Chapter 7

As promised, Vladimir called her the day after the Whore Incident. He was busy her next day off, but could manage something for the one after that. She agreed to it. This time, he was inviting her to his place, arguing that it was safer.

She wouldn't say being alone in a mobster-king's appartement was safe, per se, but she thought that, at least, they would be able to talk and act without worrying about who was listening. When one was dating a criminal, she reckoned one had to take those things into account. Since the whore incident, she was set on asking a few questions she wouldn't have dared to ask before. Jessica would have been terrified if she had known.

She even had written them down. First, she wanted to know why he had said Anatoly brought girls for him on purpose. She hadn't paid it any mind at first but as she went to bed that night and replayed their argument, it had stuck with her. Didn't he like her? Truth to be told, she wasn't sure to like him either. He always talked to her as if she didn't matter. She guessed she didn't, really. She was just his favorite bar's new barmaid. However, he had to know she had been on a date with his brother.

If her sister were dating a boy, even just once, and then she got to meet him while with her, even on the street by chance, she would at least acknowledge him. Well, she would actually pester him and embarrass her little sister, but that was her. She was hard-pressed to picture Anatoly that way. Still, she had a feeling something was amiss here and she had pretty good instincts...

Then, she also wanted to know why he didn't sleep with her last time. She wasn't sure yet how she would manage to bring this subject up without making a fool of herself but she had almost a week to think about it.

Finally, her last but not least line of inquiry would be about his activities. She didn't want to know every detail. Not at all. But she needed to get an idea of it, even vague. Like, did he own a brothel? Did he sell guns? Was he into drugs trafficking? Did he do drugs by the way? Because this was a pet peeve of her. Boys tended to change with drugs, she knew. Their brains got all scrambled up and the reality, with time, faded like a distant memory. She wasn't about to live through that again, even for Vladimir's pretty ass.

As she sat on her couch on her day off, doing her nails and making a mess of it – she had never been able to apply polish without painting her skin too before setting it right – she decided today would be a Camille's day. She spent an unholy time under the shower, trying to get cooler despite her apartment's hell-level of a temperature. Once she was done, she went shopping, buying some comfortable but cute underwear sets and one lacy, sexy set just in case. She knew by experience that men didn't much care about lingerie, except when they were impossible to take off, but she did. When she put on some garter holder under a skirt, she felt like the Black Widow, sexy and confident.

When she got back home, she waved at Alex who was opening the bar. He waved back, arching an eyebrow at her black and pink bag. She stuck out her tong at him before entering her building. Once in her apartment, she didn't feel like cooking and ordered a pizza. God, how she loved a good pepperoni pizza!

While waiting for the delivery guy, she settled on her plushy couch which had seen better days and browsed on Netflix, trying to find some good TV show to last her awhile. She had finally settled on Vikings, the good looks of Ragnar sealing the deal, when her phone rang.

Mom.

"Oh, come on!" She moaned. "Why is it always when I'm about to eat?!"

"Allo?" She answered anyway.

"Camille, comment tu vas ma chérie?"

"I'm fine, Mom. I'm about to eat a pizza and watch Vikings on Netflix." Translation: Don't go on one of your hour-long monologues, please.

"Oh, I won't be long then." Thank God! "I just called to tell you that we looked it up with your sister and we will be able to come to see you for Christmas!"

Camille almost jumped.

"For real?!" She asked, excited. That was such good news. She missed them so much.

"Yes, dear. For real. Your step-father won't make it because of work so it will be just us girls. Do you think you can host us? We would come for two weeks."

"Yes, sure! I'm so happy! My apartment is a little small but we'll make do."

"No problem," her mother laughed, "I'm more worried about the size of your sister's bag. She is already thinking about what to put in it..."

Camille smiled, tears in her eyes. Her sister and she used to do this together, packing. Then, unpacking. And packing again.

"Could you put her on the phone?"

Her mother paused, probably hearing the shaking of her voice.

"Sure, Mimi. Lilou!" She called. "Your sister wants to talk to you!" Camille almost lost it when she heard the excited voice of her little sister. "She's here. Love you, Mimi."

"Love you too, mom."

She then heard her sister taking the phone.

"Mimi! How are you? How is New-York?" She asked in an excited squeal. She was always so full of life. "Did you find any hot guy? Seventeen maybe?"

"Lilou!" She heard her mother on the background, half-grumbling half-laughing.

And Camille laughed too, tears rolling down her cheeks.

Needless to say that after this day off, Camille went back to work with a radiant smile on her face every day.

"What's got you so chirpy?" Piotr asked one day, as he sat on a stool, a glass of vodka in one hand.

He was another one of Vladimir's boys. Good looking and always nice. She suspected he was working up the courage to ask her on a date because apparently, contrary to her circle of people, not many of Vladimir's people seemed to know about their sort of dating.

From what she understood, only Jessica, Alexei, Anatoly and Sergei knew, more or less, that something was going on. She hoped Piotr would never actually ask, for that would be a conversation to behold... "Sorry, can't do. I'm planning to shag your boss like my life depends on it as soon as possible!"

She didn't miss the suspicious glare of Jessica and could guess on what she would have bet her money on. And no, she wanted to tell her, she hadn't made good on her promise and banged Vladimir. Yet.

"My mom called me a few days ago. She and my sister are coming here for Christmas! I can't wait."

A gentle smile graced Piotr's boyish features.

"That's good for you. Family is important. Long time 'till Christmas thought."

"Yeah, sure. But hey, that's how it is! I can't wait to show them around. Even if I still get lost on the subway the second I get out of Hell's Kitchen..."

That got her a general round of laughter. She didn't care. As she kept tending to the bar, singing along the music on the radio – her butchered lyrics on Eminem's Lose Yourself got her another round of laughter – and dancing when she was not carrying glasses, Alex walked past her and ruffled her hair as he tended to do when he thought she was acting cute.

"Do you know where you'll have them sleep? Your family." He asked. She had said so before, Alex was an angel on earth, battle scars and all. She was certain that if she were to told him no, he would offer his help. She didn't want to bother him though.

"We'll manage. My sister and mother could share my bed and I'll sleep on the couch. It'll only be for two weeks." Alex winced when she mentioned her couch. Yes, she knew she would probably sprain her back but she felt invincible right now. "Don't look at me like that, boss. I'm strong as an ox!" He snorted.

"An ant, more like." Before she could argue that ants were indeed very strong, he had bent toward her, keeping his voice down so only she could hear. "You could always ask Volodya. He owns a couple apartments 'round here. Might be he'll have one empty by Christmas."

She stayed silent a little while, not liking the idea at all. It'd be practical, sure, but she didn't want to owe Vladimir anything just yet. And she didn't want to fall into the trap of assuming she'd still keep in touch with him by Christmas.

"Nah. I'll just have to go and sleep at Piotr's, right Piotr?" She joked, turning toward the boy still on his stool. He had come with another guy she didn't know.

"Anytime you want, love." Was his automatic flirty answer.

"I'd advise against that." The stranger with him added. "His place is a dump. Come to mine, okay?"

She laughed. Piotr was obviously embarrassed, his friend snaking an arm around his shoulders to shake him with good humor.

"See?" she told Alex. "Russian men are always just so happy to help."

"Wankers..." Alex grumbled as he got back to work.

The day after was her next day off. Date day. She had been anxious. Very anxious. Going on a date with Vladimir would make her fidget any day but going on a date at his place was a whole new level of terrifying. At least, he was picking her up and she wouldn't have to search for it. That was something.

She hadn't dressed up this time, putting on a simple summer dress that felt comfortable in the smothering heat that befell the Kitchen on summer. They were halfway through it, thank fuck! On her feet, she was wearing white flat scandals. Underneath the dress however, she wore a black lace set of underwear with silk ribbons on her back and on her breasts. Yep, still set on jumping him.

When the interphone rang this time, he was ten minutes late. She didn't even had time to tease him about him before he explained:

"Sorry, I'm late. I couldn't find a fucking spot to park my car. You're still coming, right?"

She laughed and got down her stairs. When she saw him, she congratulated herself on her choice of clothes. Just like her, he wore normal clothes, which were a black shirt with long sleeved rolled on his forearms and dark jeans for him, even in the summer.

"Aren't you hot, dressed like this?" she asked as he slid a hand on her back and kissed her cheek.

"I am always hot."

And off they went in his car, with Camille giggling and shaking her head in disbelief. Cocky bastard.

He drove them up the uptown part of Hell's Kitchen, which still wasn't far from her place. Because of traffic, people tended to forget that the Kitchen wasn't an actual city on its own but just a couple of blocks in the west of Manhattan. She could have run to his place in half an hour.

"Why do you drive a car with a stick?" she asked as she watched her Russian date drive. If she had owned a car here, it would have been an automatic one, even if she knew how to drive a stick.

"Because I am not a pussy."

She snorted, once again shaking her head at his antics. Men and their cars... She would never get it.

Vladimir put on his left blinker and entered an underground parking lot. Right before they disappeared from the road, she saw a sign on a garage on the other side of the street: "Veles Taxi". So, that was where her clientele worked when they were not spending their cash at her counter. Right next to their boss's apartment. The man couldn't be faulted for not being practical, at least.

"Do you live with Anatoly?" She asked on a whim. If he said yes, she'd bet that dinner would turn sour very fast.

"No." Thank God! "He lives in the building right after this one." He waved in the general northern direction.

"So, it's just us tonight?" She didn't want to have any bad surprises. The whores were enough for a few months...

"Yes. Does it bother you?" He asked as he slid an arm behind her seat to watch through the back windshield as he parked the car in its reserved spot.

"Quite the opposite! Did you cook for us?"

He smirked.

"Are we playing twenty questions?" He asked back, once the car was parked, a teasing smirk still on his face. She stuck her tongue out at him. His expression changed slowly, growing serious.

The hand that had been on her backseat came to rest behind her neck, under her hair that she had let loose despite the heat. With the other one, he unbuckled his seatbelt and she knew what was coming. She licked her lips in anticipation. That set him into motion. He bent forward and kissed her. She took the opportunity to rack her hands through his hair once more. She loved his hair, soft, long enough to grab onto, short enough not to get into knots. He groaned when she pulled at it, closing one of her hands on it while the other slid down to the part of his neck accessible underneath his shirt.

Soon, she felt his tongue against her teeth, demanding entrance. She granted it in a whimper. His free hand took leverage on the seat, right beside her thigh as he bent a little more toward her, forcing her back against the door. If they kept going like this, they would end up on top of one another.

Unsurprisingly, the strange indecision she had had on their first kiss was ebbing away as she kept doing it. Now, the only thing on her mind was how to manage to sit on his crotch without banging her head or his on the ceiling... However, once again, he backed away.

"Let's get out of this parking lot, shall we?" he whispered against her lips.

"Pussy." She mumbled as they detangled themselves from each other. At first, he froze, eyes wide open staring at her in surprise. Then, he burst out laughing, his head and hands resting on his steering wheel. He looked at her from the corner of his eye.

"When did girls get such a cheek?"

She stuck her tong at him again. This time he arched an eyebrow at her.

"Okay, I'm out!" She opened her door and got out as he did the same. When she got back to his side, he put his hand once again on the small of her back, guiding her toward the elevator. Once inside, he punched the top floor button.

"What are we going to eat?" she asked as the lift got them higher and higher. The silence, coupled with his hand rubbing small circle on her back, was making her nervous. Something Vladimir never seemed affected by. She was pretty sure they could stay in the elevator for hours, unmoving and in silence, and he wouldn't be fazed.

"Patience is a virtue, Camille." She saw half of his mouth turn into a smirk at her indignant huff.

"Yeah, yeah, I know curiosity, the mouse, all that..." His head turned toward her, eyebrows up.

"What the fuck are you on about now?"

They stared at each other; eyes wide-open.

"Seriously? The curiosity that killed the mouse? Doesn't ring any bell?" She asked. He laughed again, derisively this time.

"I am not an expert in English sayings but I'm pretty sure this one is about a cat."

"Cat, mouse... Potato, Patato..."

When the elevator's door dinged open, he was still laughing at her expense.

"Bon, où est ton appart'?" She asked in French, because she was petty like that.

He answered her something in Russian. He could be petty too. He finally motioned for her to go to the first door on her left, walking ahead as he searched for his keys. The appartement she discovered was not at all what she would have expected from a man like him. She had thought he would live in some kind of luxurious but cold thing.

Instead, she discovered a simple entryway. On her left were his shoe shelves, he owned quite a few pairs: city shoes mostly, made of shiny black leather, but sneakers too and hiking boots. On her left were coat hangers already full with leather jackets and coats. She put her purse underneath it.

Next, she followed Vladimir to his living room. She had expected a room with big windows and a lot of empty spaces. Instead, there was only one simple window. The room was furnished with two big brown leather couches that looked pretty comfy. In front of it was a big flat screen fixed on the wall, with a PlayStation underneath it on a small wooden console. The coffee table in between was littered with magazines and video games. The floors were made of soft brown wood that were mixing nicely with the creamy walls.

Those were decorated with pictures of him, of his brother, she recognized one of Sergei, fishing on a boat, another of Piotr, eating an obscene looking ice cream. She also saw framed posters: one was of the first Star Wars movie; another was depicting some kind of boxing match. A wall was totally covered with bookshelves. Most of it were filled with books and DVDs and vinyl discs. She recognized one of Iron Maiden, its nightmarish cover unmistakable.

Behind the living room, Vladimir passed the dining table and went through an arch to get to his kitchen. It was nice too, painted in grey shades, squeaky clean. As she leaned against the archway, crossing her arms, she lifted an eyebrow at him with a pointed look.

"You don't eat here much, do you?" She asked him in a knowing grin. The thing looked like it had come straight out of a decoration book. He turned around at the sound of her voice but soon got back to whatever he was doing.

"No. Anatoly is the cook of the family." He smirked, emptying his pockets on the island's counter. It took quite some time. Car key, apartment keys, two phones, a pack of cigarette, lighter, credit cards, pocket knife, a rumpled ten dollars bill, a few tickets, and finally a few coins. The man needed a wallet. At last, he opened the fridge and started rummaging in it. "Want to drink something?" He asked, still hunched over the thing.

"Yeah, a beer would be great, if you have some." He handed one to her above the fridge door. She thanked him and took the liberty to sit on one of the kitchen stools, grabbing his car key on her way. He had a bottle-opener on it. She used it and waited for him to start drinking, checking out his ass as he kept searching for something. He got the bottle of vodka out, put it beside him on one of the counters. Then, he began to get a couple of glass recipients out. Apparently, they were eating lasagna and salad tonight.

"Anatoly cooked for us. I'll just have to reheat the thing." Seeing his scowl as he closed the fridge's door, it seemed that even this was a small challenge for him. She hid a smile behind her palm.

"Will I end up poisoned?" she asked, only half-joking.

"Nah, it was his punishment for putting me elbow-deep in shit to begin with."

She snorted, picturing the two men bickering like only siblings, criminal or otherwise, could do.

"I guess I'll put it in the microwave." He muttered watching the lasagna as if it could bite him.

Camille stood up, shaking her head. Men... She batted his hands away from the dishes.

"Pour yourself a glass and set the table. I'll take care of the reheating. In the oven!"

"Yes, ma'am." He mocked, not too bothered to sit in a corner. The girl tinkered a bit with the oven until she found the setting she wanted. When she was done, the table was set, somewhat haphazardly, but who cared?

"Cheers."

She grabbed her beer, made it clink against his glass before drinking right from the bottle and going back to his living room. He watched her for a few seconds before following suit. When he had gotten back to her, she let herself fall on one of his couches with a satisfied sight. She wished she had one like that at home.

"I like your living room." she concluded, getting comfortable under the soft lights of the room.

"I can see that." Vladimir smirked as he sat on the other couch, next to hers.

"I didn't think I'd find a place so... lived in?" The room was like a little tour in Vladimir's head.

"Wait until you see the dirty laundry on the bathroom's floor." His smirk grew wider and she laughed. She almost told him that he couldn't beat her on that front but didn't want to broke the myth just yet.

At first, they talked about small things, like how Alex's bar was going, about his favorite video games – Call of Duty, unsurprisingly – and hers – Assassin's Creed. He was surprised she played but she drowned his hopes right away. She would not play a game of Call of Duty to save her life. Never. She had tried, once. The game was stupid. Mostly because she kept losing at it!

After her second beer and his third glass of vodka, she finally gathered enough courage to broach one of the subjects she had kept in mind.

"Vladimir, last time we talked," A frown formed on his face. He could feel troubles coming. He might have been right. "You told me you didn't want whores, that Anatoly did this on purpose." He nodded, reluctantly. "Why did he do that? Did he want to hurt me, on purpose?

Holding his gaze took some strength. He was sizing her up, trying to decipher what she was up to, if she had ulterior motives, maybe? She wasn't sure, but one thing was for certain, she was honest about it. She just wanted to know why someone she had barely ever talked to didn't like her. She tried to convey this in her eyes. She must have passed the test, because Vladimir started to explain, after a sip or two from his drink.

"He wasn't trying to hurt you, although to be honest, he didn't care if he ended up doing it either." She watched as he stood up. He went to open his window and grabbed an ashtray that must have always been left there. He sat back down and lit a cigarette from a pack hiding under the mess on the table. She followed suit, feeling that nicotine might be needed now. "Anatoly thinks that having a girl is weakness, a weakness that can be used against us both, against what we do. He is right about it."

He marked a pause to let that sink in. A puff of smoke later, Camille nodded. She supposed he was actually right, in some way.

"He saw I cared about you. More than what is prudent. And since he couldn't talk some sense into me, he thought he could scare you away."

Camille shrugged in front of her date's intense gaze. He was focused on her like a hawk on its prey, gauging every reaction she might have.

"He has a weird way of doing it. I was pissed. Not scared."

Vladimir smirked at this.

"He doesn't know you. I told you before, Anatoly doesn't have the same view on women as I do. To him, women are prudish things easy to handle. That, and he couldn't come to your apartment to beat you up." She felt a cold shiver running down her spine. Yes, she guessed that would be the mobster way of getting rid of the issue… Alex was right. She didn't know who they were. She was just scrapping the surface of who Vladimir was. And yet, she got a feeling he was different with her than he was at work… "I would have known. And I wouldn't have been happy."

Understatement of the year, if his murderous stare was anything to go by. She grabbed her beer bottle to keep herself from fidgeting. Well, she had wanted to know. Now she knew.

"Don't worry about it. Anatoly and I talked. He will not pull shit like this ever again. Because I said I will be discreet."

She could feel he was asking for her agreement on this. Afterall, it took two to be discreet. She nodded. She had come to the same conclusion herself.

"He might still give you hell when you will saw him, though."

She snorted. Let him come. From the first time she saw them, based on Jessica's reaction and later on, Vladimir's confession, she knew the latter was the worst one of the two. She wasn't delusional, she knew she wouldn't be able to face Anatoly on her own. However, she had Vladimir to shield her from him, so what could he do really? Scaring her with whores? Ah! The only things he could do to really scare her, Vladimir wouldn't allow.


A/N: Hello everyone. Just a quick note to tell you that "the date" will keep going in the next chapter. Due to the length of the whole scene, I had to cut it in two. See you next chapter!