Page 21 of Claimed By Desire

This musty little store in the heart of Jeweler’s Row has been like a second home to me for a very long time. It’s where I got my start in the Bratva, where I met Step for the first time, where I got my first job, where I learned how to be the man I am today. I still come in with Lev most afternoons, take inventory, make some calls, meet with clients both legal and not-so-legal, and basically do our business.

Fed Jewelers is a legit business. It’s profitable all on its own, even if we didn’t deal in stolen and fakes out the back, but that’s what Fed’s really for. It’s a front for the real family business, and it’s one of the most successful in the entire industry. It doesn’t hurt that it’s been around forever, and Philadelphia’s Jeweler’s Row is one of the oldest diamond districts in America, second only to New York.

“You know you don’t gotta do that shit,” Lev says through a mouth full of hoagie. He chews and swallows. “Seriously man, let Katarina or Dasha do that shit. It’s what we pay them for.”

“Kat and Dash are front facing. We’re back of the house.” I finish the photos and upload them straight from my phone.

“We’re also not fucking picture guys. Your time’s more valuable than that.”

I wave him off, put the watch away, and start on a really nice Submariner. “We got that Italian shipment coming in soon, which means we need to make sure there’s enough space back here for the new inventory.” I gesture at the nightmare surrounding us. There are watches, necklaces, half-finished resizings, a dozen repairs, basically just crap lying all over the place with no real attempt at organization.

Half this stuff should be kept in the main safe, but nobody in Philly would be dumb enough to steal from the Zeitsev Bratva, so we don’t worry too much about it.

“I hear you, but like I said, that’s for Kat and Dash.”

“And I heard you, but like I said, I’m trying to fucking keep busy.”

Lev shakes his head at me. “Man, you’ve been in such a shitty mood lately. What’s your deal?”

I sit back and glare at him. “I’ve been fine.”

“Bullshit. You’ve been like a filed-down trigger. One little squeeze and bang.” He makes mock gun and pretends to fire it. “And you’re been aimed at my god damn skull.”

“Beautiful metaphor. That’s some serious poetry.”

“And now you’re doing it again.”

I put the watch down and force myself to take a beat before barking at him some more. He’s not wrong, but the second I start admitting it out loud is the second I might have to explain myself.

But there’s no way I can do that.

“I’m fine, alright? Just stressed about the business.”

“The business is good and you know it. A couple days ago, I caught you nearly getting in a fight with my sister like you two were kids again. Ever since you came back from Paris, you’ve been on edge. I’m just trying to figure out what the problem is so we can handle it, that’s all.”

I stare down at my phone. The mother fucker can be extremely perceptive sometimes. I forget that while Lev comes off all lighthearted and full of laughs, he’s still Stepan’s brother and Oleg’s son, and he’s just as sharp as they are. Only he hides it much better.

“Everything’s good, alright? You know I don’t like change, that’s all.”

“What, because Nat’s back home? I never understood why you two hate each other so much.”

“I don’t hate her.”

“Bullshit. You two can’t be in the same room for more than a minute without arguing with each other. It’s annoying, honestly.”

“Now you know why I try to avoid her.”

“Why?” he asks, sounding very sincere. He even puts his hoagie down, which means he’s being very serious right now. “What is it about her you dislike so much?”

I don’t know how to answer. How can I tell him that his sister is stubborn, selfish, stuck-up, and spoiled? How I’ve had to work for absolutely everything in my life—I’ve had to fight, kill, and bleed for what I have—while she’s been handed an entire lifestyle without having to lift a finger? And even with so much, she still seems like nothing’s ever enough.

How can I tell him that her music haunts me, and I hate her even more for that? And that I hate myself too, for what I did to her in Paris?

How can I tell him that it kills me, knowing she’s going to marry that Adriano prick in a week, when it’s clear he doesn’t appreciate her at all?

“She’s just annoying,” I say at last and start snapping pictures of the Rolex.

Lev clearly isn’t happy with that answer but he lets the subject drop when Dasha pokes her head back and tell us the Italians have arrived. We head out back to take delivery: several big boxes of imported fake watches, masterfully made little devices from some unnamed and secretive factory in Italy. A small fortune, assuming they’re as good as we’ve been told.

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