You didn’t expect yourself to be working part-time as a waitress at the Red Square, a little cafe smack dab in the middle of Moscow. And what you especially didn’t expect was for it to be a front for the mafia. But…the tips are good. So you stay.

You don’t know which customers are in on it, and you don’t ask. Probably safer that way, anywho.

“Just a Pastila and a cup of water, красота.”

The man says, scratching his beard as he looks over the menu. Glancing back over to you.

“Oh, and one more question, dear.”