Chapter 8 - Menlow
My sisters don’t knock. They never have.
The elevator doors open at nine sharp, and Anya breezes in like she owns the place. Kristina follows at a more measured pace, garment bags draped over both arms.
“You’re early,” I observe from my spot at the kitchen counter.
“You said to come in the morning.” Anya drops her purse on the nearest chair and surveys the penthouse with obvious curiosity. “This is morning. Where is she?”
“Still asleep, I imagine.”
“You imagine?” Kristina arches an eyebrow. “You don’t know?”
“We have separate rooms.”
Both sisters stare at me. Anya recovers first.
“Separate rooms,” she repeats. “You got married, and you’re sleeping in separate rooms.”
“It’s complicated.”
“Clearly.” Kristina carefully sets the garment bags on the sofa. “You were very vague on the phone, Menlow. All you said was that you got married and needed us to bring dress options. Care to elaborate?”
I don’t, actually. But I know my sisters. They won’t leave until they have answers.
“Her name is Kirsten. She worked at the company I acquired. There were… circumstances that required immediate action.”
“Circumstances,” Anya echoes. Her dark brown eyes narrow. “What kind of circumstances?”
“I’m not going to discuss that right now.” I set down my coffee cup. “All you need to know is that she’s under my protection, she’ll be attending the gathering on Saturday, and she needs something appropriate to wear.”
Kristina tilts her head. “Is she in danger?”
“Not anymore.”
My sisters exchange a look. They’ve always been able to communicate without words, a skill that used to drive me crazy when we were younger. It still does.
“Fine,” Anya concedes. “We’ll get the full story eventually. For now, where can I set up?”
“The living room should work. I’ll go wake her.”
I head down the hallway to the guest room, pausing outside the door. I can hear movement inside. Water running, then stopping. She’s already awake.
I knock. “Kirsten. My sisters are here.”
A muffled response. Something that sounds like “already?”
“They’re eager to meet you.”
The door opens a crack. Kirsten peers out at me. Her hair is still damp, and her face has been freshly scrubbed. She looks younger without makeup.
“I thought you said morning,” she accuses.
“It is morning.”
“It’s nine o’clock.”
“That’s morning.”
She mutters something under her breath that I don’t quite catch, though I suspect it’s unflattering. “Give me ten minutes.”
The door closes in my face.
I return to the living room, where Anya has already unzipped several garment bags and is arranging dresses across the furniture. Kristina stands by the window, taking in the view.
“She seems friendly,” Anya observes dryly.
“She’s adjusting to a lot of changes.”
“I can imagine.” Kristina turns from the window. “Menlow, you know we’ll support whatever you’re doing. We always have. But this seems… unlike you.”
“It was necessary.”
“And why is that?”
Before I can answer, footsteps sound in the hallway. All three of us turn as Kirsten appears.
She’s dressed simply. Jeans and a sweater, her damp hair pulled back in a ponytail. No makeup, no jewelry, nothing to hide behind. She looks like she’s bracing for an interrogation.
“Hi.” Anya steps forward with a warm smile, extending her hand. “I’m Anya. The loud one.”
Kirsten accepts the handshake. “Kirsten.”
“And I’m Kristina.” My younger sister approaches more slowly, her manner gentler. “The quiet one, apparently. Though that’s only by comparison.”
“It’s nice to meet you both.” Kirsten’s voice is polite but guarded. “I appreciate you coming to help.”
“Are you kidding? This is the most exciting thing that’s happened all month.” Anya gestures to the array of dresses. “When Menlow called and said he needed outfits for his wife, I nearly dropped my phone. He’s never so much as brought a girlfriend to Sunday dinner, and suddenly he’s married?”
“Anya.” My tone carries a warning.
“What? It’s true.” She turns back to Kirsten with an apologetic shrug. “Sorry. I know this is probably overwhelming. I just have questions. So many questions.”
Kirsten glances at me, then back at my sisters. “I’m sure you do. I have a few myself.”
“Then we’ll figure out the answers together.” Kristina’s smile is softer than Anya’s, more reserved. “For now, let’s focus on finding you something beautiful to wear. The family gatherings can be intimidating if you don’t feel prepared.”
Kirsten visibly relaxes at that. Just a fraction, but I notice.
“I should warn you,” she admits, “I don’t really do fancy events. Most of my wardrobe is business casual at best.”
“That’s what we’re here for.” Anya starts pulling dresses from the pile. “I design clothes for a living, and Kristina works at an art gallery surrounded by wealthy donors. Between the two of us, we’ve got you covered.”
“You design clothes?”
“Mostly custom pieces. Special occasions, that sort of thing.” Anya holds up a deep red gown with a plunging neckline. “What do you think of this one?”
Kirsten’s eyebrows rise. “That’s… a lot of skin.”
“Too much?”
“For meeting my husband’s entire family for the first time? Probably.”
I watch the exchange from my position near the kitchen. There’s something almost funny about seeing Kirsten interact with my sisters. She’s so guarded with me, so careful about every word and gesture. But Anya’s relentless friendliness seems to be wearing down her defenses.
“What about this?” Kristina pulls out a navy blue dress with delicate silver embroidery along the neckline and hem. “It’s elegant without being too revealing. And the detail work is stunning.”
Kirsten reaches out to touch the fabric. “That’s beautiful.”
“Try it on.” Kristina shoves the dress into her hands. “The guest bathroom should have enough space.”
Kirsten disappears down the hall. As soon as she’s out of earshot, both sisters turn to me.
“She’s terrified,” Anya announces.
“She’s just being cautious.”
“She’s terrified of us.” Kristina folds her arms. “What exactly did you do to this woman, Menlow?”
“Nothing she didn’t agree to.”
“That’s not an answer.”
I run a hand through my hair. “It’s the only answer I can give right now. The situation is delicate.”
“Delicate.” Anya rolls her eyes. “You sound like Pavel.”
“Speaking of which, I need to make a call. Keep her comfortable. Don’t scare her off.”
“We would never.”
I retreat to my office and close the door, pulling out my phone. Pavel answers on the second ring.
“Perfect timing,” he says. “I was about to call you.”
“What’s happening?”
“Movement from the Volkovs. New shipments coming into the port, increased activity at their warehouses. Nothing suspicious on the surface, but they’re definitely ramping up operations.”
I sink into my chair. “Retaliation?”
“Too early to tell. Could just be them trying to recover from the losses you dealt them. Could be preparation for something bigger.” Pavel pauses. “Either way, I’ve got eyes on it.”
“Good. Keep me updated.”
“Always.” I can hear the grin in his voice. “Congratulations, by the way. The takeover was clean. Volkovs didn’t know what hit them until it was too late.”
“Don’t celebrate yet. They’ll hit back eventually.”
“Let them try. We’ll be ready.”
I wish I shared his confidence. The Volkovs aren’t the type to accept defeat gracefully. They’ll want blood. The only question is when and how they’ll come for it.
“Anything else I should know?” Pavel asks.
I consider telling him about the marriage. He only knows the basics—that Wallace and Tillman threatened an employee, that I handled the situation. He doesn’t know about the contract clause, the marriage license, or the fact that Kirsten is currently in my living room being dressed by my sisters.
“Nothing urgent,” I say instead. “We’ll talk more at the gathering.”
“Looking forward to it. Alexei’s been asking about you.”
“Alexei’s always asking about something.”
Pavel laughs. “True. I’ll let you go. Stay sharp, brother.”
The line goes dead. I pocket my phone and sit for a moment, processing the information. The Volkovs are moving. Not attacking, not yet, but preparing. Building toward something.
I need to be ready when it comes.
Laughter drifts through the closed door. I rise and make my way back to the living room, curious despite myself.
The scene that greets me is not what I expected.
Anya is sprawled across the sofa, gesturing wildly as she tells some story. Kristina sits in the armchair, her reserved demeanor softened into obvious amusement. And Kirsten—
Kirsten is laughing.
Actually laughing. Her whole face has transformed. The wariness is gone, replaced by genuine mirth as Anya describes what sounds like a fashion show disaster involving a broken heel and a very expensive champagne fountain.
“—and the model just kept walking,” Anya continues breathlessly. “Like nothing happened. Champagne dripping down her dress, glass everywhere, and she hit that final pose like she meant to do it.”
“She didn’t,” Kristina adds. “She cried in the bathroom for twenty minutes after.”
“But in the moment? Flawless. That’s the power of good training.”
Kirsten shakes her head, still smiling. “I can’t imagine having that kind of composure.”
“You’d be surprised what you’re capable of when everyone’s watching.” Anya spots me in the doorway and waves me in. “There you are. We were just telling Kirsten about the time I nearly ruined New York Fashion Week.”
“You didn’t nearly ruin it. You added an unexpected element.”
“That’s the diplomatic way of putting it.”
I lean against the doorframe. “I see you’re all getting along.”
“Your sisters are…” Kirsten trails off, searching for the right word. “Not what I expected.”
“What did you expect?”
“I don’t know. Something more…” She glances at Anya and Kristina. “Serious, I guess. Intimidating.”
Kristina laughs. “We leave the intimidating to our brothers. Anya and I focus on art and fashion. Much less stressful.”
“We’re the normal ones,” Anya agrees. “Well, normal-adjacent. Growing up with four older brothers does things to a person.”
“You have four brothers?”
“There’s Menlow, who you know, plus Alexei, Pavel, and Zakhar. They’re the ones you’ll meet Saturday. And then there are the cousins.” Anya waves a hand dismissively. “It’s a lot. You’ll need a chart.”
Kirsten’s smile falters slightly. “That does sound like a lot.”
“Don’t worry.” Kristina reaches over to pat her arm. “Everyone’s very welcoming. And if anyone gives you trouble, just find Anya or me. We’ll handle it.”
Anya grins. “We may not be involved in the family business, but we know how to manage our brothers.”
Something in Kirsten’s posture relaxes at those words. She’s more comfortable now, I realize. Knowing that Anya and Kristina aren’t part of the Bratva operations seems to put her at ease.
“Now,” Anya continues, “let’s see this dress properly. Stand up.”
Kirsten rises, and I finally get a good look at what she’s wearing.
The navy dress fits her perfectly. It hugs her curves in all the right places, and the silver embroidery catches the light as she moves. The neckline is modest but flattering. The hem falls just above her knees, showing off her legs.
She looks stunning.
More than stunning. She looks like she was made for that dress. Or the dress was made for her.
I force myself to stay still. To keep my face neutral. But something must show in my eyes, because Anya glances at me with barely concealed amusement.
“What do you think, Menlow?” My sister’s voice is innocent. Too innocent.
“It suits her.”
“It suits her,” Anya repeats, rolling her eyes. “Men. Completely useless at compliments.”
“It’s beautiful,” Kristina offers. “The color brings out your skin tone, and the embroidery adds just enough elegance without being overwhelming. You’ll fit right in at the gathering.”
Kirsten smooths her hands over the fabric, looking down at herself with uncertainty. “You don’t think it’s too much?”
“It’s exactly right.” I step further into the room, unable to keep my distance any longer. “You look perfect.”
Her gaze snaps to mine. Color rises in her cheeks.
“There we go,” Anya murmurs. “Much better.”
I ignore my sister. I can’t seem to look away from Kirsten. The dress transforms her, yes, but it’s more than that. There’s something about seeing her like this—dressed for my world, about to meet my family—that stirs something in my chest.
Something dangerous.
Something I need to control.
“We should try the other options too,” Kristina suggests, breaking the moment. “It’s always good to have choices.”
“Right.” Kirsten clears her throat. “Of course.”
She retreats to the bathroom with another dress, and I force myself to look elsewhere. Anya is watching me with knowing eyes.
“What?” I demand.
“Nothing.” Her smile says otherwise. “Nothing at all.”
I don’t believe her for a second.
The rest of the morning passes in a whirlwind of fabric and opinions.
Kirsten tries on six more dresses. Each one looks better than the last, or maybe I’m just losing objectivity.
By the time she emerges in the final option—a deep emerald number with a slit up the side—I have to excuse myself for another glass of water.
This is ridiculous. I’m a grown man. I’ve seen beautiful women in beautiful dresses countless times.
But none of them was Kirsten. And none of them made me feel like I was losing control of my own composure.
When I return, the sisters have apparently reached a consensus.
“The navy,” Anya announces. “Final answer.”
“Agreed,” Kristina adds. “It’s classic, elegant, and won’t distract from the introductions.”
Kirsten, now back in her jeans and sweater, nods. “The navy it is, then.” She pauses, looking between my sisters. “Thank you. Both of you. This was… actually kind of fun.”
“Of course it was.” Anya pulls her into an unexpected hug. “You’re family now. That means you’re stuck with us.”
Over Kirsten’s shoulder, I see the surprise on her face. Then something else. Something that looks almost like longing.
She hugs Anya back.
“Saturday,” Kristina says as they gather the garment bags. “We’ll see you there. And don’t worry. You’re going to be wonderful.”
After they leave, the penthouse feels emptier than before. Kirsten stands in the middle of the living room, still holding the navy dress.
“Your sisters are nice,” she offers.
“They are.”
“I didn’t expect that.”
“I know.”
She looks at me then. Really looks at me. And for just a moment, I see something other than wariness in her eyes.
“Maybe Saturday won’t be a complete disaster after all.”
I allow myself a small smile. “I told you. You’re impossible not to like.”
She turns away before I can see her response.
But I notice she's holding the dress a little tighter. Like it means something.
Like maybe, just maybe, she’s starting to believe it too.