Page 11 of The Pakhan’s Heir

I’m sitting at a table in the corner of a half-filled room of people on a weeknight. The tablecloth is crispy, clean white linen. The centerpiece in the middle of the table is a small bouquet of fresh red roses. Clean menus sit next to fine China and heavy silver cutlery.

And the decor is nice, Old World Italy with stucco murals on the walls that are purposely faded as if they are ancient landscapes stolen directly from Rome. Little chandelier lights hang above almost all the tables, giving the whole room a warm glow…

It’s just the kind of place that I might take someone I wanted to impress, and I guess that’s the point. I do want to impress this woman. If things go well tonight, it’ll make everything else go so much smoother.

I take a drink of water and look at my phone. She’s already about five minutes late. I see the waiter notice me and suddenly, I’m feeling a little flustered.

If she’s stood me up…

A flash of red behind him catches my attention. I look to see a beautiful redhead walking into the room. Her long hair flows around her shoulders like cascading waves of crimson. She has an almost criminally youthful face, big, round, pond green eyes and full lips the shade of roses. She’s clearly wearing makeup to highlight her features, but I can see a hint of freckles across her nose.

And the dress she’s wearing… A little cocktail dress that’s cut so low, her cleavage is the first thing that grabs me. Perfect, full breasts pushed up against the cloth, the faint outline of her nipples peeking through the material. The short hem shows off shapely thighs and long legs as she walks forward in shiny, fire engine red high heels.

She’s being accompanied by two people—the hostess and a large man wearing a suit and sunglasses.

And the moment I see him, I realize who the woman is.

They walk over to my table and I stand politely. The hostess sets down her menu next to her plate and says, “Enjoy,” before making herself scarce and disappearing from sight.

“Nona,” I say, taking her hands and pulling her into a gentle kiss on her cheek. Her chaperone stands a few feet away, watching us carefully. “It’s a pleasure.”

Her face flushes across the bridge of her pert nose. In this light, I can see the slight, telltale signs of freckles under her makeup. “Sorry,” she says. “No one ever told me your name.”

“Alexandr,” I say. I pull her chair out for her. “Molotov.”

“Nice to meet you.” She sits, and I go to the opposite side of the table and take my place across from her. She looks around herself quickly. “This is a really nice place.”

I nod and sip my water. “Best Italian food in the city,” I say.

We both go awkwardly quiet and she says, “So, um, Alexandr. Is it… Alex or Sasha for short?”

I bristle a little. “It’s Alexandr. No one but my brother and father calls me Alex, and absolutely no one but my sister calls me Sasha.”

She nods, her lips pursed. “It’s nice to have a nickname. My name is too short for one, so…”

I throw her a tight smile. This is going to be a great night.

I grab the menu and say, “The White Truffle Risotto is good here. Do you drink?”

“Um, I’m sorry?”

I look up at her from the menu. “Sorry. Maybe I should ask if you’re old enough to drink. Are you?”

Her smile fades. “I’m twenty-three,” she says. “And I’m partial to Merlot.”

Of course she is. She’s probably used to drinking it out of a box. “I’m a Bourdeaux man, personally.”

She nods. “Well, I hope the wine is good here.”

I scoff. I can’t help myself. What is she talking about? The cheapest dish here is at least a hundred dollars. She glares at me.

“Something funny?”

“Not really,” I say. “This is a five-star restaurant. Everything is ‘good’ here.”

She narrows her eyes at me. “You know, you don’t have to be rude. I’ve eaten at expensive restaurants before. I’ve lived in Manhattan my whole life and trust me, I’ve had bad food at some of the best places in the city.”

I raise my eyebrows at her with surprise. So, she does have a little fight in her. “Apologies,” I say. “I wasn’t expecting you to be…”