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Freddy frowns. “Well,nowI am.”
“You have nothing to worry about. Just be honest with her. Bring her some flowers and ask her out to dinner. There’s a great place downtown called The Maestro.”
“Let me guess, it’s one of the businesses we own?”
I shrug. “You’ll get a great discount. And by discount, I mean it’ll be free.”
My brother crinkles his nose. “Flowers? A little old fashioned, isn’t it?”
“Trust me, she’ll melt. Everyone loves flowers.”
“Even you?”
I ruffle his hair. “I have to get going. Let me know how it goes, okay?”
Freddy smiles. “Thanks, Sandy. You’re the best.”
“I know.”
* * *
My schedule is packed. I stop by several smaller businesses, introducing myself to the front-of-house owner. For the most part, people greet me warmly. There’s a good deal of handshaking, lots of smiles, plenty of compliments.
And lots of mentions about Dad.
“Mikhail is a good man,” the owner of a nail salon, which is actually just a cover for the illegal gambling den in the basement, tells me as she shows me around. “Very fair, always so knowledgeable.”
“I’m surprised you’re so…young,” the son of a butcher comments under his breath. The meat shop is actually a front for our smuggling operation, their large shipment trucks used to sneak contraband in and out of Moscow.
Some people, unfortunately, are nowhere near as tactful.
“You expect me to answer to a woman?” Greshny, the crotchety old man who maintains the entire block of commercial and residential properties on the Antonov’s behalf says to me. He doesn’t even bother trying to hide his disgust.
I know his type very well. Set in his ways. A traditionalist, as it were. He’s the type of man who respects power—something he believes women inherently lack.
I breathe in and breath out. No sense in letting his words get to me.
“I do, in fact, expect you to answer me,” I say coolly, just like Dad might. I can hear his voice loud and clear, resonating within me while leaving my lips as my own. “Will that be a problem for you?”
Greshny folds his flabby arms over his chest. “Get Mikhail on the phone. I want to speak with him.”
“No need. You can address all your concerns with me.”
“You think you can come down here and tell me what to do? Talk about audacity. Women don’t know what they’re doing. You’re going to run my business to the ground.”
“You meanmybusiness,” I snap harshly. “You only run this place in my stead, remember? Might I add that you’re paid generously to do so, and to not ask questions.”
“I want to talk to your father. I swore allegiance to him, not you.”
“He’s retired.”
“Retired people can’t answer a phone call?”
The man is officially getting on my nerves. He’s going to talk me off my feet at this rate. I could talk myself blue about how I’m the one in charge, that I’m the one calling the shots—but I’d be wasting my breath. Until IproveI’m worthy of being the head of the Antonov Bratva, I’m going to have to deal with my fair share of naysayers.
It’s not what I say, but what I do.
Screw words, it’s time for action.
