Irina was exhausted. Since moving to England little over seven years ago, she was yet to have anybody she could call a friend. That being said, back in Russia she didn't have anybody she would've used that word to describe, either.
She was a short-tempered woman with little to no patience for other people. Driven and independent, when she wanted something, she got it, letting nothing get in her way. She'd assisted in the sales of vodka for a company in Russia when she was younger, taking the opportunity to learn how to manage a successful business before making the move across Europe to do the same thing in London.
Irina's parents had died when she was no older than ten, leaving a hole in the family, but the pockets of Irina and her three siblings' full to the brim. She didn't speak to her two brothers and sister often, barely at all since she'd been in England, but she didn't mind. If they couldn't be bothered to write her a letter, neither could she.
After saving the money she'd inherited from her parents and learning as much as she could from her former employer, she took off to London with an idea, turning it into a dream-like reality within a year.
Vodka sales rocketed as soon as Zakharov Russian Standard Vodka became available, with stock being shipped out faster than they could keep up with. Warehouse expansions came with time, and the pile of money Irina had continued to grow alongside the business, allowing her to afford a large house in a rather upmarket part of London.
Irina returned home every evening feeling dead on her feet. She had a three story home nestled in between mansions of politicians and socialists, rich gangsters and the neighbours that she still hadn't figured out what they did to afford such a property. She didn't know any of her neighbours, rather knowing of them, smiling if they passed one another in the street or returning post that had been delivered to the wrong house.
Her life in London was lonely, but looking back, her life in Russia hadn't been much different. Her eldest brother, Arman, moved out of the home the siblings shared not long after Irina turned 14, with her sister, Katora, leaving six months later. Irina had lived with her other brother, Kirion, up until she left Russia. Kirion was four years older than Irina, making her the baby of the family, though none of her siblings ever viewed her that way. They were close as children, but the death of their parents drove them all apart.
A knock came at the office door and Irina groaned, tipping her head backwards and staring up at the ceiling, wishing for just five minutes without someone hassling her.
Kristian opened the door, peering around the corner in the same way he always did, knowing exactly the mood his boss would be in.
"Sorry to disturb you, Miss Zakharov," he began, the same way he always did, "I have a Thomas Shelby for you on the line."
Irina just nodded at him with a sigh, dismissing him with a wave of her hand. He closed the door behind him and Irina rest her head in her hands, clawing at the roots of her hair in a moment or stress before calming herself down by taking a swig of the vodka that had been sat in a crystal glass on her desk all day.
Thomas Shelby had been in touch with Zakharov Industries every week since his visit, whether it be a phone call or a letter, and Irina hasn't answered a single one of his attempts. After she read the first letter from him asking her to reconsider her position on selling her warehouse, she told Kristian to throw every other letter that arrived from him to be thrown onto the fire, and every phone call to be hung up.
Though on that particular evening, Irina decided that she needed to tell the persistent business man with her own words that enough was enough.
"Good afternoon Mr Shelby, how can I help?"
"Miss Zakharov, lovely to hear from you. I trust you received my letters? I haven't been able to get a hold of you on the telephone."
Irina rolled her eyes, staring out the window as she held the phone to her ear. Boats were floating up and down the canal filled to the roofs with boxes of vodka, each of them stamped with the Zakharov Industries logo in thick black lettering.
"I have, but I've been very busy, my apologies. Though to answer your question now, I'm still not going to sell my premises to you, Mr Shelby."
She heard him laugh down the other end of the line, the crackle making her wince.
"I wasn't calling about that this time."
"No?" She enquired, the flame in the lamp on her desk flickering.
"No. I was actually going to invite you to an event we're having, a party, if you will. It's at The Eden Club next Saturday evening if you're available."
Irina chuckled, "Funny. I know some lovely Italians who enjoy visiting The Eden Club."
Half of what Irina had said was true. She did know the Italians that liked to go to The Eden Club, but they were most certainly not lovely.
"No Italians on that night, guest list only. I'd like for you to be there, plenty of other London businessmen will be there, might give you a chance to make some friends in the right places."
"And how do you know I don't already have friends in the right places?"
Thomas drew in a long breath, "I know more about you and your vodka than you think, Miss Zakharov."
Irina paused, pursing her lips with the phone still in her hand. There was something about Thomas Shelby that struck her as odd. He seemed cold and heartless, much like herself, but Irina would never dream of hosting any kind of event, nor would she invite people she didn't know.
"What's in this for you, Mr Shelby? It sounds awfully charitable for you to be inviting me, I'm assuming it's a free bar?"
"Any Shelby party is always a free bar." He replied, Irina hearing the smile that was on his face through the tone of his voice, "What's in it for me is the chance to talk to you some more about my proposition."
"If I come to your party, I will definitely not be there to talk business, I can assure you of that, no matter how much of your cheap gin I drink." Irina smirked as she spoke, running a hand through her black hair and leaning back in her chair.
"Oh we'll see about that, Miss Zakharov. I'll pass on the details to your secretary, black tie, as always."
"I'd expect nothing less."
"Oh and Miss Zakharov?" He called her name just before she placed the phone down, "Bring a bottle of your vodka, I'd quite like to try it."
an;;
hello!! a lil boring so far but as usual things will pick up soon! thank u for reading <3
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Devil | A Solomons
Fanfiction"I didn't think the Devil walked among us until I met you." [mature themes throughout]
