Chapter 8 - Matvei
The Volkov Sunday dinner was a sacred institution, one that had persisted through decades of violence, loss, and the ever-present threat of law enforcement.
Every week, without fail, the family gathered at the sprawling estate in Newton, filling the massive dining room with the kind of chaos that only eight siblings and their various spouses and children could create.
Today, Matvei was about to introduce a wrinkle into that carefully maintained tradition.
“Are you ready for this?” he asked as they pulled up the circular drive, noting the way Irina’s hands were clenched in her lap despite her outwardly calm demeanor.
“Define ready,” she replied, her voice carrying that particular brand of dry humor he was beginning to recognize as her defense mechanism. “Because if you mean am I prepared to smile politely while your family figures out whether to welcome me or have me quietly disappear, then yes. I’m ready.”
The accuracy of her assessment would have been amusing if it weren’t so potentially dangerous. Matvei’s family was nothing if not protective, and the idea of him bringing home a wife, especially a Nikolai wife, was going to require some very careful handling.
“Just be yourself,” he said as they approached the front door. “They’ll love you.”
Irina shot him a look that could have cut glass. “Which self would that be? The kidnapped bride, the reluctant wife, or the woman who’s been sneaking around your house looking for reasons to hate you?”
Before he could answer, the front door burst open and chaos descended upon them in the form of his youngest sister, Raya, followed closely by what appeared to be half the family.
“Matvei!” Raya launched herself at him with the kind of enthusiasm that only a twenty-two-year-old could muster. “We’ve been waiting forever! Anka said you were bringing someone special, but she wouldn’t tell us who.”
Behind her, his brothers were filing out of the house with varying degrees of curiosity and suspicion.
Simon, the second oldest, looked like he was already calculating threats and defensive positions.
Adrian wore his usual expression of mild boredom, but Matvei could see the sharp intelligence in his eyes as he assessed the situation.
Egor and Vilen flanked them like bookends, while Kirill brought up the rear with his arms crossed and a scowl that could have soured milk.
And there, standing in the doorway with baby Sofia on her hip and Erina grasping her lower leg with one hand and a unicorn stuffed toy in the other, was Anka.
His sister’s dark eyes met his across the chaos, and he saw the exact moment she realized what he’d done.
Her expression shifted from curiosity to something that looked uncomfortably like disappointment, and Matvei felt an unwelcome stab of guilt.
“Everyone,” he said, his voice cutting through the chatter with practiced authority. “I’d like you to meet my wife, Irina.”
The silence that followed was deafening. Even Sofia stopped babbling, as if she could sense the tension that had suddenly descended over the group.
It was Simon who recovered first, his face darkening as he stepped forward. “Your what?”
“Wife,” Matvei repeated calmly, his hand settling on the small of Irina’s back in a gesture that was both possessive and protective. “We were married three weeks ago.”
“Married?” Kirill’s voice cracked slightly on the word. “To whom? Where did she come from? Why didn’t you tell us?”
“Her name is Irina Nikolai,” Irina said before Matvei could respond, her voice carrying the kind of polished grace that spoke of years of social training. “And I apologize for the secrecy surrounding our marriage. It was... complicated.”
If the silence before had been deafening, this one was positively suffocating. Every member of his family knew exactly what the Nikolai name meant, exactly what kind of complications such a union would create.
“Nikolai,” Simon repeated, and there was no mistaking the anger in his voice now. “As in the Nikolai family that’s been trying to squeeze us out of the docks for the past five years?”
“The same,” Irina confirmed with a smile that was polite and completely empty of warmth. “Though I prefer to think of myself as Irina Volkov now.”
The use of his family name sent an unexpected jolt through Matvei’s system, even though he knew it was just part of the performance they were both putting on. Still, hearing it spoken in her cultured voice did something to him that he wasn’t prepared to examine.
“This is insane,” Egor said, his voice rising with each word. “Matvei, what the hell were you thinking? Marrying into that family is like painting a target on all our backs.”
“Enough.” Matvei’s voice cut through the growing argument like a blade. “Irina is my wife, which makes her family. Anyone who has a problem with that is welcome to discuss it with me privately.”
The threat was subtle but unmistakable, and his brothers knew him well enough to recognize when he’d reached the end of his patience. One by one, they fell silent, though the tension remained thick enough to cut with a knife.
It was Anka who finally broke the impasse, stepping forward with Sofia still balanced on her hip and a smile that managed to be both welcoming and assessing.
“Well then,” she said, her voice warm despite the undercurrents of the situation.
“Welcome to the family, Irina. I’m Anka, and this little monster is Sofia.
And Erina… where’s Erina? Shit… Raya’ll kill me.
” She tickled the toddler, who giggled and reached for Irina with the fearless enthusiasm of childhood.
“Hello, Sofia,” Irina said, and for the first time since they’d arrived, her smile looked genuine. “Aren’t you beautiful?”
Sofia babbled something incomprehensible and made grabby hands at Irina’s necklace, a delicate silver chain that caught the afternoon light.
Without hesitation, Irina reached out to steady the child, her natural ease with children evident in the way she supported Sofia’s weight while allowing her to explore.
“She likes you,” Anka observed, and there was something in her voice that made Matvei look at his sister more closely. “That’s unusual. Sofia’s normally shy around strangers.”
“Children have good instincts,” Irina replied, gently redirecting Sofia’s attention away from her jewelry and toward a small toy the child had dropped. “They can usually tell when someone means them harm.”
The statement hung in the air, loaded with implications that everyone present understood. Irina was making it clear that whatever else she might be, she posed no threat to the innocents in his family.
Dinner was a tense affair, with conversation flowing around carefully neutral topics while everyone tried to process the bombshell Matvei had dropped on them. His brothers maintained a polite but distant demeanor, while his sisters made various attempts to draw Irina into the family dynamic.
Throughout it all, Irina maintained her composure with the kind of grace that came from a lifetime of high-stakes social situations.
She answered questions about her background with careful honesty, deflected more pointed inquiries with humor, and somehow managed to make conversation with eight different personalities without ever appearing ruffled.
It was, Matvei realized, a masterclass in social manipulation. She was giving them just enough truth to seem genuine while revealing absolutely nothing that could be used against her or her family. It was exactly the kind of performance he would have expected from a woman raised in their world.
So why did it bother him so much to watch her deploy it?
“Matvei,” Anka’s voice cut through his brooding thoughts. “Could you help me in the kitchen for a moment?”
He knew that tone, knew exactly what kind of conversation awaited him in the privacy of the kitchen. But there was no avoiding it, not when his sister was wearing her most dangerous smile.
“Of course,” he said, excusing himself from the table with the kind of casual confidence that fooled no one.
The kitchen was empty when they reached it, the usual chaos of dinner preparation having been cleared away by the efficient staff his mother had trained decades ago.
Anka set Sofia down in her high chair with a handful of toys, then turned to face him with an expression that could have melted steel.
“Irina Nikolai,” she said without preamble. “The youngest daughter of our biggest rivals. The one person whose disappearance would cause the most chaos in their organization.”
Matvei kept his expression carefully neutral. “Your point?”
“My point is that you didn’t marry her for love, Brother.” Anka’s voice was deceptively calm, but he could see the anger building in her dark eyes. “You married her because you’re planning to use her to destroy her family. And that, Matvei, is beneath even you.”
The accusation hit its mark because it was true, or at least it had been when he’d first conceived the plan. The fact that his motivations had become significantly more complicated in the weeks since didn’t change the fundamental accuracy of her assessment.
“I know what I’m doing,” he said finally.
“Do you?” Anka stepped closer, her voice dropping to the kind of whisper that somehow carried more menace than a shout.
“Because from where I’m sitting, it looks like you’ve brought an innocent woman into our family with the express purpose of betraying her.
And that’s not the brother I raised, and I’m fucking disappointed.
” The reference to their childhood, to the years after their parents’ death when Anka had helped him raise their younger siblings, hit harder than any physical blow could have.
She was the one person in the world whose opinion of him actually mattered, the one whose disappointment could still make him feel like a child caught in wrongdoing.