Chapter 13 – Valeria
The gala becomes my first real introduction to Timofey’s world.
Not the version I’ve seen from behind closed doors.
Not the quiet, controlled environment of his home.
This is different.
Louder.
Sharper.
More dangerous.
The ballroom is filled with power.
Not the kind you can touch—but the kind you feel the moment you walk into the room. Conversations pause just a second too long when we enter. Eyes follow. People assess. Calculate.
They’re not just looking at me.
They’re measuring me.
I tighten my hold slightly on Timofey’s arm, but my posture stays straight. My chin lifts just enough.
I will not look overwhelmed.
I will not look weak.
If they expect a frightened girl running from Moscow, they’ll be disappointed.
“This is where it starts,” I murmur under my breath.
Timofey doesn’t look at me, but I feel the slight shift in his arm.
“I know,” he replies.
The first group approaches within minutes.
Congratulations come easily.
Smiles.
Polished words.
Curiosity hidden behind courtesy.
“Mrs. Rusnak,” one of them says smoothly, his gaze lingering just a little too long. “A pleasure.”
I smile back just as smoothly.
“Valeria,” I correct gently.
His brow lifts.
A test.
I hold his gaze.
A response.
He inclines his head slightly. “Valeria.”
It continues like that.
One after another.
Names. Faces. Alliances I don’t fully understand yet—but I will.
I have to.
Every handshake feels like a negotiation.
Every question feels like a trap.
Where are you from?
How long will you be staying?
How did you and Timofey meet?
I answer carefully.
Never too much.
Never too little.
Balanced.
Controlled.
Timofey stays beside me the entire time.
Not hovering.
Not overbearing.
Just…there.
A presence.
A statement.
No one misses it.
And no one crosses it.
At some point, I realize something.
They’re not just watching me anymore.
They’re watching us.
The way he stands slightly angled toward me.
The way I don’t step away.
The way our movements sync without effort.
It looks natural.
Too natural for something that started as strategy.
“Relax your shoulders,” he murmurs quietly, barely moving his lips.
“I am relaxed,” I reply under my breath.
“You look like you’re about to negotiate a treaty.”
I fight the urge to smile. “Isn’t that what this is?”
“Fair.”
Another couple approaches, and I straighten again, slipping back into the role without hesitation.
But this time, it’s easier.
Because I understand something now.
This isn’t just about surviving the night.
This is about claiming space in a world that wasn’t prepared for me.
And as I lift my chin and meet the next pair of curious eyes, I realize something else.
They’re no longer trying to figure out if I belong here.
They’re trying to figure out what I’m capable of. And that’s exactly what my papa taught me.
Eventually, the tension eases. Not completely—never completely—but enough. Because family changes the air.
Timofey is pulled away by his brothers, their voices low and serious even when they laugh. I catch a glimpse of him over someone’s shoulder, his posture still sharp, still alert…but there’s something lighter in his expression.
Then a hand slips through mine.
“Come on,” Ellie says, already pulling me away.
The other women follow, gathering around me like I’ve always belonged there.
And just like that, the night shifts.
We end up at the bar, and for the first time since I walked into this room, I let myself breathe.
“Drinks!” Sienna announces.
“Pina coladas,” Ellie decides, like it’s not even a discussion.
We all agree immediately.
Minutes later, we’re holding glasses, the cold sweetness cutting through the tension still lingering in my chest.
Laughter comes easier here.
Real laughter.
Not the polished kind from earlier.
“I love your dress,” Ellie says, her eyes lighting up as she looks me over again. “Seriously, it’s stunning.”
“Right?” Vivian’s voice chimes in.
I smile, glancing down at it briefly.
“Timofey hired a designer for me,” I say. “For all my public appearances.”
That earns a collective squeal. Actual squealing. I blink, then laugh.
“Oh, he’s serious,” Raelyn says, leaning forward like this is the most important detail of the night. “Who is he? Because I need him in my life.”
“Matteo,” I reply, already smiling.
Her eyes widen. “Can I borrow him?”
The desperation in her tone makes me laugh harder.
“Yes,” I say easily. “Please take him. He’ll probably enjoy it.”
They all laugh at that.
Ellie leans in, nudging my arm lightly with hers.
“I can’t wait until Anton is dealt with so you can properly join us,” she says. “We do weekly girls’ nights. No men. No stress. Just us.”
“No kids,” Vivian adds pointedly. “I feel like that needs to be stressed.”
I groan softly, already imagining it.
“Yes, please. I need that in my life.”
“Trust me, you do,” Sienna adds with a grin. “And don’t worry—the men are already working on it.”
Something about that makes my smile pause for half a second.
Working on it.
Like I’m something to be handled.
Managed.
I don’t like it.
Not even a little.
I want to be in those rooms.
I want to hear the plans.
I want to know how they intend to fight a war that started with my blood.
But I don’t say any of that.
Because the ladies mean well.
So I smile instead, lifting my glass slightly.
“I’m looking forward to it,” I say.
And this time, the smile sticks.
We stay there a while longer—laughing, talking, exchanging small pieces of ourselves that have nothing to do with power or survival.
It’s easy and fun.
After about twenty minutes, the rhythm of the night pulls us back.
The music swells slightly.
More guests arrive. Timofey finds me, and it’s time to socialize again.
Sometime later, I slip away. Carefully. Quietly. Because no matter how composed I look, there’s only so much I can take.
Too many eyes.
Too many conversations.
Too many layers to hold up at once.
I move toward the back of the room, where the lights are softer and the noise dulls just enough to breathe. For a second, I just stand there. Alone. Or at least…trying to be.
“You look like you need a drink.”
I turn.
A blonde woman stands there, effortlessly beautiful, her smile easy.
“Hi. I’m Elise.”
I take it, polite but guarded. “Valeria Petrova.”
Her smile widens slightly. “I know. You’re the star of the party.”
I let out a small laugh, though it doesn’t quite reach my chest. “Is that what this is?”
Her eyes flicker with something I can’t immediately place. “Tonight? Yes.”
I shift slightly, hoping she’ll take the hint and leave me to myself.
She doesn’t.
“I’m sorry about what happened to your father.”
That makes me pause.
Really look at her.
She lifts a shoulder lightly. “If you’re part of the Bratva, nothing stays hidden. Everyone knows.”
Of course they do.
I exhale quietly. “Thanks.”
She nods once.
“So,” Elise says, leaning lightly against the edge of the table beside me, “how are you finding New York so far?”
I let out a small breath, glancing toward the crowd before answering.
“Loud,” I admit. “Too many people, too many opinions. I think I liked it better from a distance.”
She laughs at that—an easy, genuine sound.
“Fair. New York is…aggressive. It doesn’t really ask permission before it enters your life.”
I smile despite myself. “That explains a lot.”
Her lips curve. “You get used to it. Or it eats you alive. Depends on your personality.”
I tilt my head. “Which one are you?”
She places a hand over her chest dramatically. “Obviously, I’ve been eaten and resurrected several times.”
That makes me laugh—real laughter this time, unexpected enough that I don’t even try to hide it.
Elise grins.
“I don’t want to be eaten,” I say. “So I better pay attention.”
She scoffs playfully. “Honestly, you seem like you’re handling it better than most people would.”
I shrug slightly. “I don’t really have a choice.”
“Everyone has choices,” she replies. “They just don’t always like the consequences.”
That lands quieter between us.
I’m about to respond when a waiter passes by with drinks.
Without really thinking, I take one from the tray.
I bring it to my lips, taking a few slow sips as the conversation continues.
“I don’t think of consequences before making a decision,” I say finally, lowering the glass slightly. “Once I’m certain I’m making the right choice…the consequences can go to hell.” I glance at her. “Excuse my language.”
Elise blinks once, then laughs loudly.
“Oh my God,” she says, shaking her head. “I like you.”
I raise a brow slightly.
“It’s rare,” she replies easily, leaning closer like she’s sharing a secret, “to meet someone honest and dramatic at the same time. Usually it’s one or the other.”
That makes me laugh under my breath.
“Dramatic?” I repeat.
“You said ‘consequences can go to hell’ like you were delivering a speech at a revolution,” she says, grinning.
I open my mouth to respond, but something shifts. Subtle at first. Like the floor tilting ever so slightly beneath my feet. I blink once. Then again. The room doesn’t stay still.
Elise’s face…wavers in my vision. Like she’s too far away and too close at the same time. My brows draw together slightly.
“That’s—” I start, then pause.
Because my voice doesn’t feel right.
It’s thinner.
Less certain.
I take a breath.
It doesn’t fill my lungs properly.
“Elise…” I say again, but this time it comes out quieter than I intended.
She’s still smiling—still talking—but the words don’t land.
They slide past me.
Distant.
Unclear.
And then it hits harder.
A sudden wave of dizziness, sharper than before.
My chest tightens instinctively as I try to steady myself.
I shift my weight back—but my body doesn’t respond the way it should.
My hand reaches for the table. It finds it. I grip it tighter.
Too tight.
The edge digs into my palm, grounding me for half a second.
But it’s not enough.
The room tilts again.
Harder this time.
“Elise…” I try again, but my tongue feels heavy now.
Wrong.
Something is wrong.
Her face is still there—but fading at the edges.
Like I’m slipping out of focus.
Like I’m the one disappearing.
My breathing turns shallow. I swallow, forcing air in.