opposite of everything I’d known, everything I was.
That should have made us completely incompatible...so
why was I so drawn to him?
I caught my breath as I remembered the looks he’d
given me, like he’d been ready to throw his coat down
on the frozen path, tear off my clothes and take me
right there on the ground….
I realized I’d spent longer soaping my inner thighs than
I really needed to, the edge of my hand rubbing, my
hips grinding in slow circles. I forced myself to stop,
rinsed off and grabbed a towel. But however hard I
tried, my thoughts kept going back to Angelo and, every
time they did, I felt myself flush from the inside out,
just the memory of him lighting me up.
Then I turned off the water and the sudden chill brought
me back to reality. Idiot. My future was out there,
lounging on the couch.
I hurried into my room and pulled on the pants and polo
shirt I wore for the store. Then I opened the door so
that I could call down to Vasiliy and Mikhail. “I have to
run to work,” I told them as I sat down at my dressing
table to do my make-up. “I’m sorry—you should have
called.”
Vasiliy’s heavy footsteps came up the stairs. In the
mirror, I saw him lean against the door frame. “Why do
you insist on working?” he asked.
“You know why.”
Another sigh. He thought I was stubborn, refusing to
take an allowance or gifts. But I didn’t want his blood
money. I was determined to support myself, even
though it meant working two jobs.
“You are as stubborn as your mother was,” Vasiliy
grunted. He moved a few steps closer and lowered his
voice. “You should get to know Mikhail. He could look
after you.”
“I can look after myself,” I said tersely, combing my
hair.
“If you don’t like Mikhail then come back to Moscow:
there are more men there.”
I met his eyes in the mirror. “I have a life here!”
He walked over and looked down at me sadly.
“Irina...what do you think you’ll do when you graduate?
Become a dancer? Marry some American and get a little
dog and a house with a white picket fence?”
I said nothing, just stared resolutely at his reflection.
He squatted down behind me until his face was next to
mine. “You are a Malakov,” he said, squeezing my
shoulders. “This is your life.”
“I don’t want it.”
“It’s not something you choose, Irina! The family needs
you. Even if we didn’t, you can’t have this...civilian life
you dream of. Even if you turn away from us, other
people will never forget who you are. My enemies are
your enemies. You need a man like Mikhail to protect
you.” He glanced over his shoulder towards the living
room, then lowered his voice. “Marry him and you could
stay here in New York.”
I stared helplessly up at him. What could I say? That
the thought of sharing my life, my bed with Mikhail
made me want to throw up? That I just didn’t see
anything approaching warmth or love when I looked
into his eyes, only ugly lust and a hunger for power?
That whenever Vasiliy’s back was turned, Mikhail tried to
grope me?
There are some things you can’t say to your uncle. I
settled for: “I don’t love him.”
Vasiliy just looked at me sadly, as if I was a child who
didn’t understand how the world worked. The worst part
was, he hadn’t used to be like this. Back in Moscow,
he’d been tough but fair...he’d used to smile and joke.
Then I announced I was moving to the US and he
became...cold. Something had changed and I couldn’t
figure out what.
The frustration rose inside me, hot and jagged: it wasn’t
fair. I crossed my arms and glared at myself in the
mirror. If I kept looking at Vasiliy, I was going to start
crying and a Malakov never shows weakness.
Vasiliy’s hands relaxed on my shoulders and he let out a
long sigh, then leaned sideways until his head rested
against mine. “Chyort,” he cursed. “I wish your mother
was here to talk to you.”
I closed my eyes and felt my anger slowly slip away. He
was the closest thing to a father I had and he thought
he was doing the right thing. “I really do need to get to
work,” I told him, my eyes still closed.
I felt his kiss on the top of my head and then he was
moving away. I heard frustrated muttering from Mikhail
in the living room as Vasiliy collected him: he wouldn’t
get to “accidentally” brush my breast or fondle my ass
tonight.
When I heard the front door close behind them, I finally
opened my eyes and stared at myself, and that made it
real. This is my life. Go back to Moscow? That wasn’t an
option. I came to America to make a life here, so that
one day my kid sister, Lizaveta, could join me. If I went
back to Moscow, we’d both be trapped there forever
and, when she finished boarding school and was old
enough, she’d be expected to marry a gangster, too.
Which left Mikhail. A life with a man I hated.
I felt the heat begin to build behind my eyes. No. I
clamped down hard on it before the tears could start.
Angelo? A real life, a happy life with someone I liked?
That was a fantasy, a fairy tale. Grow up!
This is your life.
I quickly stood, grabbed my purse and ran out before I
could think anymore. And for the next four hours I
smiled sweetly and explained ultra-high-def TVs and
asked people if they wanted extended repair plans and I
crushed all thoughts of freedom down into the depths.
The busy store, glowing screens and noise made for a
different kind of numbness. Cut off from emotion, the
coldly logical part of me started to think, maybe Mikhail
won’t be so bad. Maybe I can grow to love him….
By the time I’d finished my shift and taken the subway
home, I’d almost convinced myself. You can convince
yourself of anything, if you try hard enough.
And then, as I reached my house, I saw the icicles. I’d
been in too much of a hurry when I left to notice, but
now I stopped and stared. Every single one of the long,
gleaming spikes was now lying in the yard, shattered
into a million glittering pieces. Someone had snapped
them off at the root and hurled them down on the
frozen ground.
I closed my eyes. I could see it unfolding in my mind:
Mikhail following Vasiliy out of my house. He’d been
bitter and resentful because he wouldn’t get to slide a
hand up my skirt that night. And so the first beautiful
thing he’d seen, he’d destroyed.
This is your life.
I stared and stared at the glittering fragments of ice.
And something cracked, deep in my soul. A tiny drop of
everything I’d been trying to contain seeped out and,
when it hit the surface, it ignited like gasoline.
I ran into the house and grabbed a dress. Angelo had
said he’d be there at eight. If I ran, I could just make it
in time.
5
Angelo
I nursed a Scotch and waited. Mario, the bar’s aging
owner, had said the Russians would be in any time now.
Normally, the frustration would have gotten to me. I’m
not good at waiting: life’s too short.
But tonight, I didn’t mind so much. It meant I had time
to think about her.
My overcoat had been around her shoulders for only a
few seconds, but I could still smell her scent on the
collar and it filled my mind with the cornflower blue of
her eyes and the silken sheen of that platinum-blonde