Authors: Roxie Rivera
Now that Bianca had let him into her life, he was going to fight for the chance to stay in it permanently, to build something new and
clean
with her.
"How did it go last night?"
Nikolai's question surprised Sergei. The man never pried into his private life. "Fine."
The boss didn't miss a beat. "I'll have to tell Vee her ploy worked."
"Not the way she had planned," he replied gruffly.
"Do I even want to know?"
Sergei glanced away and admitted, "I kicked down her door."
The other man's eyes widened fractionally, betraying his shock. "Since you didn't call me to bail you out of jail last night, I assume you had a good reason for it."
"I thought she was being attacked, but she had fallen out of her shower."
"I see."
Sergei shrugged. "It was an interesting night."
Nikolai's mouth twitched with a hint of a smile. "I'm sure it was." He paused. "You like this girl very much." He wasn't asking but Sergei confirmed it with a nod. "That's why I didn't send you today."
Now it was Sergei's turn to frown with confusion. "What does that mean?"
"It means that you're more sensitive to that white supremacist bullshit than the others. I was concerned you might take that more personally and react in ways I couldn't anticipate, especially once you realized the woman they killed last night was black."
Sergei started to protest but clamped his lips together. Nikolai was right, of course.
"But it's more than that, Sergei. We like to pretend that our world is just like the world that Vee and Bianca live in, but it's not. This thing with
nochniye volki
? It's not going to end quickly or peacefully. It's going to be messy. I'm trying to mitigate the collateral damage, but I make no promises." Nikolai's cold stare sent a chill through him. "You understand what I'm trying to tell you?"
"
Da
." Sergei got the message. It was only a matter of time until the skinheads learned that a member of the boss' inner circle was dating a black woman. After that, all bets were off. Bianca would become the perfect target for striking at their family—and it was entirely his fault for pursuing her and putting her in that precarious position.
"When you consider Bianca's history with these assholes—"
Sergei held up his hand. "What history?"
Surprised, Nikolai gestured toward him. "Vee told me that she explained to you about Bianca's brother."
"She said he was killed in a robbery at a convenience store. She said it was a bunch of gang punks."
"Yes—a white supremacist gang. The leader of the Wolves, Darren Blake, is the older brother of the guy who killed Bianca's brother. They were attacking a store owned by some immigrants. Pakistani, I think."
Reeling from that revelation, Sergei began to grasp how incredibly dangerous this situation was. He wiped his hand down his face and exhaled roughly. Seeking advice from a man who had seen and survived it all, he asked, "What do I do?"
Nikolai didn't hesitate. "Walk away from her."
An invisible band constricted his chest. He'd never had a heart attack but the thought of walking away from Bianca made him
hurt
. "I can't."
"I know." The boss sounded sad about that. "I tried with Vee for years but…" His hand brushed chest, right above his heart, and he shook his head. "If you can't leave her alone, you have to keep her close."
"At night, that's not a problem, but during the day, I'm watching Vivian."
"So hire it out," Nikolai suggested.
He thought of the younger guys who were slowly working their way into Nikolai's crew. A handful of them trained at Ivan's warehouse. They were strong, smart and hungry for more opportunities to earn. It was a good compromise, but he would have to be careful. Bianca would hate being guarded so he would have to give clear instructions to stay out of her sight. The last thing he wanted was to upset or terrify her.
Nikolai clapped his shoulder and turned toward the apartment complex. "Go home, Sergei. Enjoy your woman." He glanced back and added, "Vee wanted me to remind you that she's running in the morning. She wants to do the full 10K."
The boss didn't seem happy about that. Last week, Sergei had overheard Vivian arguing with her husband about her morning runs and the charity half marathon she planned to complete in June. He had smartly stayed out of it, but it had left him wondering about the state of things between the couple.
For reasons Sergei couldn't fathom, Nikolai seemed to be tightening his hold on his wife. He was afraid of something happening to her but what? Sergei didn't think it was the skinheads. It seemed somehow more personal, but Sergei wasn't bold enough to ask for details. He trusted that the boss or Vivian would tell him when the time was right. Until then? He was keeping his head down and minding his own business.
Sergei acknowledged the order with a wave of his hand and slipped behind the wheel of his SUV. He'd barely gotten out of the parking lot before his phone started to ring. Vivian had broken him of his bad habit of juggling his cell phone while driving by insisting he learn how to sync his phone with the entertainment system mounted in the dash.
"Hello?"
"Seryozsh?"
Hearing his mother's voice made him smile. He'd forgotten that it was time for her weekly call. "Ma!"
She immediately launched into her usual rundown of the prior week, telling him what his brother had been up to and what was happening around her block of flats. He listened intently as she told him stories of people he hadn't seen in years or in some cases ever even met. Some of the snippets of gossip she shared made him chuckle.
"But, Sergei, you're so quiet today," she commented knowingly. "What's wrong?"
The strongest sensation of relief spread through him. If anyone could be trusted with the problems burdening him, it was his mother. She would give him the advice he needed, not the advice he wanted.
Certain she would want the whole story, he sighed and started at the very beginning. "I met this girl…"
"What do you think of this one, Mama?" I handed her a sketch from my pile of new designs. It was a strapless A-line gown with an asymmetrical waist and ruching. "I designed it with a plus-sized bride in mind, but I think it would look great on a smaller woman too."
While I had been forced to set aside my dream of having my very own bridal design label to take over the family business, I hadn't stopped sketching. I had managed to design and produce a handful of gowns that had been incredibly well-received in the local press and even a few of the nationally circulated bridal magazines. I figured my goal of a bridal design empire might take a few more years to attain now that I was running Bradshaw's, but I wasn't giving up on it.
She grasped the paper in her right hand, the one with the failing grip, but didn't drop it. Every day, she pushed herself harder and harder in hopes of regaining as much of her physical abilities as possible. Her fight toward recovery never ceased to amaze me. Yet again, she'd shown me just how deep that well of inner strength was and made me so incredibly proud of having her as my mother.
After a minute of deliberate study, she finally gave her opinion. I had gotten so used to her slow, drawn out way of pronunciation that I hardly even noticed it these days. "You'll be using silk?"
"Yes."
"And the train?"
"I was thinking chapel."
"It's a nice balance," she agreed. Brushing her fingers over the design, she remarked, "It's very beautiful."
"But?"
She hesitated. Whether it was her speech delay from the stroke or a mother trying to carefully choose her constructive criticism, I couldn't tell. "This is a dress for a girl with curves. Do you think she needs to show off all this?" Her shaky hand gestured to her bosom. "This neckline? Too much of a plunge for a church!"
I fought the urge to roll my eyes at her old-fashioned ideas. "Mama, not all brides get married in a church. Some of them are proud of all this." I motioned toward my own generous bust. "What's wrong with putting the girls up on display?"
She clicked her teeth. "Really, Bianca!"
I laughed. "Come on, Mama. Not every bride wants lace from neck to toes."
"I'm just saying that
some
girls might like to keep a little mystery. Show a little modesty," she added. "Draw a second bust option. Something with the same clean lines but higher. Give the brides a choice."
Trusting her instinct, I took the sketch back and placed it in a different pile on my desk. "Yes, ma'am."
She pointed to the magazines stacked on the corner. "Bridesmaids catalogues?"
I shook my head. "No, they're actually quinceañera gowns."
My mother's eyebrows arched toward her hairline. "I see."
"Mama," I said carefully. "I don't know if you've noticed, but the neighborhood around here is changing. The Latino population is booming, and their fifteenth birthday celebrations are a big deal. We already carry four racks of Sweet Sixteen and prom dresses. Why not add a rack or two of gowns that would work for a quinceañera?"
Always a businesswoman, she asked, "Have you run the numbers?"
"Most of our vendors already have lines specifically for this so we're guaranteed some fantastic discounts and wholesale prices. If the sales volume is high enough, I might seek out some different designers to offer a wider selection."
"What about marketing? Promotions?"
"You know my friend Benny? The one who runs that Mexican bakery a few blocks over?"
"Yes."
"She's offered to let me put promo materials in her shop and the consultation room there. She's already put me in touch with some event planners who do lots of these parties."
"And the advertising?"
"I'm thinking girls in Cinderella dresses with big poufy skirts and gorgeous tiaras. I've already chatted with the photographer we used for the last promo shoot about putting together a print package and a commercial for the local networks. She's done plenty of quinceañeras so she knows the market well and has a huge list of contacts for me to use." I squeezed Mama's hand. "This will be great for the business."
She smiled at me and gave my hand a pat. "I trust your instincts. You practically grew up in this boutique. You know the business inside and out." Her gaze turned wistful as she glanced around the office. "Do you remember when we started and were in that tiny, cramped shop space on the corner?"
"Not really," I admitted. The business had come so far since then and now occupied an entire row of prime shopping real estate in a three-story building where we did everything—from design to creation to alteration—on site.
"Well…you were only four but my goodness! You were into everything." She chuckled softly. "I'll never forget the day Perry zipped you up in that garment bag after you cut up his baseball jersey to make a dress for your doll."
"Now
that
I do remember. I was six?"
She nodded. "That sounds about right. We'd just brought in Maggie as a seamstress, I think."
Reminiscing about happier times made my chest ache. Mama must have sensed my sadness because she rubbed my arm. "I don't know why they say it gets easier because it doesn't."
I placed my hand over hers and tried to imagine what it must have been like to lose her husband and son, one to drunk driving and the other to a senseless act of hatred and violence. To think she'd overcome all of that grief only to be hit with a stroke that nearly killed her! Life was just so unfair sometimes.
"It's ten years next month."
The slight warble to her quiet voice brought tears to my eyes. I glanced away and quickly blinked to clear the stinging wetness that threatened to spill onto my cheeks. Thinking of that awful afternoon when that monster had shot my brother in the chest brought back the worst memories. I refused to let them resurface and ruin our afternoon.
Clearing my throat, I asked, "Did you want to do something special?"
"The reverend mentioned the possibility of a memorial service. I thought we might see if some of Perry's friends might like to come. You've kept in touch with Kevan, haven't you?"
I shot her a look. "You know we've dated on and off for a while."
"I thought you two were off since February?"
"We are."
"So who gave you that love bite?"
My face flamed as I reached up to touch the spot I had thought was well hidden by the collar of my dress and the double strands of pearls. "Well! This is embarrassing."
Mama grinned slyly. "So, what's his name?"
"Sergei."
She looked surprised. "That Russian boy you told me about?"
I laughed at the notion of Sergei being called a boy. "He's quite a bit bigger than your average boy, Mama."
"And more dangerous?"
I sighed and rubbed the side of my face. "I don't know. I thought I knew who he was but now?" I shook my head. "I'm not so sure."