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“Let me go.” She pulls uselessly against me. I tighten my hold. “Anton!” Useless cries. Anton barely looks over when she screams his name before turning back to the window. He knows the score.
“Here’s what’s going to happen, Celia,” I lay out for her. “You’re going to grab your little briefcase and walk the hell out of this store without so much as a backward glance or a muttered sigh. Then, I never want to see your face again, because if I do, I’ll take a nice pair of blunt scissors to those fake lips of yours. And those fake eyelashes. Those horrible extensions and whatever the hell you want to call what’s on your chest, because those sure as hell aren’t breasts. Do you understand me?”
“I’ll tell Adrian about this,” she spews. I laugh.
“Go right ahead.” I shrug a shoulder in nonchalance. “Tell him his wife says hello. Now, come at me again and you won’t like the consequences.”
“What do you think you can do, little girl?”
Well, she did ask. In one swift movement, I swing the scissors away from her neck and back behind her head. Celia winces, but an audible sigh releases moments later when she realizes she isn’t in any pain. Until she notices what she lost.
Her long blonde hair is pooled at her feet, wisps of hair still falling around her. Tears fall silently down her cheeks. I should feel some sort of remorse, but there is nothing but sweet satisfaction. I lean to whisper in her ear.
“Remember how easily that can be your throat next time you think you can insult me,” I whisper. “My husband isn’t the only one to be feared, sweetheart. Keep that in mind.”
I release her then, letting her stumble back. She catches herself, her throat visibly bobbing before she makes a run for the door, her briefcase forgotten. Well, that takes care of that. Folding the scissors back together, I turn and tuck them back into Junie’s apron. Her eyes are wide, mouth open as she stares at me. In shock? Horror? It will suck if she is afraid of me now, but there is nothing I can do about that.
Clearing my throat, I go to pick up my purse from the couch.
“Dispose of that dress, please,” Svetlana regally tells Junie. “We’ll take everything she picked out on her own today. Someone will come to collect them later this afternoon. Make sure to bill for any damages and cleaning.”
Junie nods her head like a bobble doll, her eyes still fixed on me.
Yelena chuckles and threads her arm through mine, leading me toward the door. “That was the most entertaining thing I have seen in ages,” she giggles. “I like you.”
I can’t help but laugh with her.
At least I have one ally in all of this.
Twenty-Three
Svetlana and Yelena treat me to an afternoon at the spa before taking me to dinner at a local Russian restaurant. The longer I spend with Adrian’s mother, the more at ease I become with her. She may be a shark, but she’s not all teeth like her son. There’s a softer side to her that lies beneath the surface of the rough exterior. A ‘fish are friends and not food’ mentality.
When the waiter comes to take our order, she rattles off a list in Russian that I have no hope of understanding. I’ve learned a little over the years but nothing to write home about. A few minutes later the waiter comes back with three glasses, setting one in front of each of us.
“Try it,” Yelena urges as she takes a sip of hers and sighs. “You’ll like it. Promise.”
I pick up the glass, which is warm in my hands, and study the contents. The liquid is a pale orange. The scent of baked apples and pears washes over me, and I take a sip. It’s fruity, with hints of cloves and honey. Delicious. I let the warmth travel through me and wash away the weariness from my soul.
“It’s calledVzvar,” she explains to me as she takes a sip of her own. “A Russian drink made of dried fruits, herbs, and spices. This one is especially good, but I do love a pear and lavender one.”
“It’s amazing,” I tell her before taking another sip.
“I used to make this every Christmas for Adrian and his father.” There’s a sad look in Svetlana’s eyes at the mention of her late husband. I’d never had the chance to meet him before he died. I can’t even remember what happened at this point, but I know he died at the hands of a rival gang.
“I can’t wait to try it.” It’s the honest truth. I never had a relationship with my mother. She never cooked or took me out to lunch. Ada had been my only companion and I wonder if she ever resented it. We remained close when my father removed her as my companion, but it never felt the same. There was a look in my friend’s eyes that unsettled me. She’d go on about how lucky I was to be a Castellanos and a mafia princess. An heir. I still wonder why she thought my life was some kind of fairytale when she saw firsthand how it was.
Lonely.
Painful.
“I’d like that,” Svetlana smiles softly at me. Yelena excuses herself from the table to use the restroom. Her absence is followed by silence as I sip my drink and Svetlana sips hers.
“He’s not so bad, you know.” she speaks up after a few seconds. “Adrian.”
I beg to differ. “I’m sure you see it that way,” I say. “But you’re his mother.”
“And you are to be his wife.”
