I
o0o
Nadezsha Ivanov huffed softly to herself as she bustled around the restaurant, making sure that the diners in her section were comfortable before going back into the kitchen to check on the potato soup. Her cousins were goofing off again, Ludmilla lingering at a table flirting with an attractive patron while Mikhail texted his friends.
"Mikhail, the soup almost boiled over!" she hissed angrily at Mikhail as she waved her hand over his smartphone, and he glanced up at her with half-lidded eyes and an annoyed smirk. He was five years older than her, and should have been a more responsible worker, but it seemed like he'd never moved beyond his teenage years.
She fired off several phrases in a mixture of Russian and English to the staff before grabbing Mikhail's phone and pointedly placed it away on the shelf in the alcove that served as the breakroom.
"Hey, you can't do that-" he protested.
"You think you're going to run this restaurant when you can't even keep an eye on the soup?" she snapped peevishly. "I'm not going to have Uncle Boris yell at me over it!" Boris Ivanov was a decent restaurant owner, and Little Russka was a popular spot in the neighborhood, but he gave his own children more lassitude than his niece. It'd always been that way, but recently, she'd been taking more initiative and standing up for herself.
Of course, being of legal age helped. Still, her options were limited due to events beyond her control and that was why she was here, cleaning up after her cousins, and doing various jobs around the restaurant for her uncle. She'd been here since she was sixteen, not long before her mother's death, working as a waitress and saving every bit of it she could for college.
As a minor, she'd had to open a joint account with her father. His wife's death hit him hard, and he turned to alcoholism, and in time, gambling, as an escape from his sorrows. Money had already been tight because of medical bills that Mom's insurance company had refused to cover, and Gregory Ivanov had cleaned out most of his daughter's savings to gamble with, believing he could win the money he'd already lost.
The results were predictable. But Nadezsha hadn't learned of it until just after her eighteenth birthday, when she'd gone to change the account. Several weeks later, Gregory had died of a heart attack, and his debt had eaten away entirely what money could have been used for funeral or emergency expenses.
At a time where she should have been ready to go out in the world, Nadezsha Ivanov was virtually penniless. Not only that, but her father had owed Uncle Boris some money as well. Boris was willing to forgive the debt, but he constantly reminded Nadezsha of his 'generosity' and expected her loyalty and obedience, which included taking on more duties at the restaurant, with a less than modest increase of pay. Her aunt nagged her about her clothing and hair, and her cousins would shrug off their chores on her, and if Nadezsha complained, Boris would scold her for being 'ungrateful'.
Her feet ached, and she couldn't wait to get the fuck home and put her feet up. Her uncle and aunt had offered to let her live with them after her father's house had been taken by the debt collectors, but she could see how that would make her life hell, and lived in a tiny studio apartment. It might be tiny, but it was hers.
After glancing at the orders in the queue, she ladled soup into several bowls and made up a couple salads before loading them on a tray and delivering them to a table. The menu was authentically Russian, with just a few modifications to make it slightly more accessible to an American audience. She was a good cook, and it was her favorite part of the job - at least, when things were going smoothly. There were times when she wondered if she should open her own restaurant, but seeing what Uncle Boris dealt with made her hesitant. She just wanted to cook, that was all. Or at the very least, not deal with a family who saw her as nothing more than an orphan, a beggar who owed them everything for their generosity, a person who should be happy to be their slave for the scraps they tossed her.
One day, one day, she promised herself as she lifted her chin, smiling at her customers. As she turned away from them, she blinked as she noticed a familiar figure move through the vestibule that opened into the establishment. Tall and broad-shouldered, with thick blonde hair that hinted at a Teutonic ancestry somewhere in his bloodline, Arkady Suvorin was a powerful figure - figuratively and literally - and a familiar face at Little Russka.
Although she did not know for sure, Nadezsha suspected that he and his friends were involved in the mob. Of course, it wasn't as if she couldn't just ask them outright, but at the very least, they tipped well. And unlike Ludmilla, she spoke Russian almost as well as she did English, which was something they seemed to be big fans of. This time though, Mr. Suvorin was alone. He looked her way, and their eyes met.
She swallowed thickly before pulling on a calm expression, and moved forward. As was the norm, Arkady was dressed in a suit, looking ready for a board meeting or the courtroom. His suit was a dark gray, only a few shades lighter than black, and his tie was solid black. The shirt he wore was a deep red and made for a striking visual effect against his blonde hair and dark suit.
"Good evening, Mr. Suvorin. Are you waiting for friends?" she asked politely in Russian as he slid his jacket off.
"Not this time, Nadezsha. So I would like a quiet place to sit."
"Certainly." She moved quickly, leading him to one of several alcoves to one side of Little Russka, sliding a menu to the table before asking him if he wanted something to drink.
"I believe for the time being that you can start me off with some water," he replied in a casual tone, but his eyes fixed on hers, and she could not look away. A small smirk tugged at the corner of his lip, and she quickly turned from him to get his water, feeling her pulse racing.
She hated him, or knew she should. He had made no secret of his desire to her, a desire that had remained unfulfilled for the past several years. She'd been sixteen, and waitressing when Arkady had come in with two of his friends. Back then, at least she'd been a minor and he seemed unwilling to disobey that law, at least, but once she'd become eighteen, he had asked her out several times.
Her answer every time was no. He fascinated her yet at the same time she was certain that it was nothing more than a moth to flame. He was handsome, powerful, and of more than modest means. He was not flashy about his wealth, but his attitude spoke of a man who was confident in his holdings. She knew that she could be a sugar baby if she was willing to accommodate him, but she had her dignity.
o0o
Arkady Alexyev Suvorin sat back as he watched her walk away. He'd never forget the first time he saw her, at the tender age of sixteen, flustered as she dashed from table to table on a busy night, taking orders and doing the best she could at waitressing. He'd come here with his boss and a couple of friends upon the recommendation of another friend of theirs. The food here was tasty and authentic, and Boris knew how to treat certain customers. Stereotypical as it could be, this place had become to Arkady and his peers what the Italian restaurant in the Godfather had done for the mobsters. It was a place to enjoy good food, surrounded by Russian culture, and enjoy the American hospitality.
That was the nice thing about America. Poor Russians like Boris and his brother had found opportunity here, and the elder brother had made the most of his opportunity, opening a restaurant that had been greatly welcome to the local Russian-American community. Not so much his younger brother, who Arkady had come to learn was Nadezsha's father.
