Page 8 of Brutal Promise

I’m not dramatic, just the opposite. I don’t like to be the center of attention because I don’t think I’m worthy of it. I like making other people look glamorous, and if they want something dramatic, I’ll do it. I don’t have an acting bone in my body. I attended and graduated from an incredible college, hoping it would improve my odds of getting a job. With the economy the way it is, I don’t feel so optimistic now that my leads are drying up.

Alena has her bills covered and doesn’t need work. She says she’ll be marrying some Russian soon and hopes he’s not old and reeking of vodka. It’s their tradition to carry out arranged marriages.

I was the center of my mother’s world, so maybe I don’t know what it’s like to be the center of a man’s affection. I’ve often wondered why Mom didn’t bring many men around until I was older. She said she had me, and it was enough.

The coincidence of both my parents dying in car accidents makes me consider the fact that there might be a conspiracy theory to explain it all. But my dad died before I was born, and my mom seven years later. Besides, I’m no one special. I can’t imagine why anyone would want me.

Kidnapping and killing are extreme measures, and I would assume they would only be used in dire situations. I can’t imagine I’m important enough for someone to consider me a threat to them. It’s not like I’m wealthy. However, I do worry about Alena. The hoodie man was tailing me to get to her or slip into our building.

I take a shower and wash my hair. After I dry off, I wrap the towel around me and wrap another around my head. It tends to be curly. I walk to Alena’s room on light feet.

“Are you going to get married soon?” I observe her laying foundation and BB cream on her face. She’s a perfect Russian princess with perfect skin. Where will I live if she gets married before I obtain my own apartment?

“Probably. Daddy will arrange something. Maybe it will be to the don’s son if I’m so lucky.” She scoffs, so I don’t think that will happen. “I just want him to be close to my age and good to me.”

She dismisses the archaic process of arranged marriages as if it’s nothing. She has years of knowing the ways of the bratva world, whereas I’m still learning. I can’t ask many questions or pry… if I value my life.

“I’d love to have a boyfriend who would bring me roses or those cute little squares of chocolate with caramel in the middle. Oh, and I love the raspberry-flavored ones. They’re so addicting, aren’t they?”

“You’re a freaking twig, Izzy. I’d gain five pounds off of three of them.”

She peers into a unique mirror with special lights. Her skin is alabaster, but by the time she’s finished with her handiwork, she’ll look stage-ready to the point I’ll only know her by her hazel eyes, mannerisms when she flirts, and her sassy voice when she makes a point.

“My boobs are nice. But my ass, well, it’s not so little. If I weren’t a seamstress, I’d be wearing ugly shit that hangs off me like oversized pajamas. Which, I don’t mind, by the way.” I love men’s t-shirts, they’re the best. I wish I had a boyfriend. I want to fall in love. I’ve thought I was in love a few times, but they just wanted to get laid. Other men seemed to like me, but they didn’t have a backbone. I need a man I can respect, someone who will bring something to the table.

Alena snickers because it’s a half-snort, half-laugh, and I go back to my room next to hers with a bathroom between us. It’s the old Jack and Jill setup from the nineties, and someone spent a pretty penny on renovating this place.

“You look so adorable in your half-shirts and boy shorts. Pretty cheeky,” she teases.

Yes, it is one of my favorite go-to’s. I return to my room and spritz my hair with a mist to excel the drying time.

“I’m blowing out my hair. Give me a minute,” I reply. I flip the red switch on the beast of a dryer, which hurts my wrists if I use it for more than seven minutes. As I said, it’s a beast, as in a dinosaur of dryers. The immediate hot air hits my hair like a cyclone, and I use my hairbrush to straighten it, hoping it doesn’t come out frizzy. The dry time takes five to seven minutes. When I’ve finished with the dryer, I set it on the sink’s counter and dip a few fingers in a tiny jar. I gather a waxy substance on them, then spread it on my bangs which frame my face. I should get a trim and have it styled, but that costs money, and I need to save what I have. I make a note to treat myself to a salon when I get on my feet.

Alena’s boy toys buy us drinks as they want to show off in front of her, and I’m okay with it if they don’t expect something in return. But I have fifty dollars on me just in case. It won’t buy much, but I can suck down a ton of water in a few hours and act like I’m buzzed.

I’ve been out with her enough to know the Russians can hold more alcohol than I thought humanly possible. I don’t know if it’s the long cold winters in Russia or if they drink to forget about the oppression in their country. Quite possibly, they like to drink. I can’t figure out their culture.

With my hair finished, I pull the dress over my bra, which matches my bikini panties. Thankfully the dress isn’t tight, and it’s shorter on me than it would be on Alena. She’s more of a pencil skirt kind of girl, meaning her buttocks don’t hold a candle to mine. She’s heavy-chested, with a heart-shaped face, and whereas she has street smarts I’ll never possess, she has a heart of gold when it comes to me. And I’d do anything for her.

I reappear in her doorway. Alena uses numerous brushes on my eyes and moves over them quickly. She has a knack for making them smoky, like in the videos I watch, yet I still manage to fuck up my eyes. I’m all thumbs, and my eyes are almond-shaped, making them appear smaller than they are. It’s the gray-blue color of them I find unique. It’s a recessive gene, and I didn’t see it in any photo albums my mother had, and of that, there weren’t many. She said her family disowned her, and she lost touch with them. One would think she was adopted, and no one had a camera. Thankfully, she had an older friend for us to live with, and I called her Aunt Emma even though she was not my real aunt.

“There,” Alena exclaims as she straightens herself because I’m sitting on her padded seat at the vanity table. She had it custom-made before she moved in. I’m sure if you’re going to remodel things, it’s best to do them before you move in.

“It’s time to leave. I called a car from Daddy’s service. He wants us to be careful,” she explains. Usually, we take the Metro. Now I’m confident we’ll get into the club without waiting a minute. There are times like these when membership in the mafia has its privileges.

4

DMITRY

Iwheel my luggage to the bedroom and open it on the oversized bed. A bed this big is something one doesn’t often see in Europe. We tend to be conservative, and space is at a premium. I pull out fresh clothes and lay them out methodically.

I step into the blue and white tiled shower and let the hot water run down my back. I could stand here all night, but I don’t want to miss out on my mini-vacation and keep it reasonable.

I towel dry and run a solution through my long hair to slick it back on my head to keep it in place. I use cologne and head into the spacious bedroom. I step into my fitted jeans. I tug on a long-sleeve Henley over my defined shoulders, using a smaller-sized shirt so it will shrink my biceps.

I even sit on the bench at the end of the bed to put on my army-like boots that lace up. There are some habits I learned as a soldier that are hard to give up. The boots are functional and look good with everything but a suit. I give myself a once-over in the mirrored closet door. The shirt has wrinkles from being packed, and I smooth them down as much as possible. It will have to suffice for tonight.

I join Kirill in the spacious living room and judging from the butt in the ashtray, he’s on his second cigarette. He offers me one, and I take it. I don’t need it. It’s a bad habit, and I typically only do it when hanging out with other smokers. I inhale deeply and lean back on the sofa, blowing out a smoke ring.

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