Chapter 2

After what she had started to think as "the Russian Kings incident", life went on as usual for Camille. She went to work from 8pm to 4am, went to bed straight after that, woke up around midday, went running, got ready for work and repeated it day after day. It was simple but good. No mobster had harassed her. No neighbor had made a fuss about something or the other. The front page's news was still filled with the rebuilding of New York City following the alien attack.

Crazy world.

But, in all that mess, life went on for her. She even bought a new handbag online with her last salary. So far, so good.

But it wasn't going to last. It couldn't. She should have known.

Things started to change a few weeks after that damn meeting in the private space. That day, Jessica had called in sick, which had meant Camille had gotten a call from Alexei when she had been eating breakfast asking her to come by 3pm. That had meant she barely had enough time to shower, get dressed and get out. But she was on time. Luckily, when she arrived, Alex was already there.

"Hey Cami, thanks for the help," he said as she got next to him, starting to get the glasses out of the dishwasher, cleaning tables and the counter, and putting the chairs down. She had already wiped the floor last night. "Jess got some kind of flu. Nasty thing. Sounded like a trucker when she called." Camille laughed, easily imagining Jess' despair at that. "I don't think she'll be in tomorrow either."

"Don't worry, I'll cover for her for as long as it's needed."

Alex smiled and brought a hand into her hair, messing it gently.

"Good girl. And don't worry either, I'll stay with you as much as I can."

Alex, despite his obvious dirty past, was an angel. He knew she was still unused to their special clientele. With him, she was sure to be safe and could concentrate on doing her job right.

After a few hours, there was still very few customers. Most of them were regulars. The kind of clients that had no job to speak of and spent most of their time here. But the others - the bikers, the cab drivers, the riffraff - were absent.

"Where is everyone?" she asked Alex as they both ended up sitting on stools with nothing better to do. He grunted. It made him sound like a bear and she smiled.

"Don't ask things you don't wanna know."

Ah… Special mafia meeting or something, she guessed. She had noticed over the weeks that her customers were getting more and more tense. More and more of them would turn up beaten up and bloody. But from what she had gathered, it wasn't the usual business that worried them, it was something else. She even heard Vladimir's name whispered once or twice, very discreetly. If they kept going at it, she'd end up believing she was working at a Death Eater's bar and Vladimir was he-who-must-not-be-named.

"It's Sunday too." Alex added.

It was true. The place tended to be the most crowded on Saturday nights. Then, on Sunday, it was nearly empty, filling up again slowly as days went by to end up full again come Saturday night.

"Wanna play poker?" she asked, only half joking. There were three, maybe four guys only, who were not passed out on their table by the time the clock turned to ten. Alex laughed. But it was cut short. He had seen something above her shoulder, probably a customer coming in. Her boss stood up and put a hand on her shoulder.

"I'm gonna take a look at the numbers. If no asshole had come in by now, they won't tonight. And this should keep you busy."

With a nod, he indicated the entrance behind her. She turned around on her stool, curious. And almost fell off of it when she saw who had just come in. She jumped on her feet and was about to make a run for the private space but he sat on a stool behind the counter before she could. Alex was soon behind him. The two men nodded at each other and shook hands, before her boss went to his office in the back. Not a word was said, but she still had a feeling something had been said without her knowing it.

"Hello Camille," Vladimir finally greeted as he got comfortable on his stool. He took his jacket off, the same one he'd had last time, made of black leather, and dropped it on the counter beside him. When he crossed his hands in front of him, shoulders hunched, she smiled awkwardly, still feeling uneasy in his presence. He was a little bent over. It made his shirt open just enough for her to see the beginning of a tattooed cross and a Russian star, and some good muscles underneath. But that was beside the point.

"Hi," She answered. "What can I get you?"

She remembered what Jess had said: Only a bottle of Zyr and a glass and shut up. But that was for the private space. She had yet to see a man who sat behind the counter to just stay there and not talk. Obviously, she had made the right call.

"Give me a beer, girl. I've had enough vodka for one night."

She nodded and grabbed a big glass to pour him one. She hesitated to talk again but, honestly, there was virtually only them inside the bar and it would feel more awkward for her to say nothing.

"It doesn't show," she said, shrugging. It was true. She was used to drunks. He looked as sober as a Russian man could be. When he arched an amused eyebrow at her, she rushed to add: "Here you go," as she handed him his beer.

She wanted to talk to him. To say something. Anything. If only just to stop from fidgeting like an idiot. She couldn't even flee to do something else. It was a quiet night. However, the more she racked her brain for things to say, the less she found. In the end, she was spared. It was him who broke the heavy silence.

"So, Camille," he started after clearing his throat, "What is a girl like you doing in a place like this?"

A simple question. And yet, a heavy one. She couldn't just brush him off, saying she just went wherever the wind had pushed her. Afterall, she was a French girl, living in the United States for less than three months, and working in a place where only criminals would dare to go. Jess worked here because she grew up here. But Camille? She could have lived and worked anywhere. Why here?

The girl also couldn't tell him to mind his own business either. He was nice, but he was also dangerous. She could tell. If only because the few customers she'd had before were slowly but surely vacating the place… She tried to deflect anyway. The only way she knew that worked almost every time: with a joke slightly laced with flirting.

"Learning English?" she said with a small smile and a discreet flutter of her eyelashes. She had big blue eyes, beautiful, with a touch of yellow close to the irises and long lashes to go with it. She had learned very young how to take advantage of it. Later on, she had added a swipe of her long blond hair and a slight bending to show off her – quite noticeable – breasts.

Vladimir snorted, bending his head downward and shaking it a little. He racked a hand through his hair, which were so thick they got instantly back into place, before lifting his glass to his lips.

"Fine", he said, once he had taken a sip, "keep you secrets, sweetheart. I don't mind. I have a few too."

Oh, how she didn't doubt it! She was sure that, with only three seconds inside his head, she would have to see a shrink for three years at least.

Problem was: if she didn't answer him, and she sure as hell couldn't ask him any personal questions, they were back to a standstill. She grabbed some glasses, started to wash them to keep her hands busy.

"Up until this summer, I was living in France," she volunteered. She was no James Bond. If some parts of her past were off limits to anyone, some others were free of charge. "In a small village, right in the middle of the country. I had a house, with fields filled with cows surrounding my backyard." She glanced at the Russian, to see his reaction. He was listening, his face neutral, smiling a little, waiting for more. So, she kept going, all the while trying to occupy her hands with a towel. "It was a nice place, quiet but a little boring." She admitted with a laugh. "So, at some point, I decided that I wanted more adventures." That was a lie, at least in part. But he didn't need to know that. "My aunt lives in Pennsylvania and I had come to New York a few times before. I love this city. I always have."

"And how a country girl from the other side of the world who loves New York City suddenly decide she will live in the Kitchen?" He asked. She was surprised he cared but hey, he wasn't the first one to come into this bar and ask her this. Maybe he didn't care, really, and was just looking for a light chat, like most of them.

She laughed, embarrassed. The answer was so dumb, so meaningless. And yet, this time, it was the truth.

"We are close to the Pennsylvania's bus station here. And it's affordable." She laughed again, stupidly, if she said so herself.

"You have a pretty laugh," he commented, effectively stopping her from doing so. From moving. From breathing.

Well, that was straight to the point, she thought once she had recovered. Again, she wasn't naïve. She had been hit on by several guys already, in and out of this bar. Mostly by men with the same kind of reputation he had, which wasn't surprising when you knew the neighborhood. However, this was so blunt she felt like she had been hit by a strong gust of cold wind.

"Thanks. I guess?"

Now, she really wanted an excuse to get the fuck out. Sure, sure, she had fantasized about him the night she had met him, and some more nights after that, but she knew some fantasies were meant to be just that. She could feel his gaze on her as she kept scrubbing the sink. The damned thing had never been so clean.

"I made you uncomfortable." It was a statement. It was the truth. And he had noticed. "I'm sorry."

That made her look up so fast she ended up staring right back at him. Since when did gangster kings apologize for something like that?

"It's al-" She didn't get to finish.

"It was a simple truth. Your laugh is pretty and my accent is sexy."

He said it so seriously, she couldn't help it. She burst out laughing.

"What a humble personality you have!" And she kept laughing, she couldn't stop. It had been a while since she had laughed that hard, since she had a reason to laugh, really. Tears were starting to form in her eyes. She tried to wipe them off, to no avail. They kept coming, blurring her sight. She could still see the few patrons left trying to glance at her discreetly, as if she was crazy. It vaguely occurred to her he might get angry. He didn't. He was grinning, half laughing himself.

"Come on!" He exclaimed. "Admit it. It is true."

Now, he was fishing. But, okay, she would play. In another life, she had loved this game. Maybe she could like it still.

"Okay, maybe it is a little sexy."

Vladimir smirked at her, and she grinned back, forgetting for now who he was outside of this moment. Right now, he was just a man, barely more than a stranger, who was hot and who was flirting with her.

"You smoke?" He asked. She nodded. "Come and have one with me."

"I can't. Someone has to man the bar." And she wasn't sure it was such a good idea.

He nodded in understanding.

"Alex!" he called out, so loud some half-asleep patrons jumped in their chair.

Camille's boss came out of his office. He spared a glance at his employee, probably a little worried about what she could have done. If only he knew. But she did. She knew she was stepping a toe on something very rash and very stupid, but somehow, she couldn't stop herself. She had come here, to this city, to live things that would make her forget her past. Befriending a Russian mob king might be progress on that front. Maybe even sleeping with him once or twice. She could handle it. Probably. With some luck.

Oh, fuck it!

"Would you mind taking care of things here while Camille and I go for a smoke?"

It was a rhetorical question. Alex, Vladimir and she already knew there was only one acceptable answer. The young waitress tried to mind-communicate with her boss, to tell him she was sorry. His face was an answer all in itself: "Aren't you losing control here, Cami?" it was asking. Yeah, she was. Totally. And willingly. Which was worse. Kind of.

"Yes, sure. Take your time, Volodya."

Docile, Camille nodded in thanks and went to grab her jacket. Once she had it, she followed the Russian menace out to the patio. She was about to grab her pack but he stopped her with a waving hand, holding his own out to her.

"This one's on me."

She thanked him and try to grab one cigarette without touching his hand too much.

"Are you trying to buy me?" she wondered once he had lit her cancer tube. She was feeling cheeky.

"Is it working?" he asked back, just as bold, with his damn accent and his damn gravelly voice.

Yeah, she thought, it's working. If only she'd had two drinks before, if only she had been a little drunk – just enough to be tipsy – she would definitely have jumped his bones by now.

Alright, she hadn't had a man in her bed in so many months, she was that desperate. Sue her!

"Alexei called you Volodya," she dropped casually. Actually, it had piqued her curiosity. She assumed it was a nickname but it was as long as his name…

"Yes, it's…" He trailed off, his face scrunched up in thought, as if searching for the easiest way to explain. It was kind of cute. Cami fought back a tender smile, pretty sure he wouldn't like her current thoughts. "In Russia, people, except for strangers, rarely call you by your name. We use nicknames. Volodya is the most common one for Vladimir."

She nodded in thanks. She actually didn't know anything about Russian culture, had never been interested in it before because she'd had no reason to. But she was happy to learn more about it now.

As she inhaled deeply and leaned against her usual wall, she realized they were back to silence again. It was hard, having a conversation when you couldn't ask any real question. But she was realizing Vladimir might be aware of this. He didn't wait long before asking a new one.

"How do you like the Kitchen so far?"

She was about to answer when his phone rang from the back pocket of his dark jeans. He said something in Russian, probably a curse.

"Hold that thought," he told her before going a little away from her and taking his call.

As she heard him talk at a fast pace in Russian, she had to refrain from crying. It wasn't the fact that she didn't understand what he was saying, she was quite happy about that. Honestly, with the kind of activity he had, she'd rather not know. But this. This situation. Talking while smoking and being interrupted by a phone call. In another life, she had lived through this so many times, almost every night really. She had hated it. She would have never guessed that, someday, she would miss it so hard she would feel like crying over it.

She tried to take deep breaths, tried to concentrate on Vladimir's voice, so different and yet so similar from the one she was missing so much. The Russian's was gravelly and well, he spoke Russian, so that was a big difference. But the tone, the way his voice grew deeper and bossier while he talked with whoever he was talking to. This, she would recognize everywhere. She swallowed a whimper. It was always like this. She would think she was fine, that things were starting to be okay. And then, something, the most unexpected thing, would set her off the rail.

Too soon, Vladimir's voice faded away. He had hung up and turned toward her.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his eyes showing some concern.

She cleared her throat, crushed her cigarette's butt in the ashtray and looked back at him. She had to get a grip, for fuck's sake!

"Yeah." She hesitated to say more, but he was waiting. And he was watching her. So she added: "I… This situation, smoking while I wait for the other to finish his phone call… It got me nostalgic. That's all. No biggie," she tried to deflect with a smile. He didn't smile back. But he nodded.

"Let's go back inside," He simply said, all smiles and flirty attitude disappeared. Maybe it was her – and she tried very hard to ignore the little sting at her pride at this thought – maybe it was his call. In any case, he was back to being serious, and therefore, back to being scary. But he was also back to being gentle, in a bossy kind of way. "You're working and I've got things to do."

As they began to walk back, he laid a hand on the small of her back. She almost jumped and looked up at his face. It was as neutral as it had been a minute earlier, like he was so used to the gesture it was nothing worth thinking about. And maybe it was. Who had said mobsters' chivalry was dead? He held the door for her, as he had done on the way out. By the time they got to the main room of the bar, his hand had fallen back to his side and she felt weirdly colder for it. She went on her side of the counter. He went on his, grabbed his jacket, rummaged in it to find some cash, threw a twenty on the counter and walked toward the exit.

"It's the most expensive beer I've ever sold!" she joked at his back.

He turned his head around, spared her a small smirk.

"Keep what's left. It's your tip."

And then he was gone, leaving behind him the biggest tip ever in the history of tips. She would buy him his next drink. She wasn't going to let herself be bought.

It was midnight, and the bar was empty. She started to go around tables, bringing everything left on it on the counter for washing. As she was about finished, around 1am, Alex got out of his office.

"We'll close up early." He said before going back to his office. Camille nodded and started to put the chairs up so she could wipe the floor.

Once the bar was clean and everything was in order, she put her small jacket back on, grabbed her purse and went to say goodbye to Alex. What she hadn't been expecting was that she didn't simply get a goodbye in answer. Well, that wasn't exactly true. She had hoped she would only get a goodbye.

"Take a seat, Cami."

The chair in front of his desk scrapped the wooden floor as she did. She crossed her ankles and her hands in front of her, waiting, not unlike a child in front of the school's principal. Alex looked at her without saying anything for a long time. He was obviously searching his mind for the right way to talk about the elephant in the room.

"Out with it, Alex. You know me, I won't go to HR," she joked. He smirked in return.

"Cami, you're a good girl, hardworking, always smiling, and I like you." She nodded, thankful, but knowing this was just the beginning. "I don't want you to take this the wrong way. I know you are an adult and I can guess you're used to handling your own troubles. I know you have had more than the average 24 years old girl." She nodded again. It was harder this time. "But I don't want you to chew on more than you can bite."

"Alexei," she started. She didn't get a chance to continue. He forged on, a look of determination mixed with unease on his face.

"You shouldn't flirt with Vladimir that way."

In this simple statement, she heard all that he was thinking but was unable to say. He was dangerous. She could get in trouble if it went sideways. Even if it didn't, probably.

"I know." Really, she was aware of it. At least, she thought so. But… "Will I lose my job if I keep doing it?"

At that, her boss snorted.

"Fuck no! God knows how hard it is to find a waitress, a good one, to work here."

She smiled, but it turned sour quickly.

"And if it goes sideways?" she asked. She didn't know how the two men knew each other but it was in the realm of possibility that Vladimir had invested money in this bar. It was also possible that he was petty like that. Again, Alexei snorted, louder this time, before getting back to his serious face. She could see he didn't want to say what he was about to, but he needed to anyway. They needed him to.

"Let's cut the crap here Cami. Afterall, walls have ears, they say, but some shit needs to be said. Vladimir, I've known him since he was a teenager. He is dangerous and he can be rash and violent. But not with women. He won't get petty if you reject him. Now, or after a date or two." A polite way to say a one-night-stand of two. She blushed. She had kinda planned on doing just that. Except she expected that he would get bored after it, not her. But still, Alex saw right through her.

"That's what I'm worried about!" He pointed to her face. "You're a pretty girl Cami." He held back a laugh. "God, pretty is an understatement. You could be a model or something. And you are French. Which means you're acting like an exotic flame to moths for all the Russian riffraff. Don't laugh," he added when he saw her dubitative face. He was exaggerating. "It's true. I've kept the others at bay for now but I knew this would happen sooner or later. And, of course, since I have a shitty luck, it's Vladmir…" He muttered something in Russian before starting again, running a hand across his face, a helpless expression plastered on it. "You don't know who he is, or what he does."

She wanted to object. She wasn't an idiot. She knew. Again, Alex saw right through her.

"No, you don't," he insisted as she opened her mouth. "You have no idea." He looked scared, and that, she had to admit, scared her more than anything he could say. "And I can't tell you." He hesitated, before letting out a heavy sight.

"Flirt with him. Or don't. Fuck him. Or don't. You can even marry him for all I care!" She let out a small giggle and he laughed a little. That would be the day! However, the fun didn't last and Alexei shed his last card. "But keep in mind that he's got enemies, a lot of them, and you don't want to be on their hitlists. Especially not now…" He muttered at last.

The girl sat there, frozen in place, not knowing what to do or what to say. She was touched that Alexei cared that much. She had expected him to tell her that it was bad for business or something like that. Not this. Absolutely not this. She was scared too. Not because of what he told her, exactly. But because she knew – God, she knew! – that if Vladimir were to come back through that door again tonight and got back to his flirting, she would play along, warnings be damned.