Page 97 of Jump on Three
“Ah.” His nod was slow and thoughtful. “I could use some of those. Fucking Leonid Sokolov was in here barking shit in Russian last weekend. I would have liked to hear all the smack he was talking about me and this place.”
“Ivan’s father?” Marco nodded. “What could he have possibly thought was bad about Lyot? It’s elegant, clean. The people who frequent this place are beautiful, and there are a lot of them. I don’t have a lot of experience with clubs, but I would think those are pillars of success.”
“That’s what I’m saying, sweetness. The problem is, I don’t think Leonid’s known satisfaction a day in his life. I let him give my club a Russian name because it sounded tight and now he thinks he owns the entire place. It was his first time here since we opened, and he was pissed the staff didn’t recognize him and immediately bow down.”
I set my plate of fries to the side, appetite dead and gone. “That’s Ivan’s father.”
He released a long, heavy breath filled with frustration and unspoken words. “He is. Because I like Ivan, I’m not unleashing in the way I really want to. But that’s as much leeway as Leonid is getting from me.”
“No.” I squeezed my eyes shut, attempting to formulate what I’d truly meant to say. “That’s Ivan’s father. He grew up under that man who was never satisfied. I saw him, and he’s old. I’m bad at guessing ages, but my father is fifty, and Leonid is far older. He should be retired, but he’s not. He’s grabbing for more and more through Ivan.”
I looked up at Marco, who was watching me, his chin on his fist.
“Lotta bad fathers out there, sweetness.”
“I know.” I sucked in a shuddering breath. “I suppose it’s just dawning on me how truly terrible Ivan’s is.”
“Sucks.” Marco opened his fist in a casual gesture. “Kid turned out pretty well, though. He’s lucky Leonid sent him here. He can breathe and figure out what kind of life he wants to make for himself.”
“I don’t know if Leonid’s going to let him go,” I whispered.
“If that’s the case, let’s hope your boy’s got a strong enough spine to withstand being leaned on for the rest of his life.”
I wrinkled my nose. “That’s a terrible metaphor.”
Marco chuckled. “I’ll lodge a letter of complaint to my English teachers.”
“All of them?” I asked.
He laughed a little more. “Nah, I’ll skip kindergarten and first grade. My second-grade teacher’s going to hear it, though.”
“You should laugh more often. It’s nice.”
Ivan walked in then, his head swiveling back and forth between us. “All right?”
Marco’s dark eyes sparkled as he grinned at Ivan. “Yes, kid. Your girl was just hitting on me—”
I gasped. “That’s the last time I compliment you, Marco.”
He held his hands up, truly chuckling. “Okay, sweetness. I’m just teasing you. Both of you. You’re cute when you get pissy.”
“What is happening?” Ivan asked us both.
Amusement bubbled up from my belly, and I snorted a laugh. “Nothing. Marco’s being difficult.”
Ivan shoved his hand through his hair. “Blyat. I left for half an hour. How are you best friends already?”
“I gave her french fries,” Marco explained.
I held the plate out to Ivan. “Want some?”
Marco burst out laughing.
On the drive home, I scooted right next to Ivan and picked up his arm to drape over my shoulders. He peered down at me, taking my chin in his fingers.
“Did you have a good night, angel?”
“Yes. I really like being trusted with music choices. It makes me feel useful, not just a dead weight who does nothing but eat far too many french fries.”