courses like philosophy, psychology—the ones that didn’t require hands-on experience—online, and they would count as credits here. During my rare classes here, Vlad would go inside and translate everything rapidly for me.
When Konstanciya asked me if all the headaches were worth the whole surgical degree and why couldn't I just be happy as Dom’s woman with all the riches at my feet, I fired back with a question about just focusing on the shelter and abandoning her sniper career. She flipped me off, and that was the end of conversation. I chuckled. We sure formed a weird kind of friendship, being the only females in headquarters; we had to get along, and thankfully we did. She took me to the shelter, helped me study, explored the city with me when Dom couldn't, and we had firing matches every other weekend. The only thing we never discussed was Kostya and their banter, or how her face would shut down every time he disappeared behind closed doors with one of the whores. To each their own, I guessed.
Moscow actually reminded me a lot of New York, same kind of energy where people always rushed to do something, not taking breaks, and youngsters coming from all over the country, hoping to achieve their big dreams.
Overall, life here wasn't bad. I adjusted to it rather quickly, maybe because I never had the chance to put down roots in New York with my dad constantly building protective circles around me.
My heart panged painfully at the thought of my father all alone in New York dealing with the fallout of the bombing. He flat out refused to talk with Dom, but picked up my calls. However, those conversations were strained as he insisted on bringing me back to New York when I told him not to. We both knew he couldn't come here and snatch me back. The country’s laws would be on Dom’s side. He slowly got better while Lorenzo still stayed in the hospital, and the last I heard, his girlfriend left him, because she wasn’t able to stand his disfigured face.
What a bitch.
I’d never met the stupid woman, but my hand fisted, wanting to punch her right in the face. My phone chose that moment to ring, and a smile spread asFrankieflashed on the display. “Hi, babe!” I shouted, while she chuckled.
“Glad to know you’re happy I called.”
“The high and mighty Frankie found time for me,” I joked. For the last month, she was busy with the collaboration project and practically lived at her warehouse.
“Ha, ha. Trust me, babe, I haven't had a good night’s sleep in forever.” She sipped her drink rather loudly in my ear. “How is the sexy Russian?” Jealousy jolted through my insides.
“My sexy Russian is fine.” She laughed, then choked, probably spilling whatever she was drinking all over the place. God knows, she did it a lot while we had our coffees or beers together.
“Hey, just stating a fact, babe.”
A pause, and then she asked, “So this Lorenzo guy… does he have any food preferences?”
Her question came so offhandedly, as if no biggie, and I repeated to make sure I wasn't hearing things. “Lorenzo, as in my father’s mafia man, Lorenzo?”
She cleared her throat. “Yeah, him.”
“Why do you ask?”
“I want to visit him at the hospital. Is that a problem?” Her voice turned sharp as a knife.
“No, just surprising. I had no clue you were friends.”
She grew silent to the point I thought we got disconnected, when she finally said, “We kissed once.” I sat straight up, blinking in surprise. “Say something,” she said worriedly.
“Well, I don’t know what to say. When did it happen? How? And he had a girlfriend!” She sucked in a breath, and I immediately wanted to slap myself for spilling this information. Shit, he was stringing along two women at once?
“Yeah, I know,” she murmured quietly.
“And you still kissed him?”
She sighed in frustration. “This is so not a phone call conversation.”
“You are the one who started it!”
“Fine.” I could imagine her glare at me. “He hooked up with her after we had our kiss.” Something wasn't adding up in this story.
“So it wasn’t anything serious?”
“He insisted on an exclusive relationship. I refused. So he moved on. No biggie.” Rubbing my throbbing forehead from all this information, I wondered what I could say to this. Before I could answer, someone called her name, and she apologized, “Sorry babe, have to go. Talk to you later.” By how relieved her voice sounded, I seriously doubt the later would be soon.
I typed “chocolate donuts” and sent her the message, hoping my best friend wouldn’t get her heart broken again.
Dominic
The Bratva men all stood in a circle in a warehouse near the headquarters. The place was gray inside with an iron floor and walls, and only one table occupied the compartment filled with various guns, chains, knives, and hammers.
