23
Nobody speaks. Not a cough, not a chair scraping. I can hear my own breathing and half the table’s. Martina finally explains.
"Something unusual is happening online. A mass-attention phenomenon, a traffic spike we don’t normally see."
No one gets it yet. Julia frowns; Irina holds steady. Rashel is already opening her laptop.
"Martina, what is it? Spit it out already," Julia urges, stepping toward her, impatient.
Martina looks at her for a beat, shifts the keys in her hand, and goes on, more directly:
"One of the girls"—she gestures toward the twins with her chin, without even looking—"put up a post a few hours ago. On her personal account, with reach over a hundred thousand active followers. By the way, I’m Martina. Nice to meet you." Now she does look at them.
Vega tenses. So does Alaska. I feel the punch to the gut before I hear the rest.
"The content," Martina continues, calm in a way the moment doesn’t deserve, "is a pretty explicit statement. Quote: ‘Today we’re going to meet our big sister, Irina Popova.’ Hashtags: #MeetingMySister #IrinaPopovaYouCanHaveMySoul. The internet has exploded."
A strangled murmur ripples through the room, a low roar rising. Irina doesn’t move. Julia’s eyes go wide. The twins look at each other, pale.
"Oh my God," Rashel says, typing, rattled.
"It’s getting re-shared out of control," Martina adds. "The phrase hit trending globally in under three hours. Irina is the number one trend in three European countries, plus Russia."
The air gets thick. I look at Alaska, jaw clenched, and at Vega, face sunk into her glass. Martina, in the middle, sounds like an oracle dropping stats while we all try to swallow the scale of it.
No one dares go first. Everyone’s pulled out their phone and is checking for themselves. Martina, as always, hammers in the last nail with no emotion in her voice:
"This is no longer private. The reveal is public."
"Fine," Irina finally cuts in. "Thanks. Crisis phones on. Amaia, Ana, with me. Julia, give me ten minutes and we’ll go back to the girls. Sabina, Rashel, and Luna, damage control."
Julia nods and touches Alaska and Vega’s arms. I turn toward the table and pull out my practical side—that’s what I’m good for.
"Easy," I murmur to them, in the most neutral voice I can manage, even though my mouth is burning to let loose a what the fuck did you do? "No one’s going to chase you through the garden. Drink some water, eat something. We’ll handle this. If anyone asks, ‘we’re with family and we have no comment.’ If someone pushes, send them to me.
And do not reply to any weird DMs. If someone DMs you saying they knew you from before, take a screenshot and tell Rashel immediately. "
I don’t say anything else. Not the time. Vega nods. Alaska holds my gaze and doesn’t look away. She yanks herself up from the chair, glass still in her hand dripping onto the tablecloth, and whips around to her sister, eyes blazing, body ready for war.
"Are you stupid or what?" she yells, and it gives me a rush to see her like this, so intense, so gorgeous when she’s pissed. "You just blew it!"
Vega’s eyes go huge; she’s clearly thrown. She presses back into the chair, no clue why she’s being judged in public.
"What? What is it? I just said I was going to meet you…" She looks from Irina to Julia and back to Alaska. "What’s wrong with that?"
"What’s wrong with that?" Alaska grits her teeth, the vein in her neck standing out. And God, it turns me on. "Pretty much everything, as you can see!"
Vega looks at her. She really doesn’t understand. And that cluelessness pinches my chest, because that’s where you see how innocent she is.
"Breathe," I tell Alaska, softer, and give her a little elbow to calm her down. "Water, a sip, and we keep going. No one’s going to eat you alive."
I hand her a napkin for the glass and, for the first time since I’ve known her, she takes something from me without arguing. Small miracle of the day.
Sabina steps forward, her voice coming in calm but with the firmness of someone who knows the joke is over.
"Listen, sweetheart. Irina isn’t just anybody. We’re not talking about some influencer with a flashy last name or a magazine-cover businesswoman. No one was supposed to know yet that two legitimate heiresses to the queen of the criminal underworld had just appeared."
Vega blinks, like the words can’t land all at once.
"Heirs to what?" Her voice cracks, defensive.
Amaia cuts in, straight to the point, no frills.
"Honey, this is a bomb. Right now your post is being read by people who should not know you exist. And not all of them are fans. There are enemies. Of Irina, of her people, of everything she stands for."
Julia has already stepped forward and plants herself in front of the twins. She doesn’t raise her voice, but authority radiates off her.
"You don’t realize what you’ve done. You just lit a giant flare saying 'here we are.' That puts you in danger. Here, now, and with every step you take. This is not a joke."
Alaska presses her hands to her face and lets out a loud huff. Vega looks at her, heartsick.
"But... I just wanted to share it..." Her voice gives way and the tears fall with no attempt to hide them.
Of course they don’t get it. They don’t know what it means to grow up under a name like Popova, or what it means to carry a last name that triggers loyalties and hatreds in equal measure.
They’re babies at this. They’ve lived their lives like they were normal, and now they sit at a table where every gesture has political, economic, and personal consequences. And they have no idea.
Vega covers her face and Mikel, who was close by, moves without thinking: he lays a hand on her shoulder, pulls her in a little, and whispers something I can’t catch. She turns and collapses, crying into his chest.
Alaska watches, torn, like she wants to pull her off him, but she freezes, rage crossing with grief.
I lean in close to Vega’s ear. "Breathe," I murmur. "Drink some water. No one’s going to chew you out. We’ll explain and that’s it."
I see the move they always make. In the middle of the chaos, Vega reaches for her twin, and Alaska, after a few seconds of doubt, clamps down on her hand.
Julia bends toward them a little, her features softening.
"Easy. We’re not blaming you for wanting to share your joy. You just have to understand your life has changed. What you say or do isn’t just yours anymore. You’re not alone, but you’re not in an innocent world, either."
I step closer, lower my voice.
"Breathe. In here everything’s under control. No one gets in, no one touches you. But starting today we can’t keep pretending nothing’s happened. And today, I’m sorry, you’re not going back to your apartment like it’s business as usual."
Vega hides behind her hands and Mikel offers a glass of water she doesn’t take. Alaska finally hugs her, awkward but steady, holding on tight, protecting her even though the earlier fight is still hot.
Sabina comes up beside Alaska and sets a hand on each of their shoulders, maternal.
"Don’t crush her. She didn’t know. We should’ve seen it coming. It didn’t occur to any of us that we had to warn you about this."
Alaska nods without looking at anyone, just holding her sister. Meanwhile I get that pinch I always feel when I see them together: two girls, brilliant at what they’re good at, funny, tough... but absolutely green at this. They don’t yet know what board they’ve just stepped onto.
Time thickens. The house slowly picks its murmur back up—glasses clinking, someone moving in the kitchen, a forced laugh here and there. But we all know the second half of the storm is still coming.
Irina takes her time, but she comes back.
She walks into the living room at an easy pace, though every muscle says something else.
She comes up to the table, to the twins, who are calmer now: Vega with swollen eyes, Alaska with her jaw still tight.
I move just one step—my body getting ahead of my head—but stop myself in time.
The boss plants her hands on the table. Knuckles pale. She leans in a little and speaks without sweetness, cutting the air.
"Listen. From now on, you don’t go out alone. Wherever you go, security goes. Same as everyone in this family."
Vega nods instantly, small in her chair, shoulders tucked. She barely breathes. Alaska, meanwhile, peels out of her sister’s hug, jolts to her feet, and clenches her fists until the veins stand out.
"Excuse me? We don’t need a babysitter."
"It’s not negotiable," Irina says without blinking. "Your name is already out there. That makes you a target whether you like it or not."
"I don’t care. I’m not having someone glued to me, controlling me."
The room goes rigid. Even the ice in the glasses doesn’t clink. My palm burns; I stuff it in my pocket so I don’t touch anything. I bite the inside of my cheek. It’s not my turn. But I want it to be.
"You don’t get to decide that, Alaska."
"Nobody tells me what to do. Least of all you. We met yesterday and you’re already barking orders."
A clean collision. The living room holds its breath.
A dark laugh climbs into my throat. I shove it down like I’m swallowing a bone.
Alaska planted, chin up, eyes on fire. Irina fixed, jaw locked.
They size each other up. My thigh vibrates against the chair.
I look calm on the outside. Inside? Not a chance.
Irina doesn’t give an inch. Eyes cold, voice on a leash. I know her. She’s got herself nailed to the table so she doesn’t lunge.
"Doesn’t matter what you say. You’re not going back to your place. You’re not setting foot in your neighborhood. And you’re not going back to that job either. You’re Popova now—Vega made it public, and we won’t be able to stop the fallout."