AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I nod. “Go on, go. I have something I need to do anyway.”
“What?” she asks as she wipes her eyes.
“Just going to let Milos know and thank him.” I shrug.
“Don’t. Don’t do whatever you are going to do. Give it a minute,” she pleads.
“It’s not a big deal,” I assure her.
Her sigh is heavy. “It is. And are you really going to not admit you’re cutting him off before he does to keep from being hurt?”
“I’m not admitting anything. Go to school,” I order her.
“You’re going to regret this.” She sighs as she leaves my room.
Deep down I wonder if she’s right, so much so I sit frozen for more than an hour after she leaves. Eventually I steel myself and do what needs to be done.
I figured his restaurant is likely where he is at three in the afternoon on a Wednesday.
I’m standing stiffly in the nicest sweater dress I have, a long-sleeve, deep-v neckline in a deep teal. The dress comes down to just below my knees. I pair it with knee-high boots in a dark brown without a heel.
Since it’s early in the day I thought I wouldn’t be bothering him. I guess I’m wrong because he isn’t here. After almost five minutes, I give up and begin backing out of the restaurant.
A woman stops me. “Please wait. Peter is coming for you. Milos wants to see you. Sit, I bring you tea.”
Embarrassed, I try to ignore the way workers in the restaurant eye me from all angles. Finally, Peter arrives and I follow him out to a waiting black SUV.
I’m surprised we’re going deeper into the city, then into the parking garage for the John Hancock building. Disappointment hits me sharply as I remember him talking about the apartments his brothers brought their women to rather than bringing them home. He never said he had one—I should have known. Of course he had one.
I follow Peter into the elevator. It stops on the seventy-eighth floor. I’m hesitant to follow him out. Holy crap, there are only six doors on the floor. That means the apartment will be huge.
A knock on the door is answered by Milos. For the first time he isn’t his usual immaculate self. The black hair, usually slicked back just right, is tousled. His usual thin beard is overgrown by several days. He also looks as if he had just woken up. He’s still in black on black though, a button-down black shirt and black pants.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bother you. I’ll leave—” I begin.
Milos shakes his head, opening the door wider. “Come in, Celia. Whether you meant to or not makes no difference, the result is the same.”
The words sting—I am bothering him. I hate the way he calls me Celia. In all these months he hasn’t called me by my name once—it was always “kitten” in Russian. I follow him deeper into the apartment. It’s decorated with dark wood, elegant rugs, the walls are dark red and hunter green. It’s pretty but feels dark. Is that a real Turner on one wall and a Sargent portrait? It’s eerie how much the woman in the portrait looks like she could be me, although she’s far more elegant and thinner. I realize Milos is staring at me and drop my eyes from the portrait.
“Sit.” He nods to the long leather couch. “Drink?” he asks as he goes to the corner where an array of liquors are in crystal decanters.
I shake my head. “No thank you.”
My eyes are drawn to the new tattoos over the back of his hands. They weren’t there three years ago. He told me his tattoos were hidden to help him appear the bland, boring businessman rather than the Bratva he is. I can’t help wondering what was important enough for him to change his mind. They are both words in Russian Cyrillic, but so stylized I don’t recognize what they say even after four years of college Russian. I asked him about them once while we were waiting for my mother to complete her radiation treatement—he brushed the question off and I didn’t dare ask again.
He pours a clear liquor into a glass and throws it back. “Why are you here, Celia?”
Swallowing down the fear, I keep my eyes on my hands in my lap. “I wanted to tell you that my mother got the results back today. She’s cancer free. Thank you, for everything. She wouldn’t be alive without you.”
The silence stretches. I give in and lift my eyes to find him staring out over Lake Michigan. “Milos?”
“Is that all?” He doesn’t turn.
The words are filled with something I don’t understand. They throb, filling the room until I feel like I’m choking on them. “I won’t bother you anymore,” I whisper. So low a part of me hopes he won’t hear them.
Of course he did, heat hits me where his eyes trace over me. “So what, now that you have no use for me you’re done with me?”
Shock brings my eyes up. “No. It was never like that. I’m sorry I’ve been bothering you. After everything you’ve done, I felt I owed you a thank you in person.”
