THE FIXER

Igor takes a platinum ring from his pinky finger. He’s worn it for as long as I’ve known him. I remember him saying things to me like, “I, too, started with nothing, Maxim, and now I wear platinum rings.”

His hand shakes when he hands it to me. His breathing is labored.

Galina notices and dashes to his side. “Are you all right, my love? Do you need more morphine?”

“Go on.” Igor gives an impatient wave to the clerk. “Marry them.”

The clerk swallows and launches into a brief ring exchange. I put Igor’s ring on Sasha’s finger and tell the clerk to skip it when he comes to her ring for me.

“I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”

I face Sasha, but she turns away, so I drop a kiss on her cheek. “It is done,” I say to Igor.

“A-after you sign the certificate,” the clerk stammers.

I snatch the pen from his hand and scrawl a quick semblance of my signature on the paper then hand the pen to Sasha.

Her fingers won’t form around the pen. She looks up at me, rebellion swirling in those ocean blue eyes. As if either of us could stop this ball that’s clearly been rolling long before we stepped in this room today.

“Sign it,” Igor snaps. Or attempts to snap. It comes out as more of an angry wheeze.

Galina’s mouth tightens. “Do it, Sasha.”

Sasha grips the elegant fountain pen, the muscles around her jaw tightening as she signs the certificate.

The clerk signs it and nods at Vladimir. “It’s complete. I’ll have it filed in an hour.” His hands tremble as he puts the certificate back in a folder, which he holds to his chest.

“Good. Bring the copies here, and you’ll receive the rest of your payment.”

The clerk exits like the room is on fire, and we all turn to Igor, whose breath has turned to a gasping.

“Get him morphine!” Galina barks at Vladimir, who calls in a nurse.

It’s all too much to absorb. Igor dying. My sudden marriage. My bitter bride.

“Sasha,” Igor pants. He’s restless in the bed, thrashing his legs under the covers like he can’t breathe. Or is in pain. His lips are turning blue. “Come.”Exclusive content © by Nô(v)el/Dr/ama.Org.

When she doesn’t move, I place a gentle hand at her lower back and propel her forward to his side. The nurse dribbles a dropper of medicine in his mouth. He reaches for his daughter’s hand.

“Sasha,” he says again.

“What is it?” I hear the tears in Sasha’s voice. Anger, too.

“Trust… Maxim,” he tells her.

Goosebumps race across my skin, up and down my arms and legs. On the back of my neck. Igor’s fears for her life may be more substantial than I initially guessed. Or he’s afraid Sasha will bolt.

Blyat.

He takes a short breath. Then nothing.

“Igor!” Galina cries.

“Papa?” Alarm rings out in Sasha’s voice.

Igor breathes again.

“Oh!” Galina heaves a sigh.

But it was his last breath. His body twitches as the life goes out of it.

For the first time, Galina looks at me. “He waited to die until you got here,” she says, but it’s an accusation not a compliment.

I waited too long to come. I dodged his calls, not wanting to find out what it was he wanted to give me before he died.

I was afraid it would be his position as head of the Moscow bratva. Or some other high up position. I thought he was calling me back to service.

Never in a million years would I have guessed it was to wed his daughter.

“May the earth be soft for him,” I murmur the traditional Russian saying then turn and walk out.

I don’t have time to grieve the loss of a man who already threw me out of his life six years ago. I need to figure out how to keep his stubborn daughter safe when she has no desire to be attached to me.

Sasha

“WHERE ARE you going with that? Stop! That’s my mom’s,” I snap at Viktor, one of my father’s men. He’s one of four jerks who just barged into the one-bedroom apartment I’ve lived in for the last year with boxes and started packing everything up today. Right now, he’s boxing up the salad bowl I borrowed from my mom last week.

“I’m just following orders,” he tells me.

Maxim’s orders. Funny how Maxim doesn’t even have a position in the organization, but these guys obey him.

Maxim also gave me orders via text this morning: say your goodbyes and pack two suitcases because we’re leaving this afternoon.

Unlike Viktor and Alexei and the other two soldiers, I didn’t obey.

I’m not going anywhere with Maxim. I don’t know what kind of twisted game of poetic justice my father was playing with our lives, but marrying me to a man who hates me tops the cake.

My mom, whose apartment-the one I grew up in-is next door, comes in without knocking, taking in the chaos. “Today you leave,” she says. A statement, not a question.

I shake my head. “No. Help me-they won’t listen. Tell them to stop packing my stuff. I’m not going anywhere.”

My mom grabs my hand and pulls me into my half-packed bedroom. When she finds there’s a guy in there, too, she pulls me into the bathroom and shuts the door.

“Listen to me, Sasha,” she whisper-snaps.

I shake off her hand. “What?”

“You will go. Your father left me nothing. Nothing. He left it all to Vladimir and to you, in care of your former lover.”

“He wasn’t my-”

My mom waves an impatient hand. “Whatever. Maxim controls it now. So you need to go with him, make nice and ensure that money stays where it’s supposed to stay-with us.”

I stare at her. I’m surprised to discover this side of her. She was always so passive, so compliant with my father. She took what he gave us and never asked for more.