She let out a deep sigh, then pulled an envelope from her pocket.
“What’s this?” I asked, taking it as she passed it over.
“Petrov asked me to give you that.”
I grimaced. “Why? He should’ve given it to me last night before he left.”
Opening the envelope, and reading the paper, it hit me why before she said, “Petrov Senior, not Junior.”
Looking over the paper signed by Pops, I’d know that penmanship anywhere, my brows drew together. “He promised a union? A marriage? To one of his kids? Why?”
Ma was tight-lipped until the smell of burnt bacon sent off the fire alarm. “Fuck!” she shouted as she moved the skillet off the burner and grabbed a hand towel to fan the smoke detector.
The letter was dated after Pops became president. “This was right around when I patched in. Did you know about this?” I asked, waving the document in the air as irritation flashed through me. It didn’t make any sense.
“Son, I don’t know. You know there were things I wasn’t told and–”
Sweeping my hand over the counter, I sent a pile of ceramic plates flying to the tiled floor, the clatter ear-piercing. “Don’t fucking lie to me, Ma!”
She jumped from the noise, but a scowl was plastered on her face and she stopped fanning the towel. Her icy blue eyes narrowed. “You may be thebig bad president,” she gritted through clenched teeth, “but you’re still my fuckingsonand you won’t raise your goddamn voice to me and expect a reaction, much less an answer.”
She dropped the tongs and the towel on the counter and hurried out the back door. The alarm finally stopped as the smoke was sucked from the kitchen after her.
Looking down at the mess, I yelled, “Fuck!”
The door flew open and Eagle poked his head in. “What the fuck is going on in here?” He looked down. “Shit, we heard the fire alarm and glass. Let me get some bunnies in here.”
Stepping through the shards of plates, I headed out the back door and pulled out a smoke. Ma must have high-tailed it because she wasn’t in sight. Holding up the handwritten contract again, I rubbed my head as I blew a huge cloud of smoke out.
“Prez,” Eagle said as he opened the back door. “What’s going on?”
Taking one last long drag off the cigarette, I flicked it away and blew the smoke from my nose as I locked my jaw. “Looks like I’m getting hitched.”
Chapter 5
Katarina
Carrying a tray of baklava to the front display before the dinner rush, I smiled at the regulars.
“Katya, you make sure they save me some for after dinner,” Mr. Antonov said as his wife batted his arm.
“The doctor said no more sweets,” she scolded before she tossed a smile my way.
“I’m seventy-five, woman. If I want sweets, I’m having sweets.”
Anya, our hostess, gave a playful eyeroll as she grabbed menus. “C’mon, you two. Let’s get you seated before it gets toobusy.” Her short brown bob swayed as she escorted the elderly couple to their favorite table in the back.
After I replaced the tray, I carried the empty one to the kitchen and put it in the rack of the huge industrial dishwasher. There was a little more space so I grabbed a tub to go bus some tables.
As I rounded the corner to the dining room, Robbie whistled at me. “I got that. What are you doing?” He was a few years younger, working here after his classes at the community college nearby. He kept his dark brown hair short and wore the assigned black pants and white button down.
“Just helping. We need to get the washer running so I was looking for a few plates. The rush is coming soon.”
Robbie took the tub from me with an eye roll so I followed behind him, grabbing a rag and cleaner from the order kiosk on my way past.
It took a lot of begging, or nagging, but I finally got Papa to agree to a few upgrades in the restaurant a couple years back. We were small and family-owned but were also busy. Sure, a lot of his associates and friends paid with cash, but the average person coming for a meal, even if they knew what the restaurant really was, often used cards. Even the Antonov’s used a card to pay.
The servers were ecstatic with the upgrade. It streamlined ordering, was much faster for them, and helped with tabs. Plus, no accidents if the chef couldn’t read their shorthand and no tickets getting lost, missed, or prepped out of order.
