Chapter 2
Alyona
“Does it turn you on?”
Devin’s blunt question makes me groan. She’s standing next to me in the stock room, hand on her popped-out hip and lips cherry red as I grab more simple syrup.
“The old man’s obsession, I mean.”
“Iknowwhat you meant Dev?—”
“Oh, so you’re finally admitting that he’s obsessed with you?” She cuts me off.
“No,” I huff out, juggling the cool bottles against my bare skin. “He’s not obsessed with me. And he’s not even that old, he’s like… in his forties. He’s probably just doing my dad a favor.”
“Mmm. Your dad wants his hot boss staring you down like he wants to fuck you on the bar, right in front of every other dangerous man in Savannah?”
“No!” An image of her suggestion runs through my mind, and makes my face heat. “I mean, you know how my dad feels about me working here. He probably just wants someone to keep an eye on me. He’s always talking about danger being too close to the business.”
I snort; it’s a ridiculous thought. Since the moment I set foot in America, I’ve tried to avoid my father as much as possible.
Devin takes some of the bottles, propping the door open with her hip. We disappear up the spiral staircase that leads to the second floor. More salacious things happen up here, and Jak tends to turn his head and let the girls do what they want. Often offering alternative services that aren’t on the menu. Devin and I head straight to the smaller bar, ignoring everyone. Neither of us are willing to gothatfar, no matter how badly we need the money.
“Okay, but even if you’re right, I doubt the leader of the Bratva himself would take on that job. Surely, he has, like, minions or something? You know, to do his dirty work.”
“Boyeviks,” I correct her automatically, already knowing that Devin is giving me a confused look. “Warriors. They’re led by a captain, kind of.”
When I look up from arranging the cabinet and checking that everything is fully stocked, Devin has thatotherlook on her face. “I always forget you were basically raised by the Bratva.”
“I wasn’t,” I insist, taking a second to lean into a darkened corner of the room and give my heels a rest. They’re already aching, and I’m only halfway through my shift. “My mom raised me, remember? And my grandparents. I’ve only been here for seven years.”
“Still. That’s seven years of getting to know that mob. And seven years of Mr. Baranov watching you, right?”
Her smirk is teasing, and I scoff, but the thought makes my heart thud. That can’t be true, I came here when I was eighteen after Mom died in a car accident.
“He’s only been watching me for the nine months I’ve worked here, Dev.”
“Ohhhhso you’re admitting it now!”
Theclack-clackof heels makes us both roll our eyes, and Devin’s twin sister Cinnamon appears. We often joke that she was a diversity hire for Jak. Slighter than the other bartenders,waitresses, and dancers, Cinn only has one thing in common with the rest of us—C tits or larger.
She’s paler than Devin, more fragile looking, and her nose is always so upturned that I swear she must have neck problems.
“What are you two doing? It’s getting busy downstairs.”
“How would you know?” Devin quips back, barely glancing at her sister. “You spend so much time up here. On your knees.”
Cinn ignores the dig, but I can’t help snorting, noticing that her knees are in fact red. She crosses her arms, pushing her tits up. “Jak might notice and give your Saturday spot away. And Aly…” She sneers, looking me up and down. “Maybe try not to snort. It’s a little toopiggish,don’t you think?”
Devin whirls around, but I push past the two of them, not wanting Cinnamon to see my face and how much her words actually bother me.
“It’s fine, Dev, let’s go,” I call back airily, blinking rapidly to get rid of tears. “Wouldn’t want to catch something up here!”
Devin laughs, hurrying to catch up, but she stays quiet as we make our way back down the staircase. Cinn takes digs at me wherever she can, and I know Devin tries to defend me, but it’s futile at this point. I work here because the money is good; better than anywhere else in Savannah. The more I earn and the faster I earn it, the quicker I can get my aesthetician license and move on.
Then, I’ll never have to look at Cinn again.
At the bottom of the stairs, I glance up reflectively and there he is: Kazimir Baranov, watching me like he reallyisobsessed. My heart twists sourly at the thought. I’m all too aware just why Cinn’s comments hit hard…to some extent, they’re true.
