Acquainted, page 6
Even as she was still mentally in Punta Mita where problems with Italian families and work didn’t exist, she still had to come into the studio today and get caught up on the ongoing projects and a new one that recently popped up. And while she hadn’t brought up Alfie when she came in two hours ago—yet—Frances wasn’t one to wait.
She was excited, eager even. That was just who she was.
Her personality was as big as her wavy black hair.
But to answer her question … “Very attractive.”
More than she could ever put into words.
More than any man she had ever met.
Alfie wasn't classically handsome—his face was a little too hard and his beard a little too unruly to truly be considered model-like—but she liked him all the more because there was something rugged about him.
Something she couldn't get enough of.
Something she missed desperately.
"Enough that I would go back to see if he was still there," she whispered, and though the rational side of her said she was joking, the less rational side wasn't so sure. "But enough about him. You said there was a new offer?"
Frances sighed as if Vera was taking away all her fun. "It's a commercial project," she said, walking over and handing Vera the file in her hand, easily slipping back into professional mode as she went over the details. "I tried to explain to them that you don't do commercial properties, but he insisted, so I told him I would at least run it by you and get back to him with your answer."
Vera frowned as she listened, opening the folder and reading through the description of what the project called for, as well as sifting through the pictures of the empty restored factory that she was meant to turn into a luxury restaurant.
Her specialty had always been turning a house into a home, in making something that felt barren into something that thrived with life. When she saw empty living rooms, she could mentally replace the empty space with furniture and see the different colors until an image clicked into place of what it could become.
With this, she was getting nothing.
But, even as Vera was unsure what she could make of it, she had always liked a challenge, pushing herself further to diversify her portfolio.
And at the very least, this could open another set of doors for her.
"Who's the client?" she asked, finally looking up.
"Said his name was Percival Hoskins."
Not a name she was familiar with as far as prominent figures in New York—on either side of the law—went. “And he knows how much this would potentially cost him?” she asked with a brow arched.
A lot of people often thought interior design was an easy job, but her services didn’t come cheap.
“I gave him your rate, but he didn’t seem concerned by the price at all.”
Then it wouldn't hurt to try.
"Set up a meeting with him for next Tuesday. We can start then."
Frances nodded before standing. "Will do."
It wouldn’t give her much time to start her preliminary work for what this sort of project would entail, but Vera was eager to start on something new that would ultimately take her entire focus.
Hopefully, this way she could stop thinking about Alfie.
Seven p.m. rolled around quickly, and though Vera could have stayed exactly where she was and kept going for a few more hours, she had made a promise she had no intention of breaking.
While most families had Sunday dinners where they all gathered at a mutual location, sat around a large table with heaping amounts of food in the center of the table, and joined hands all around, that wasn't the life she lived.
While it was true there was a family dinner every Sunday evening, it wasn't between the family claimed, but rather the one her father put before anything else. Sunday was the day the who's who of the Markovic Bratva gathered around and broke bread.
When her father tried to pretend he was not only some sort of worthy patriarch, but he moved with his nose in the air, arrogance dripping from every inch of him—always so proud of whatever punishment or lesson he had bestowed on someone.
That was what the man lived for.
She had long stopped being able to stomach it when she realized just how much of a monster he really was. And since Kaz wouldn't be there—which, in turn, guaranteed Ruslan's absence—no one or nothing could convince her to attend them.
Now, to make it up to her mother and sisters—who she didn't get to see nearly as often as she wanted to—she treated them to dinner in the city on Thursday nights after work.
Tonight was no different. Though she was still suffering from jet lag and already looking forward to climbing into her bed later, once she left her office and locked up, she climbed into her Bentley and headed to the restaurant. Her father had bought her a nearly identical one two years ago, thinking the vehicle would soften her. She'd smiled sweetly, handed him the keys back, and went and bought her own just to prove a point.
Vasily wouldn't be able to buy her forgiveness, no matter how much he seemed to want to.
Traffic wasn't so bad at this hour until she reached midtown. The constant stop and go added another thirty minutes onto her journey before she was pulling up in front of the restaurant with the glowing white name across the front.
The nineteen-year-old valet couldn't look more excited as she handed him the key and walked around to the entrance of the restaurant.
The interior was warmly lit, a mixture of earth tones that felt warm, but nothing, in particular, made it stand out. Already, she saw possibilities for a place she hadn't done a walk-through of yet, nor had she even officially taken the job.
"How may I be of assistance, madam?" the maître d' asked, smiling tentatively as Vera approached.
"I'm with the Markovic party of four."
To his credit, the man's mask only slipped the tiniest bit to let her know he knew who she was—or rather, her name.
Not that she expected otherwise.
The Markovic name was notorious.
"Of course. Follow me, please."
He stepped out from behind the podium, walking through the restaurant with curt efficiency, easily maneuvering around the tables until they reached a secluded section that was probably meant to host a party of considerable size.
Vera frowned even before she turned the corner. Usually, she or her mother booked the reservation, and they didn't go out of their way to make such a big production out of dinner. The only one in her family who did was—
She saw him before he saw her.
Sitting at the table with a tumbler of vodka in his tattooed hand, he gazed upon the twins with affection with eyes alight with humor. They didn't know the monster that hid behind that smile or the man he truly was, and hopefully, they never would.
Vera didn't want that for them. If anyone could have a chance in their family to live a semi-normal life, it should be them.
But that didn't mean she was good at pretending, and even as she mentally told herself not to clench her teeth, Vera could feel how tight her own smile was as she gazed at her father, knowing without looking that the maître d' had turned and walked away.
"Vera, moya dorogaya devushka—my darling girl,” Vasily greeted her warmly as he stood from his chair with outstretched arms.
Those words used to fill her with such joy. Now, all she felt was dread.
"I wasn't expecting you to be here," she said dryly, looking at her mother for an explanation.
Her mother was a pleaser. Someone who just wished everyone could get along. She knew what kind of monster Vasily was—she had married him, after all—but she also liked to think that he meant well even when no one else did.
He's your father, she would say. You can't fault a man for loving his daughter too much.
Even if that love was suffocating.
"Can I not make plans to see my daughter?" he asked in that way of his. "You could answer my calls, no? Then there would be no need for this."
Vera barely withheld a scoff. As if a mere phone call would have stopped him.
Vasily didn't take well to being ignored, and the fact that it had taken him this long before forcing this meeting on her was a testament in itself.
Which also meant she wouldn’t be leaving this restaurant until he said whatever he had come here to say.
She still thought about leaving. Of just pushing out of his arms, turning on her heels, and leaving as quickly as she came. Vasily was too proud to chase after her—not with a room full of witnesses. He had an image to uphold, and he wouldn't break it for anyone.
But she also knew that while he wouldn't make a scene here in the restaurant, he would make her pay for it later, and even as stubborn as she could be, Vera was in no mood for that.
For now, she could suffer through this dinner and get right back to ignoring him after.
But what she would not do was embrace him, no matter how he felt about it.
Vera stood there, her arms still at her sides, counting down the seconds until he finally released her and stepped back, finally giving her the opportunity to move around him until she could reach Irina. And once she was seated between the twins at the table, she relaxed a bit.
Irina, sensing the tension in the room, cleared her throat as she lifted her glass of wine and took a sip. "How was your trip, Vera?"
The question brought on a thousand memories, all of which began and ended with Alfie Shelby, and managed to make the first genuine smile cross her face. "Better than I expected."
"Our senior trip is going to be to Cancun," Nika spoke up thoughtfully, a smile already forming.
"Did you meet any cute guys?" Dina asked, nearly at the same time.
Vera opened her mouth, fully prepared to answer—though she had no intention of telling them about Alfie—but before she could, Vasily made a little noise in the back of his throat, low and amused, and she was reminded all too quickly why she avoided him at all costs.
"Is something amusing?" Vera asked, clearly surprising him from the way he’d suspended his glass of liquor in front of his mouth as he regarded her.
Sometimes, he seemed to forget that despite Irina's love for him and the way his men feared him, Vera wasn't blinded by either.
Especially because they both knew why he had scoffed—as if the very idea of her entertaining someone's attention was ridiculous. They both also knew that even if she was interested in anyone, she would never bring them around to meet her family.
The one and only time she had, Vasily had ensured it would never happen again.
He was spared from answering when the waiter returned, ready to take their order.
Vera ordered water with two slices of lemon, already deciding she wouldn't be staying longer than she absolutely had to.
That was the thing about Vasily. As long as he was the one enjoying himself, then no one else's comfort mattered. He attempted to be on his best behavior, even made it a point to almost make her feel as if he was making an effort to earn her forgiveness that would never come, but even in the midst of that, his true nature always managed to peek through.
Or perhaps, she always saw through him.
"How's Kaz doing?"
The question, even innocently asked as she lifted her straw to her lips, was enough to bring the conversation at the table screeching to a halt. Ever since her brother had been arrested and subsequently charged, it had been an unspoken rule in the family that they do not discuss it or him or anything to do with why he was locked away in the first place.
"Vera," Irina admonished quietly.
That was usually the way of it.
Her father goaded her. Vera lost her chill. And her mother attempted to smooth things over as best she could before tempers flared any hotter.
“You would know better than me. Isn’t that right, Vera?” Vasily asked, and even as there was a thin smile on his face, she saw right through that.
He actually had the audacity to be upset with her, as if she had done anything wrong.
“Chicago will be good for him,” she said, keeping her voice level, matching his expression. “This way, he’ll at least stay out of trouble, no? Wouldn’t want him getting arrested again.”
“Careful,” he said, losing the small smile that had graced his face. “You won’t always be around to protect your brother from his own stupidity. Do well to remember that.”
Vera didn’t take her eyes off Vasily as she lifted the cloth napkin from her lap and dropped it onto the table. Even if she had wanted to fake her way through this dinner, she couldn’t.
“I’ll see you next week, Mama.”
“Vera—”
This time, she didn’t allow Irina to call her back and guilt her into staying. Next time when she called to set up their next dinner, she would make herself perfectly clear.
If Vasily was there, Vera wouldn’t be.
It was as simple as that.
Between ignoring her father and catching up on some last-minute projects that needed her final approval, Vera's meeting with the mysterious client had snuck up on her. Thankfully, today was only about observation and trying to determine whether she even wanted to take the job.
It went beyond going over schematics. Researching potential designs and contemplating the level of work needed for a large space like a restaurant. And as far as she could see from the pictures she had received, the contractors still had work to do for at least the next few weeks.
"And he's hoping to have this place open and running in eight weeks?" Vera called, spotting Francis coming toward her office.
"That's what he wrote," she answered in a tone that said she understood just how short of a deadline that was.
She ran the numbers in her head, shaking her head at the figure that came to mind. Either he had a lot of money to spend, or he was really determined to have her do the work.
Glancing down at her watch, Vera asked, "Are you ready?"
Francis nodded before going over to the cabinet in the corner. "I'll grab the keys."
The drive to Astoria Queens from Manhattan took a little over half an hour, the time passing quickly even with the traffic clogging the streets. And well before they were turning down the street, Vera could already tell which building would eventually be home to a fabulous restaurant.
Amethyst, even in its bare bones state, was beautiful.
There had always been something about brick buildings she had always loved. The combination of exposed brick on the inside and concrete floors was rustic and timeless.
Once they parked and she stepped out of the truck, she followed the lines of the building, already imagining how best to anchor the sign with the restaurant's name on it to the front.
As they walked toward the double doors that led into the front of the restaurant, the Aston Martin parked parallel to the road caught her eye. It made sense that whoever owned this place—especially in this part of the city—undoubtedly had the money to afford it, but she also knew that only one hundred of this particular model had been made in the entire world.
"I would literally kill someone for that car," Frances mumbled, her expression longing as she gazed at it until the car was out of sight as they headed into the building.
A clear plastic tarp covered the floors as the walls were currently being repaired and cleaned where needed, but even with all the chaos of the space around them as they entered the old factory, Vera could see what it could become.
But until she met the owner, nothing was solidified quite yet.
She and Frances had only been standing there a few moments before a man—who couldn't be any older than twenty-one if she had to guess—walked around the corner and hurried over to them, a flush in his cheeks. He smoothed the front of his shirt before he did the same to his hair and smile crookedly in a way that was almost as attractive as Alfie's.
"Sorry to keep you waiting," he said apologetically, gesturing for them to follow him. "The boss is waiting for you."
Vera's brow furrowed as she glanced over at Frances first before looking back at him. "You're not Percival?"
"I am," he said with a light, attractive laugh. "Just do what I'm told."
Which meant he wasn't the one who wanted to hire her.
Why all the secrecy?
"Where is the—"
Footsteps drew her gaze away from the man in front of her to the one coming down the hallway, a door closing firmly behind him.
Of all the people Vera expected to walk out of that office, Alfie Shelby wasn't one of them.
She tried her best to hide the surprise that flitted through her even as she blinked twice to make sure he was actually standing in front of her and it wasn't just her mind playing a cruel trick on her since she'd been dreaming of warm nights in Punta de Mita with a man she had never expected to see again.
But here he was, his jeans and faded tee exchanged for a sharp suit, tailored to fit his impressive build. His messy hair was combed neatly into place, parted on the left and swept back in place, but his beard was as unruly as ever. It was impossible not to drink him in—from the blood-red tie held in place by a silver clip against his crisp white shirt, or the matching navy trousers and vest.
The man she had met in Mexico had been casual, laid-back even, but the man standing before her now commanded everything around him. He was someone else entirely.
"We should accept the contract just because of his face," Frances muttered next to her, heart eyes practically glowing on her face.
"That's him," Vera whispered in return, unable to take her eyes off him. Staring in disbelief, she wondered if he would disappear the moment her gaze was no longer on him.
"Him who?"
"Alfie."
"The one from Punta de Mita?" Frances asked fiercely with wide eyes as she looked from Alfie to her, a wide, knowing grin spreading. "Can I just say, I'm super proud of you."
While a part of her wanted to laugh, the other part couldn't believe this was actually happening. He wasn't supposed to be here, of all places, especially when he hadn't mentioned a single word to her about living in New York.
