Face Down, Ass Up…
South Point Park
The Southern Table Restaurant
R enee had torn him a new asshole over his blunder, but Anatoly had taken her verbal judo like a man with the intention of regaining her faith and his dignity later that night. Once she was dressed, they headed over to the restaurant as planned with no more discussion of Destiny Palmer or the sacrilegious bed that was now being moved out of their bedroom by the guards and maids and taken down to the local Goodwill.
Instead of an entourage of Russian mobsters flooding the restaurant, Anatoly decided the best way to go undetected by his brother was to drive Renee alone, like a normal couple. Now, he wasn’t foolish about their real existence. He was strapped, but he was light. A gun and knife in his pants leg was all that he wore, but he made sure to have Marat and one of his other men trail closely behind. Plus, there was a minigun in the trunk, just in case they ran into trouble or his wife got pissed off again.
Man, that argument had been tough.
However, the further they got from the mansion, the clearer the air was. The music on the radio combined with pleasant evening made them remember that they were finally alone again – no work, no funeral planning, no drama if they didn’t bring it themselves. By the time that they arrived at the restaurant, both were in a relatively good mood and anxious to see what the mysterious love child of Dmitry Medlov was like in person.
South of Fifth Avenue and beyond the reach of cheesy tourist traps, The Southern Table was an eclectic high-end restaurant that was known for its prestigious clientele, creative southern cuisine and backlogged reservation list. Everyone who was anyone wanted to be seen here, not just for its farm-to-table model but also for its ambience.
“This place is packed, Ana,” Renee said, as they valeted their car and walked up to the front doors. This place was swanky. She looked down at her clothes and frowned. “Are you sure I didn’t dress too casual?”
“You look great. Stunning.” He held the door open for her to step inside, stealing a glimpse of her voluptuous backside in the process. Damn, he hated he had pissed her off. He still wanted her badly. Face down. Ass up.
Instead of something with a pricey label, she had chosen her inconspicuous attire carefully for the evening, wearing a denim dress that stopped above the knee and nude red-backed heels. No stockings. Purple thongs. However low-key she tried to be, Anatoly thought her subdued dress only made her stand out more. He wanted to take the little denim fabric belt around her waist and tie her hands with it, make her keep on those nude heels while he punished her for being so combative.
His imagination ran wild for a second. The loud smack of his hand hitting her bare backside while he ravaged her rang in his ears. Smack. Smack. SMACK!
“Ana, are you listening to me?” Renee asked.
Anatoly blinked away his naughty thoughts and pursed his lips together. “Sorry, baby. What did you say?”
“Did you make a reservation?” she asked again, wondering what had captured his attention.
“Yeah.” He glanced behind him to see another couple breeze through the door. They were American Pie types – not a threat. The man’s eyes widened at Anatoly’s intricate tattoos. Darting his gaze away, he whispered to his wife, recognizing the Cyrillic words on Anatoly’s fingers. She was about to stare when her husband gripped her neck and made her turn away.
“The food smells good, even from here. I’m starving,” Renee kept talking, unaware that the couple behind them had turned suddenly and left the restaurant.
Getting into the back of the long line of people waiting to be seated, Anatoly and Renee both looked for Anil, but so far had only spotted extremely attractive but less-than-gigantic waiters and waitresses in black, long-sleeve button downs and black slacks, hastily working the floor.
The ambient sound of Bluegrass music played in the background drowning out loud laughter, the dragging of chairs across the hardwood floor and plentiful conversations.
Feeling euphoric, Renee moved into Anatoly’s wide chest and dipped her head, trying to just be in the moment. His fragrant cologne smelled like sex to her, softening the hard edges of their earlier fight. His body was warm and inviting. This was nice. No one knew who they were, and no one cared. It had been a long time since they had been just a couple on a date, instead of the infamous Medlov Crime Family.
Anatoly bent and kissed the top of her head. “You okay?” Protectively, he put his arm around her and moved her petite little frame in front of him.
“Yeah, I’m good.” She chuckled. “It’s good to just be normal for a second.”
“We should do this more often then,” Anatoly said, glad that she was happy.
While she was relaxed, he had his head on a swivel, looking out for more than just his brother. They had rivals in Miami who would jump at an opportunity to catch him slipping. But he couldn’t let his whole life revolve around work. Even if it was dangerous, he had to loosen the reigns every once in a while, and let his wife enjoy herself. She liked going out in public and pretending to be an everyday Joe. He liked riding motorcycles in the middle of the night at top speeds. It was basically the same thing – a release.
“Welcome to The Southern Table. Do you have a reservation?” the hostess asked, not bothering to look up as Renee and Anatoly approached the black wooden podium. She had been at this for hours with many more to go before her shift was over. Looking up and giving a full-on greeting each time took too much time and far too much effort.
“Yes, we have a reservation under Me and Mrs. Jones,” Anatoly said with a smile, pinching Renee’s side. He knew Renee loved that song and would often sing it loudly in the shower when she was in a good mood.
Renee laughed, catching on immediately. Cheeky bastard. Leave it to him to find a way to get back on her good side.
It was his voice that caught her attention. Sexy. Deep. Russian. Just the kind of guy she read about in romance novels. The Black woman’s head snapped up, curious to find out if the stranger had a face to match his panty-dropping baritone. He did. Hot damn.
Blushing, she checked their names off the list – M.E. and Mrs. Jones. “I have you right here. Follow me.” She grabbed two menus and stepped from behind the podium wearing a tight black dress and long, black stiletto heels. So far, her outfit had netted serious gains – a few phone numbers, one date. Hoping the blonde bombshell, M.E., was watching, she made sure to put a little more sway in her hips as they followed her to their table. Just in case Mrs. Jones was someone else’s wife, she would happily put her bid in to be this guy’s main chick.
Renee cuts her eyes at the woman and shook her head. Some people had no couth. There was nothing tackier than trying to pick up another woman’s man while they were on a date. It screamed of desperation.
Stopping at the booth to the far-right, left, of the restaurant in front of the bank of ceiling-to-floor windows facing the street, the hostess clutched the menus to her bosom and spoke directly to Anatoly. “We’ve got you in a great spot. You can see the waterway in the distance and all the foot traffic while you dine?”
Anatoly finally spotted Anil as he emerged from the kitchen with a large tray. Oblivious to his audience, the young man placed the stand in front of the guests waiting on their dinner and then set their plates in front of them. He was carrying on a congenial conversation and smiling, doing his job the best he could in hopes of a big tip.
“Windows don’t work for me,” Anatoly said, unable to stop staring at Anil. The resemblance to his father was almost spooky. He dragged his gaze back to the hostess to find her gawking at him. “How about a table in his section?”
“Oh, that’s Anil,” she said quickly, holding back the urge to roll her eyes. “Everyone loves to sit in his section. I think it’s because he’s so big.” She meant that literally. The man had a penis like a horse, but he wasn’t good with relationships or calling a woman back after the first date. Unfortunately, she had firsthand knowledge.
“Well, I’m not really interested in the man per se, but I like the dark little booth over there were no one can see us,” Anatoly explained. He looked out the window to see Marat parked on the other side of the street in a Black Land Rover, watching their every move and probably cursing at the thought of his boss eating in front of a window like a sitting duck.
The hostess looked across the room and saw one vacant spot in Anil’s section. This was their lucky day. That rarely happened. Plus, his request made her think that Anatoly was definitely sneaking out on a date with his mistress. “Sure. No problem. Whatever you want.” Leading them back through the seated guests and waiters, she took them to the dark booth. “Better?” she asked, still not addressing Renee.
“Much better. Thank you,” Anatoly said, winking at his wife. In the shadows of the restaurant, maybe he could convince her to let him molest her a little.
Anatoly slid into the side of the booth facing the doors, and Renee slipped into the other side.
“Your waiter will be with you in just a moment,” the hostess said, placing menus in front of them. She almost threw Renee’s down but with Anatoly’s menu, she took extra care to set it right in front of him. The gesture was loaded with innuendo. “Can I get your drink order while you wait? We have a great wine selection.”
“We’ll be fine. Thank you,” Renee said, unwilling to address the woman’s brazen flirting.
“Let me know if you need anything at all,” the hostess said, leaning over the table with the menu toward Anatoly.
The downplayed wardrobe of jeans and a T-shirt didn’t fool the hostess in the least. The stranger was wearing a $40,000 Rolex watch. On top of that, he was sexy as hell with the blonde man-bun and the mafia tattoos. And most important of all, he seemed to like Black women. So, he was rich, sexy and dangerous – the trifecta of alpha males. There was no way she wasn’t going to at least try to see if he was interested.
He wasn’t.
Anatoly didn’t like the hostess or her proximity to him. Couldn’t she see that he was trying to give her a way out of being embarrassed? Though she continued to flirt, he continued to ignore her, but now she was making a fool of herself, and he felt a responsibility to stop the exchange immediately.
“I need for you to run back there and bring a water for my wife. She’s pregnant and this Miami heat is rough, even at night.” He reached across the table and took Renee’s marriage hand in his own so that the hostess could get a closer look at the diamond.
Renee appreciated the gesture. After the fight at the house, she felt like it would be overkill to address the hostess, but the woman was pushing it. Instead, she opted for something subtler. “This is just the beginning, baby. I want a football team full of kids.” She squeezed his hand tight and ignored the hostess all together.
“You can have as many as you want as long as I get to help you make them.” Anatoly rubbed his thumb over her wedding band and then cut the hostess an admonishing look to back off.
She rose directly and glanced over at Renee. Evidently, Anatoly’s words had checked her sufficiently, and now she had to eat a little crow. “Congratulations. Girl or boy?” she asked, trying to fix her blunder with a failed attempt at flattery.
“Too early to tell,” Renee said dismissively. She wouldn’t even look up at the woman. Over the years, she had learned not to give unimportant people important time. This hostess was just another example of why that rule was a necessity.
The woman nodded and disappeared without another word.
Renee released her husband’s hand and sat back in the booth when the woman was gone. “You know, I’m not drinking that water, right?”
“Hey, I’m trying to do better. Was that direct enough or would you like for me donkey punch her on the way out?” Anatoly asked jokingly.
Renee laughed at the thought. “I think that was sufficient, but you see what I’m talking about now. Hoes can smell money like a shark smells blood in the water.”
“I don’t pay attention to these women,” Anatoly said, shrugging. “They are…white noise.” Glancing past her, he saw Anil walking toward them. “Here he comes. Act normal.”
Renee jabbed at her nervous husband. “Now, Ana, you know you’re not normal.”
Ignorant to his audience, Anil walked up to the booth with his notepad already out and his pen in-hand. A bright, trained smile crossed his lips as he nodded courteously at both Renee and Anatoly before he recited his normal spiel. “Welcome to The Southern Table. Home to the famous caramelized okra platter. I’m your waiter, Anil. I’ll be serving you, tonight. Have you guys ever been here before?” He wrote his name on the pad, tore out the sheet of paper and placed it in front of them.
Anatoly could see Renee’s big smile in the corner of his eye. She was enjoying this far too much. “No. This is our first time,” he said, realizing they had the same eyes.
“Well, we’re happy to have you. Is that a Russian accent I detect?” Anil asked, only seeing the tattoos on the man’s hands after. Shit, this was a made guy. Russian mobsters had a reputation in Miami, and normally where ever they were, trouble shortly followed.
Anatoly raised his hand and waved it. “What gave me away?” Renee kicked him under the table at his smugness. “Yes,” he said, a little gentler. “I’m Russian. What about you?”
“Oh, I’m from all over,” Anil said, staying professional as possible. It was part of his job to be warm and inviting, but he didn’t want to piss this guy off. “Umm, fun fact. I was born in Trinidad and Tobago, lived in Cuba and now I’m here in Miami.”
“So, you’re an immigrant too?” Anatoly asked, already knowing the backstory. He’d read the file. “See, we have something in common.”
“Yeah, not a good time to be one though, according to the news.” Anil turned up his lip. In his nervousness, he had accidentally gone political. That was a no-no at The Southern Table.
“Well, I wouldn’t worry about the wall,” Anatoly said, trying to make the young man feel more comfortable. “You’re tall enough to jump right over it.”
Anil wasn’t sure if this guy was joking or fucking with him. “Tonight’s menu has a few special entrees on it…”
“Are you in school?” Anatoly cut him off.
“University of Miami,” Anil answered, lowering his pad. “I’m pre-med.”
“Smart, hard-working immigrant. Isn’t that interesting,” Anatoly said, proud of his little brother. He could tell a lot about a man within seconds of meeting him, and Anil was just a normal hump trying to make something of himself. He respected that. Criminal life wasn’t for everyone, if it were, there would be no need for criminals.
“I would have thought you were an athlete,” Renee said, trying to play normal with her husband. “Especially since you’re like seven feet tall.”
At least someone here didn’t take themselves too seriously. Anil liked the beautiful black woman sitting across from the Russian. Her million-watt smile was carefree, her big, brown eyes were friendly. It was much easier to talk to her.
“Everyone asks that. I don’t play basketball, football, any of it. I run first thing in the morning, hit the gym as much as possible and eat a lot of eggs because it’s the only protein that’s cheap enough to buy in bulk.”
The hostess returned with the water that Anatoly had sent her for earlier. Quietly, she placed it on the table in front of Renee and exited stage left.
Anil was surprised that Charmaine hadn’t tried to be her normal inappropriate self with the Russian. He was definitely her speed.
The one-time Anil had gone on a date with her they ended up back at her place for a night cap. In her bedroom, one wall was covered with books, which was sort of sexy. He liked the educated type.
But all of them were interracial romance novels about Russian billionaire mobsters. It was sort of intimidating. If she read about those guys all the time, how would she ever find him interesting? He was just a poor college student trying to get buy on tips – there was absolutely nothing remarkable about him. Plus, all she did was talk about other people’s money, not what she was going to do with her future. It made perfect sense to him after seeing the books and listening to her all night. She was looking for someone with money to take care of her. And nine times out of ten, if they did get serious, she’d dump him soon enough for someone with that money.
So, he did the smart thing. He chalked their eight hours together up to just a casual encounter and never asked her out again.
“So, let’s talk menu,” Anil said, pushing up on his toes and rocking forward. “We have quite a few popular entrees.”
Anatoly had already looked over the menu and didn’t see anything that jumped out at him. “Do me a favor. Just put together something nice and bring it out to us. Surprise me.” He knew a few things about running a restaurant having spent so many years at Mother Russia, and a good waiter always had a few suggestions.
“I’ll be happy to do that, sir.”
“I’m not a sir,” Anatoly corrected quickly. “You can call me anything but that. People call my father sir. They call me boss, but you don’t work for me, so…whatever.” He glanced over at Renee who was quietly dying of laughter.
Anil wasn’t sure what else to call a guest. No sir. No boss. He shrugged it off. “Okay, bro,” he said, tapping his pen on the pad. “Should I bring you a bottle of wine or a cocktail?”
“I’m pregnant,” Renee offered. “So, nothing with alcohol for me, please.”
“I’ll take a vodka.”
Nope. Anil wasn’t going to take the bait. “Top shelf?”
Anatoly nodded.
“I’ll take a coke,” Renee said, ducking her head. She could have bought her husband for a nickel at that moment. He was speechless, and she was so very entertained.
“Great. I’ll bring out one coke and a vodka and then I’ll put in your orders.” He stepped away from the table. “Let me know if you need anything.”
Renee leaned in when Anil was gone. “So, did you see what you needed to see?” Personally, she liked Anil. He was different from the other Medlov men. Innocent, perhaps.
“Da,” Anatoly said, turning his attention back to his wife. “I don’t think that I can get much more out of him without making him suspicious.”
“Probably not.” Renee pushed the glass of water across the table. “But we’re not leaving. I want to enjoy a real date.”
“Real dates end with real sex,” Anatoly reminded with a lusty glare under his thick lashes. Licking his lips, he threaded his fingers together. “It’s either that or you pay the bill.”
Renee knew what her husband wanted. “I tell you what, if you can be a gentleman and sweep me off my feet, then tonight…” she trailed a finger over the top of the table. “Face down. Ass up.”
Anatoly cracked a smile. “Now, you’re talking.”