to fuck in comfort, but I had something else in mind. I
had a vision of Irina bent over the hood of the car, her
cheek pressed against the warm metal, while I raised
her skirt and drove into her from behind. I knew, from
when I’d pushed her up against the tree outside
Fenbrook, that public sex turned her on as much as it
did me. This time, we could go all the way and it would
be fucking mind-blowing.
I glanced down at her legs. Damn, but she had perfect
legs. She was wearing stockings or nylons—I’d find out
which soon enough—and heels. Knee boots. It just
popped into my head. She’d look fucking amazing in
knee boots. Maybe I’d buy her a pair.
“You seem different,” she said, breaking my train of
thought. “Happy.”
I grinned. “Because I’m with you,” I said truthfully.
She flushed again. “Not just that, though,” she said.
“Something else.”
I blinked. I’d never had anyone before who could read
me that easily. Other than Rico, no one ever got to
know me well enough to sense my moods. It was
unsettling...and nice. Is this what a relationship’s like?
I shrugged, but couldn’t stop myself smirking. “We
pulled off a big score tonight.”
Her voice was carefully neutral. “Oh?”
I ran it back through my mind: how shocked the
Russians had been, how royally pissed they were when
they realized we were taking the container. “Yeah. Big
haul.”
She crossed her arms. That should have been a
warning, but I was too dumb, too proud.
“It’s Mikhail,” I blurted. “He’s been bringing all this
counterfeit shi—stuff into the city and selling it. So
tonight, we stole a whole container load of it.” I grinned
and then glanced at her to see her reaction.
She was sitting there open-mouthed. “You kozyol!” she
said at last.
I took my eyes off the road for a second to gape at her.
I didn’t know what that meant, but it didn’t sound good.
“I thought you hated Mikhail.”
“I do!”
“So what do you care if I steal from him?”
“Because that’s Mikhail’s pet project! He’s always talking
about it. Have you any idea how pissed he’ll be?”
I shrugged, maybe a little defensively. “He and Vasiliy
started this when they moved into my territory.”
She groaned, closing her eyes and slumping back in her
seat. “They started it?! Have you listened to yourself?
You sound like a child!”
Now I started to get angry, casting quick little glances at
her as I drove. “Irina, you don’t understand how this
game is played.”
Her eyes opened and she glared at me. “It’s not a
game!” she snapped. “That’s what you don’t get.”
“It is a game. It’s been played in this city for a hundred
years. They push; I push back. It’s the same with the
Irish and the street gangs—”
“But not with us Russians! You don’t understand what
Mikhail and Vasiliy are like! This isn’t going to just go
back and forth, it’s going to escalate! It’s already
escalating: a container full of handbags and shoes—
what’s that worth, a million dollars? They’ll hit back,
hard, and then you’ll hit back and….”
I had to concentrate on the road, but I kept looking
across at her. I was halfway between worried and
angry, now: she was really getting worked up.
“It’ll be a war,” she told me. “A full-on, bloody war.
People will die.”
I shrugged. “I don’t want that,” I said. “No one wants
that. But what choice do I have?”
“Back down! Give some ground!”
I was so shocked I had to pull over so that I could look
at her properly. “What? No! Fuck that!” I forgot to
watch my language in front of her. “Vasiliy can fucking
back down!”
“He won’t! He’s just like you!”
I shook my head. “I’m nothing like Vasiliy!”
She shook her head in dismay. “Why can’t you just give
a little? Sit down and talk peace?”
I thought of my mom and dad. Shards of glass, swirling
in red water….
“No,” I said, and I could hear the bitterness in my voice.
She must have heard it too, because her face softened
for a second. She leaned a little closer, her eyes begging
me to tell her why, but I shook my head. Not that. I
didn’t share that with anyone, not even her.
She shook her head softly, that silken hair tossing
across her shoulders. “This is what I ran away from,”
she told me slowly. “This is what I can’t stand.”
I missed the warning signs. My brain was still trying to
catch up. Just a few minutes ago, we’d been about to
fuck. “I’m not giving up my territory,” I snapped.
Too late, I saw the tears in her eyes. “Then you can
give up me.” And suddenly she was opening her door
and climbing out.
“Irina!” She didn’t stop. “Irina—shit!” I was just about to
climb out after her when something slapped against my
chest and slid down to land in my lap. The necklace. I
sat there staring at it like an idiot for a few seconds.
When I came to my senses and jumped out of the car,
she was already across the street and getting into a cab.
“Irina!” I ran over to the cab, dodging traffic, and got
there just in time to watch it pull away, Irina’s tearful
face looking back at me through the rear window.
17
Irina
I made the right decision.
I kept repeating it. I went over and over it in my head
and I knew that, logically, I’d done the only thing I
could. Since the party, I’d glossed over what Angelo
was: a gangster. In the car with him, I’d been forced to
confront it head on. Of course I couldn’t be with him. He
was everything I’d run away from and he was my
family’s mortal enemy.
So why did breaking up with him feel so wrong? Why
did I suddenly feel so cold: not cold and numb, but
painfully cold. Maybe being alone had always hurt.
Maybe I only noticed it now because I’d escaped it for a
while.
I wanted to just lie in bed, huddled under the comforter.
But it was Saturday and Saturday was the day Vasiliy
always dropped round for breakfast. He’d stop off at a
Russian bakery and bring a box of vatrushka—soft,
glossy brown buns filled with cottage cheese and raisins
—and brew tea the Russian way, with tea leaves and
strawberry jam. We’d play chess, the way we’d used to
back in Moscow. It was the one time I saw him without
Mikhail and the one time we managed to connect like
we used to, a reminder that he was the closest thing I
had to a father.
But this morning, it was different. He was pissed and I
knew why: Angelo. He tried not to let it show, but his
whole body was rigid when he hugged me.
And I had to act like I had no idea what the problem
was. I talked brightly about Fenbrook and helped him
brew the tea and it was only when we sat down at the
chess board that he suddenly thumped the table with
his fist, sending the pieces jumping across the board.
I let my eyes go big and asked what the matter was. He
told me about the docks and how that bastard Angelo
had stolen their merchandise. “Mikhail should have had
more security,” Vasiliy grumbled. “This was his project.
He’s getting sloppy.”
I started to put the chess pieces back into their proper
positions. “What will you do now?” I asked, careful to
keep my voice neutral.
“I’ll kill the bastard,” Vasiliy said viciously. “No one does