nikolai calls toros, who calls garnick, who calls igor. the job: nullify the recent marriage of ivan zakharov to an unknown girl from an undesirable background. what should be relatively easy —- ivan is dumb as a valenki, and a handful of zakharov cash should win over the bride —- is apparently not so. first complication: ivan ran as far as his bare feet could take him at the first mention of his parents. second complication: you. you’ve refused a substantial sum of money; broken, battered & bruised igor as well as garnick, with half of the furniture caught in the crossfire. your response is clear: no deal until you’ve spoken to your husband. the search for ivan is proving just as difficult. brighton beach is vast, and the bitter cold makes the task feel impossible. russian winter, american winter —- both are cruel, igor thinks, as he walks a few paces behind you. he tries to keep up with you, but your short legs move faster than he expected. you walk with purpose. igor takes note of your shivering shoulders. there’s a moment of internal hesitation before he takes a short, awkward step forward, reaches into one of his pockets and extends a red scarf to you. “you will get cold if you do not cover your neck.”