Page 71 of Brooklyn Bratva

The waiter brought out a whole dish of crab and Ivan’s eyes widened as they set down the hammer and what looked like a pair of pliers to get into the meaty legs. He knocked back the rest of his champagne.

“I’m gonna need a beer for this.”

“Right away sir.”

I could feel myself beaming. I loved that Ivan wasn’t being pretentious or making me feel like I didn’t know which piece of cutlery to pick up first. The pair of us were just like each other and I was so glad he didn’t expect me to be anything else either.

“I don’t know how these fancy people do it. Get all dolled up in their fancy clothes and then go and cover themselves in crab shell.”

I nodded, pulling tender meat out of one of the claws without any care for neatness. “I know, right? What’s with that? It’s ridiculous.”

Ivan cracked one of the legs open, portioning the meat between us. I picked up the second pair of claw-crackers and had a go myself. The shell cracked more easily than I thought it would when I got it in the right place and I let out a laugh as juices spurted out when I got a bit too enthusiastic.

“This is so funny. I can’t believe we’re doing this. It’s like some kind of weird-ass dream.”

Ivan nodded slowly and he set the crab shell down in the dish. “You like it?”

“I like it because you’re here. Because we get to be alone.”

He let out a soft hum. “That’s what I like about it too.”

Ivan

After the crab, Roman’s waiter brought out finger bowls and lemon scented towels and we scrubbed the seafood off as best as possible, still laughing at each other. I loved that Becca didn’t take herself so seriously. It was something I needed to work on myself, but around her it came more easily.

We rounded the coast, going past the lighthouse, under the bridge and past Staten Island. Ahead of us in the distance, Lady Liberty was holding her torch high and a little closer in, on the New Jersey side, was the Tear Drop Memorial that Russia had gifted in remembrance of 9/11. I gritted my teeth as we approached it, mixed feelings rising over how few people even knew it was there.

Sometimes I felt just as overlooked. Maybe that was the place of a Russian in New York. Everyone would prefer to think you weren’t really there at all, and no one wanted to draw any attention to the relationships you had.

I couldn’t fault Roman on the food. His waiter brought out steaks, cooked to perfection and Becca made some pretty distracting noises when she dug in to it.

“Oh my God. It’s so good. I’ve never had steak like this before.”

I grunted. “Roman is showing off.”

Becca nudged my foot under the table and her foot snuck up the inside of my leg, prickling my body to attention. “I don’t care. I’m enjoying it. Isn’t it time you got to enjoy yourself?”

I let out a sigh, and shook my head. “It is good steak.”

“Exactly.”

The boat turned when we were more or less alongside Liberty Island and we made anchor out of the shipping channels, close enough to see the flood lit statue in all her glory.

I took Becca’s hand and we wandered closer to the side for a better view. As though this had all been planned, there were comfortable seats for lounging, and a bowl of chocolate dipped strawberries set out on a low table.

Becca let out a laugh. “Roman really pulled out all the stops.”

“It looks that way.” Later, I was going to have to talk to him about this. It seemed that none of my Bratva colleagues thought I was capable of romancing Becca appropriately.

At least Becca didn’t seem to mind who’d set it up. She was lapping it up like it was a perk we were both owed, and in a way I guess she was right.

The moonlight on her face made her skin gleam and Becca looked truly happy, and distractingly beautiful.

“She’s always smaller than you think she’s going to be,” Becca said, leaning against the railing around the side of the boat.

“Who?” I asked, dumbly, and Becca laughed.

“The Statue of Liberty, Ivan. That’s what you’re supposed to be looking at, not just me.”

“Why would I look at anything else apart from you? You’re the most beautiful thing I could see.”

The lights on the boat were just bright enough for me to see her blushing, and Becca folded herself in against my chest. “I bet you say that to all the girls,” she murmured.

“You know I don’t. There are no other girls.”

I bent down to kiss her, tenderly and with far more reserve than I wanted to use and out of nowhere, music started up, flowing softly over speakers I hadn’t noticed before they were in use.

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