GALATEA: Alexei: A Russian Mafia story

Anastasia Ivanova:

Bright light cascaded through the cracks of the thin drapes, nudging me silently awake.

I groaned, turning over to my side, tossing a pillow over my face and refusing to glance at the clock.

I didn’t even want to know what time it was. I knew it had to have been late in the day, since I didn’t get off work until 5 am last night. I had to go back in tonight for another round. Then tomorrow I was back to nursing classes and clinicals and a 12 hour shift on my feet.

But I’d take a 12 hour shift in comfortable gym shoes or crocs compared to a 12 hour day in 5 inch heels.

The clientele was mostly the same at the hospital as it was at the club, but the work was different—much different.

I worked part time at the club but it was more like full time as of late: I worked 4 nights a week at a Russian Club called ‘Pretty Women’. It was just as the name implied, a strip club and a nightclub filled with a bunch of Eastern European men but mostly frequented by Russians who enjoyed barely clothed Eastern European women dancing to techno music on stage.

I was a server not a stripper, I’m not hating on strippers, everybody’s got to make a living and the strippers make good money at the club.

The reason I work there is because I make good money after all, and I’m mostly broke, mainly because of paying my way through nursing school. I get paid out in cash after every shift, which is a nice perk especially when tax season comes around.

But being a server isn’t as glamorous. It’s similar to being a stripper at the club. I still have to wear skimpy clothing and tramp around in a dress that barely covers my butt and that offers a full view of my cleavage. And don’t even get me started on the 5 inch heels, they’re impossible to walk in and my feet are covered in blisters at the end of the night no matter what precautions I take.

But I shouldn’t complain, I’m lucky to have a job that pays well and that helps me get through nursing school.

Soon, this will all be a part of my past and I will willingly trade my 5 inch heels for a pair of hospital style crocs. And I’ll be content. Then my real life can finally begin.

But I guess I’m being dramatic, aren’t I? I live a pretty good life as a 22 year old in nursing school. I live with my best friend, Natalya. We’ve known each other since we were kids. Since our parents were friends when we were younger, we became friends. Natalya is like a sister to me, she’s the only family I have left now that my parents died. So it was only fitting that we live our adult lives together.

But I guess I’m not completely alone— I sort of have a boyfriend too, who happens to be one of the new resident doctors at Vonberg Hospital in the Bronx. I met him when I first started clinicals about 2 months ago, and the rest is history. His name is Carter, he’s super American, which I’m not completely used to since I was raised by two Russians who would bleed for their country and culture, but he’s different from most men, especially Russian men. Carter is well— he’s softer than I’m used to. He’s more carefree, he likes smiling and joking, he doesn’t care if I’m dolled up all the time, and he drives a Prius (he’s environmentally conscious while being health conscious). Like I said, much different than Russian men.

Russian men are so—well rough. Rough is probably the primary word to describe them. They don’t smile or joke often, they enjoy clogging their arteries by eating dumplings and high-fat meats, they love overly loud and screeching techno music just as much as they love strippers or women in general, and they most certainly do not drive Priuses.

But even though Carter is great—and safe, well educated, and he seems to be a decent enough guy— there’s just something about him that screams ‘he’s not right for you’. Maybe it’s the fact he’s never made me cum and I’ve had to fake orgasms? He’s not bad at sex. Well he’s not horrible at sex, but I don’t have it in me to tell him I didn’t cum so I pretend that I do, like most women. Or maybe it’s the fact that there’s just something about his love that doesn’t feel genuine? There’s something off about his affection. Or maybe I’m just overthinking this entire thing and trying to ruin a good thing with a normal guy who happens to be American, and not Russian.

But my thoughts were interrupted by a rapid knock upon my door.

“Good morning!” Natalya happily chimed as she skipped into my room.

Natalya worked last night just like I did, and I’m sure her feet were sore and bleeding but she still was as cheerful as ever. Even beyond her merriment, I could see the tiredness beneath her eyes. Dark circles and puffiness surrounded the white skin underneath her eyes.

“It’s too early for happiness, Natalya!” I groaned and threw the pillow back over my head.

She chuckled and took a seat next to me on the bed. “It’s never too early!” She brought the coffee cup to her lips and took a generous swig. “Besides I’ve had at least two cups of coffee and I am in desperate need of a new wardrobe.”

I rolled my eyes. Natalya loved shopping. She loved it so much she insisted on going to the store or ordering clothes online at least twice a week. She was always the best dressed of the girls at the club with the newest outfits or makeup.

And while I chose to spend my money on school, Natalya chose to spend her money on items. To each your own!

“Fine,” I shrugged, deciding not to argue. I was already up and I needed to stop thinking about Carter, and trying to ruin a good thing anyways. Besides, shopping always made Natalya happy and maybe she needed a ‘pick me up’.

“You, not arguing?” Natalya laughed, side-eyeing me from the distance.

“I know, shocking,” I teased back, pushing my blonde hair behind my back. I curled my hair yesterday, and thank god for hairspray, because the curls still were intact.

“Maybe you could even buy something for once. You could use a new dress,” Natalya quipped, sticking out her tongue at me.

She’s right. I could use a new dress. Maybe something festive for the upcoming holiday season even. “We’ll see. Now I need a coffee before we freeze our butts off!” I pressed my feet into the ground and into a standing position.

“You almost act as if you’re not Russian! Afraid of the cold,” she mocked, teasing me. “We are born in the cold!” She laughed easily, her light brown hair spilling beyond her back as she followed me into the kitchen.

“Oh, sue me for needing a warm coat and a hot cup of coffee,” I rolled my eyes, as I grabbed a cup from the cabinet and poured myself a cup of scolding coffee then offered Natalya another cup which she happily accepted.

Natalya took a seat at the table and propped her feet up on a nearby chair. “How much did you make last night?”

I pressed my back into the kitchen countertop, clutching the cup of coffee in my free hand. “A little over a grand,” I replied, bringing the coffee cup to my lips and taking a generous swig. Ah, the hot coffee tasted amazing.

Natalya pressed her feet into the ground, stirring excitedly from my response. Her blue eyes met mine, “You’re kidding, right?”

I shrugged, taking another sip of the coffee. “Nope.”

“Lucky bitch!” she clapped. “I knew I should’ve dyed my hair back blonde for the holidays. All Russians love blondes, and the club will be packed in a few weeks. That’s it– I’m making a hair appointment!” she chimed, getting to her feet and pacing around.

“I must’ve just served the right tables,” I mentioned, trying to make her feel better. But I knew why I made more money than she did last night.

I’ve been making more money than her for almost a month now, ever since Alexei Sokolov became the new Pakhan of the Russian mafia New York syndicate. He was basically the dark haired prince of New York.

The Bratva, otherwise known as our mafia in Russia, is alive and well in America, especially in New York. The last Pakhan before Alexei was his father, Igor, but he was older and did not come around the club as often. He mainly kept the club for revenue and for money laundering and Bratva meetings. But Alexei was there almost daily, watching me silently, never saying more than a thank you or a nod. But even if he refused to speak, his eyes said everything for him. He always left me large tips, it was more money than he left the other women, and I could not understand why. But I couldn’t complain or tell the other girls. They would just be jealous and assume I’m fucking him, which I’m sure some of them are already doing and without the big payouts. So, I took the money in silence and kept my head down and focused on work and school, and well the ‘sort of’ boyfriend I had at home. Besides, men like Alexei were not interested in relationships, they were barely interested in keeping women for more than one night. I couldn’t allow myself to be disillusioned and believe there was anything else between us besides a sex appeal.

“Lucky bitch. I’m still going to dye my hair back blonde!” Natalya replied, as she finished her cup of coffee and rinsed the cup in the sink. “See you in 15 minutes!” she rang out before she hurried back to her room to get ready for our shopping day.

I finished my coffee, washed my glass, and decided that Natalya was right. I could use a new dress after all, maybe even two. I was ahead of my nursing school payments after all and the rest of my bills, so shopping seemed like a much deserved treat.