Russian Red

Chapter One

The cement stairs felt hard and cold against my ass. I had been sitting here for only twenty minutes and began to feel chills creeping up on me. The days were getting colder as the middle of August arrived. The cold autumn breeze threw my hair into my face. I caught the blonde strands and threw them into a quick ponytail with the hair tie I had on my wrist. I shoved my hand into my jaket pocket to retrieve the pack of cigarettes and lighter I had stashed earlier. I shook one out of the pack and put it between my lips.

"Fucking fag," a bearish-looking man muttered as he passed.

I smirked, lighting my cigarette. I took a long hit and exhaled with a sigh. St. Petersburg will never change. A man with long hair is a fag, a woman with short hair is a dyke, and we are all going to burn for our disgusting nature. At least, that's how most of Russia sees it. You get used to it. I've had long hair since I've been able to make my own decisions at the hairdressers. When I was a tyke it was a standard bowl cut like every other kid my age whose parents could only afford a pair of kitchen scissors instead of a hairdresser. I chuckled softly remember how frustrated Grandpa kept getting when I wouldn't stop fidgeting. When I was a pre-teen it was a bit longer than my chin. Girls in school admired it, how soft it looked, how shiny it was. Boys on the other hand had the opposite reaction. I was called names relentlessly. It never bothered me though. I always was a stubborn child and I was never afraid to admit it. If it made other people mad I was going to do it, whether I wanted to or not. As I made my way through my teen years up until now I haven't had a haircut so it's just kept growing. It's well past my shoulders now.

I finished my cigarette and leaned back on the stairs, people watching. It was my favorite hobby, especially this early in the day. I had woken up a little earlier than usual this morning so I could have some alone time. Usually, my morning routine went like this:

6:00 AM - Wake up

6:30 AM - Be dressed and ready for ballet lessons

7:00 AM - Meet Lilia at her studio

10:00 AM - Leave the studio exhausted to go home and nap

This morning I woke up at five so I would have an extra hour to do whatever. After I got myself dressed in the usual black leotard and leggings, I slipped on a pair of jeans and an overcoat and headed out the door. I had my driver drop me off at the only coffee shop open this early; I hated being driven around like I was some defenseless kid. When I was a teen I could escape them pretty easily. Sneaking off down an alley when they're not looking or out a window of a bathroom at a small cafe. It was fun until Grandpa started making me feel bad for it considering I was making the drivers get fired. I'm twenty-two now and have several cars at my disposal however, things have recently heated up between us and the Nikiforovs. A few months back Grandpa started requiring me a driver again.

My grandfather, Nikolai Plisetsky, is the head of the biggest 'gang' in Russia. We didn't like to add labels to it but the locals called us what they saw fit: mafia, gang, mob, brotherhood. It didn't matter what they all thought. To them, we were just a scary story to tell kids so they wouldn't grow up to be criminals. But to criminals, they knew all too well that we were real. Granted, we ourselves could be classified as criminals but Grandpa says it's different.

"We help people make a living to feed their families and we keep the streets clean. I don't see how that's a crime," He had said to me once when I was a kid.

I had asked him why we had frequent police visits and I didn't quite understand his answer at the time. The older I got though, the more I understood. Grandpa would only take in men who could barely feed their families or who needed money for rehab. He would never take women because it 'just wasn't right'. It was always strong, healthy, young men. Nikolai would give them small jobs to start out with to prove that they really needed the money and were loyal. Running a suitcase here, parking a car there, or even just yard work.