Keep: The Wedding: Romanian Mob Chronicles (2 page)

F
awn

“
V
asile and Sorin are gone
?” Esther asked.

She came into the family room holding a sleeping Baby Sorin in her arms.

“Yeah,” I replied. “He didn’t say good-bye?” I asked, watching as she laid him on the play mat where he spent most of his days. She gave her son a quick peck on his head and then moved to sit across from me.

I smiled at my best, and really my only, friend. So many years we’d done just this, sit, chat, share our lives. I knew for a fact neither of us had ever intended them to be quite like they were, but we were still together, family in all the ways that mattered.

She shook her head. “No. I told him he can never say good-bye, and so far he’s sticking to it. He’ll usually just kiss me, but that doesn’t necessarily mean he’s gone,” she said.

When Sorin and Esther weren’t bickering, they couldn’t keep their hands—or lips—off each other. It would have been easy to think their bickering was contentious, but it was simply the way they interacted with each other, the way they showed their love. And it was perfect. Neither would give an inch, but that tension propelled them and their rough edges were a perfect fit for each other’s.

“So have you told Sorin about your venture?” I asked, bringing up what I knew would be the latest sore point between them should she decide to go through with it.

Esther smiled mischievously. “Nope. I figured I’d surprise him,” she said.

“He doesn’t strike me as the type who likes surprises,” I replied.

“Guess not, but I need to do something. I’m going to go insane if I just sit around all day.”

“Sorin would say you should give him another baby,” I said.

She snorted. “Sorin should have his baby himself,” she replied caustically, though I knew it was a front. Both of them had cried tears of joy at their son’s birth, and while Esther wouldn’t admit it to Sorin or even me yet, I knew she was looking forward to expanding their family.

“I’ll tell him you think so,” I said.

“Oh, you’d snitch on me, huh?” she said, laughing.

“Obviously not, since I haven’t told him about this latest scheme. Esther, you know he’s going to flip,” I said.

“He always flips, but I have to do something,” she said.

“For a person who prided herself on her long and varied work history, and who, if I remember correctly, quit at least three jobs before she actually started them, I’m curious as to this sudden desire for work. Care to explain?” I asked.

She shrugged. “No. So you’re good?” She peered at me through hooded eyes, and I could see she desperately wanted to change the subject. She’d come around, though, so I gave her a temporary reprieve.

“Better than,” I replied finally, narrowing my eyes at her. Then I glanced around. “You know,” I started and then trailed off.

“What?” she said, looking quite relieved.

“I never thought I’d like this,” I replied.

“Like what?”

“This. Having a family like this.”

She snorted again. “You were meant for a family like this, Fawn. You love taking care of them, and you’re so good at it,” she said.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Your home is lovely, you don’t ever seem stressed out from taking care of your baby, and you probably even cook,” she said, sounding miserable.

“Trust me, I just may make it look easy. You know Maria is a handful, and some days we eat pizza,” I replied. “So what are you getting at, Esther?”

She frowned. “My point exactly. We have pizza at your house. I can’t even manage to order pizza. I suck at all of it.” She blinked, her eyes darkening and the heavy furrow between her brows deepening. “Can I tell you the truth?” she asked.

“Of course,” I said, reaching for her hand.

“I…” she started and then trailed off before she began again. “That’s why I want to get a job. The money I might earn means nothing to him, but it’s something to me. I mean, it won’t help, but maybe it’ll show I’m more than a drain,” she said on a sad sigh.

“Tell me what you’re talking about, Esther. I don’t understand,” I said.

She met my eyes, the expression in hers one of miserable resignation. “I…I’m not what he needs,” she finally said.

“What? Come on, Esther. You don’t believe that,” I said.

“I do. Because it’s true. I’m a terrible housewife, Fawn,” she said.

She stood and began pacing, her long-legged stride moving her from one edge of the sofa to the other in three steps where it would have taken me six. “On a good day, I can get the baby dressed, and
maybe
his socks will match, and do some shit around the house. Most days don’t get that far, though,” she said.

“You think Sorin needs a housewife?” I asked, frowning as she had only moments ago.

“No. Sorin needs a housewife who’s also gorgeous, patient, and can stop herself from getting under his skin,” she said.

“Are we talking about Sorin, your husband and my daughter’s uncle? Or is this some other Sorin I’ve never met?”

“Ha-ha. You know exactly who I’m talking about,” Esther said.

“I have to double-check because the Sorin I know would be dreadfully bored by the woman you just described. This woman also bears no resemblance to my best friend Esther, the one who wouldn’t even entertain such a foolish thought. The one who said, and I quote, ‘He’s lucky to have me and smart enough to know he could never do better,’” I said, parroting words she’d uttered more than once back at her.

She shrugged. “Well, yeah, I mean, that’s true, but…”

“But what?” I interjected.

“‘But what’ is I started thinking about it last week, and it occurred to me that I’m bringing nothing to the table. I’m not a good wife. I’m not nearly as hot as the chicks who I’m sure still throw themselves at him. I sure as shit ain’t nice and meek. So what do I have to offer? What am I bringing?”

I answered without even having to think about it. “Yourself. And yourself is awesome,” I said.

“Obviously,” she replied, but the words didn’t have the usual conviction that made her words more than bluster.

In fact, Esther looked downright miserable, and it hurt me to see her that way. She always gave off an air of confidence, and it was sometimes easy to stop there and not look beyond her outer shell, but when she was feeling vulnerable, I wanted to be there for her as she had always been for me.

“I hear you saying ‘obviously,’ but for some reason I don’t believe it,” I said.

Esther stopped pacing and then glanced at me. The smile that ghosted across her face was so quintessentially Esther, cocky but genuine. “Yeah. I am pretty amazing,” she said, letting the smile brighten her face even more before it dimmed. She met my eyes again. “But is that enough?”

She said the last on a faint whisper, one that was almost heartbreaking because it shouldn’t have come from her, not my brash, bold Esther.

I stood and walked to her, looking up at her like always. “Sorin loves you.”

She waved impatiently. “Yeah, of course he does.”

I snorted out a laugh at the expression on her face.

“I’m getting whiplash here, Esther. You know how Sorin feels, so what’s the problem?”

“Correction. I know how he feels now, but this”—she gestured toward herself and then toward her sleeping son—“this has to be as bonkers to him as it seems to me. It’s all well and good now, but what if…what if it’s not enough?” she said.

“It is,” I said, voice solid with my certainty. Esther couldn’t see the way Sorin looked at her and probably couldn’t see the way he’d changed. I’d barely known him before the two of them had met, but Sorin was a different man now than he had been then, one who was completely in love with her, treasured her, and would never leave her. I was as confident in that as I was in Vasile’s love for me.

“You sound pretty confident, Fawn,” she said, her skepticism clear in her voice.

“I am,” I said.

“But how can you be? Sorin’s not like Vasile,” she said.

“How so?” I asked.

“Vasile’s steady, reliable. Sorin is…Sorin,” she finally said.

“You don’t trust him?” I asked, surprised.

“More than anyone. I just…I don’t know. It seems unbelievable,” she said.

I nodded. “Yeah, it does, but you know how he makes you feel, and I know he goes out of his way to show you how he feels. He married you. He comes home to you every night. There’s enough to worry about without letting that doubt in. So ignore it, focus on what Sorin does and says every day,” I said.

I didn’t specify what the other things we had to worry about were, but Esther knew.

Those other things were why we both traveled with at least one armed guard at all times, why, even now, on a seemingly quiet evening, I could look out my front window and see several more, waiting and watching. All of us, especially Esther and I, tried to pretend they weren’t there, tried to keep things normal, but the truth was present and undeniable. And grappling with the reality of being with men like Vasile and Sorin was hard enough without letting something as silly as weightless and mindless worry into the picture.

It was good, solid advice I’d given her. Maybe one day I’d be able to take it myself.

“So?” I asked.

Esther, who’d looked away, focused on me again. “So what?”

“So now’s the part where you tell me how smart I am,” I said, smiling at her.

She rolled her eyes and released a long-suffering sigh. “Yeah, yeah. You’re smart. And also right.”

I nodded. “I know.”

“Don’t gloat, Fawn. That’s my job,” she said, her ever-present smile slipping back into place.

“Then don’t give me a reason to,” I replied on a laugh.

She glared, but there was no force behind it. She brightened. “I’m still gonna threaten to get a job, though,” she said.

“Why?” I asked.

“Because even mentioning it is going to drive him nuts,” she said.

“This is a good thing?” I lifted a brow in question.

She smiled and then nodded emphatically. “Yep.”

I laughed and then shook my head. “Don’t ever change, Esther,” I said.

V
asile

“
I
s
this how you run your operation, Markov?” Anton asked.

There was no hint of any emotion at all in his voice, but his impatience was still clear nonetheless.

“What’s a few minutes between friends?” Markov replied as he settled at the table across from Anton.

The sound of laughter and voices was muffled here in this back room, but I still heard it and the low, persistent throb of music. It sounded like a party, and it had looked like one as well. Markov had converted the basement and top three floors of an abandoned office building into his own fantasyland. A nightclub, fighting arena, drug den, and whorehouse all rolled into one. I had no doubt that it was profitable, but I also knew Markov was one of its best customers.

Perhaps the enjoyment of his own entertainment was why he was late.

It had been thirty minutes, each of which I had counted. Being late was a sign of disrespect and not the way to begin a new partnership, though Markov didn’t seem too bothered by that fact. Ordinarily, I would have made sure he understood, but doing so would have taken time I had no interest in investing. I was anxious to get back to my home. One look at Sorin told me he agreed, and I’d bet good money Anton felt the same.

Still, professional that he was, Anton ignored the cropping undercurrent of tension and swiftly moved us to the topic at hand.

“You’re stepping in for the Peruvians?” Anton asked.

Markov nodded. “My men will handle the entirety of the operation,” he said.

“Cleanly, discreetly,” I said.

I had my doubts. So far, his entire operation was loose, sloppy, a sure sign of how he ran things, and I had no reason to think the other aspects of his business would be different.

Markov paused, his expression going tense at my insult. I didn’t give a fuck, though, and sat, waiting to see how Markov would respond, my eyes locked on his. A part of me hoped Markov would step out of line. After being made to wait, I was in the mood to remind him that disrespect wouldn’t be tolerated.

Markov, to my disappointment, held his tongue, but one of his men had no such qualms.

“Why? Are you afraid?” one of his lackeys said.

Sorin tensed, but I did nothing and instead kept my gaze on Markov. This would be another test.

“Shut up!” Markov barked.

A more hands-off approach than I would have taken, but Markov’s men were his to handle as he saw fit. I hoped the other man would keep his mouth shut, though. If he opened it again, I’d have to respond, and I had no desire to delay my return home. A response of some kind was necessary, though.

“Do you think I’m afraid, Markov?” I said. His lapdog didn’t deserve my words or attention.

“Of course not. No insult intended,” he said, nearly tripping over his words with the speed of his speech.

He went quiet, and soon the room descended into silence, the bass of the music and the boisterous laughter so different than the grim, electric silence of this room.