Chapter 5 - Iosif
The doors swing open before we reach them. From within, the warm hum of conversation and delicate clink of crystal spills out. It matches the dark wood and vintage decadence of the furnishings perfectly.
We’re led to my preferred table in the back as soon as we enter, with the newly minted Janella Yuri stiffly hanging onto my arm. The ma?tre d’ at Lumière knows better than to keep me waiting.
“Breathe,” I chide, my lips at the cool shell of her ear. “They don’t bite. I’m the only one who does that.”
Instantly, heat flashes across her cheeks.
I swallow a laugh.
My new wife is a fascinating woman.
I suspect she’d been braced for an awkward dinner at my dining table, not this.
I’d known it when I’d finished checking in with Miron and gone to fetch her from her room, only for her to look baffled when I recommended that she grab a coat.
I’m sure of it now, watching her self-consciously tug at her dress.
She tries not to gawk at the finery and fails spectacularly. I shouldn’t find it as adorable as I do. But it is. It’s like seeing a freshly-birthed foal striving to find its footing.
In the face of it, I find myself possessively scowling when the ma?tre d’ reaches for her chair. He backs off promptly. I help her out of her coat, and then pull out her chair myself, watching Janella shiftily look around as she sinks into it. I take my seat across from her and wave the man away.
A server flits in and places a pair of menus in front of us.
“Sparkling,” I say before he can ask about water preferences.
And then we’re alone.
Beneath the warm, intimate lighting, I get to really look at Janella.
There’s no denying that she’s a very pretty woman.
She still wears the black dress she’d refused to change out of when I offered to wait—It’s fine, none of it’s really my taste, it doesn’t matter—like she’s doing it a favor.
The fabric clings to her like she’d been poured into it.
It contradicts the meek set of her features.
I decide she should never, ever play poker. She wears her anxiety plainly, fidgeting with everything from her napkin to her cuticles.
I’m wearing my focus, too.
“What?” Janella squeaks, high-pitched and self-conscious.
“Nothing.”
“You’re—” she huffs. “You’re staring, Iosif.”
I don’t deny it. Lying’s boring anyway. “So?”
“I know I should’ve changed,” Janella mutters, spreading out her napkin in her lap like she’s ready to disappear beneath it.
“That’s not why people were turning their heads to look at you. They’re hardwired to do that when a beautiful woman walks by, Janella,” I scoff, shaking my head. “Besides, you said you didn’t want to change, right?”
Janella stares down at her hands, her fingers knotting together.
“You said,” I try, “it isn’t to your taste.”
Still, she says nothing. There’s a furrow between her brows now.
Her father really did a number on her. In a way, that’s obvious. Just look at the circumstances under which we’ve met. But she doesn’t wear that damage on the surface. She’s got pride in her. Fire. I saw it just yesterday.
“Is this selective mutism going to be a recurring thing?”
Her lips purse into a hard, flat line, and she flips open the dark leather menu. She says nothing.
I bite back a grin. This could be fun.
“Fair enough. Oksana ordered the clothes,” I keep talking, nodding to the server when he brings over our waters. “I assumed the dress you were in the other night was more your dad’s preference. If you want skimpier, we can do skimpier. Not like you didn’t look good.”
Every limb in her body stiffens more and more with every word. I can see it working.
“The audience definitely thought so,” I add.
And there—
“You’re being crass. What’s wrong with you? I thought you were supposed to be—” Janella bursts, spluttering. Those big, sad eyes of hers are bright and ablaze. It’s glorious. “Isn’t the whole point of this that you’re supposed to be different? You wanted to play the white knight, didn’t you?”
“So, let me,” I say.
“What do you want from me?” she asks, her voice a harsh whisper.
My eyes roll. “For you to have dinner with me. That implies conversation. Some small-talk, at the very least.”
“I’m here, aren’t I?” she snaps. “I’m here, I signed the stupid papers, I’m—”
“Acting like a spooked chihuahua,” I cut in.
I swear I see her eyes flash. It sends a dose of adrenaline coursing through my veins, thrilling me.
“Are you calling me a bitch?”
“The opposite, actually.”
“And what’s the opposite of a bitch?” Janella demands.
“Something like a wet cat?” I suggest.
“That doesn’t even make sense,” she argues, pausing to sip at her water.
“A chihuahua is a dog breed. A cat is a different animal. So, which one is it? Why am I an animal at all? Because I’m skittish around a man who bought me, and has effectively abducted me?
I don’t think I’m the crazy one here, pal. ”
I chortle. “Pal?”
She gives a peeved sniff in response. Then says, “I can tell that you’re trying to goad me, by the way.”
“Well, do you have any other suggestions to get you to unclench?”
“Crass,” she repeats, more sass than venom this time.
My lips curl, and I clink my glass against hers.
“Trust me, Janella,” I drawl. “I’m guilty of worse sins.”
To my surprise, despite the color in her cheeks, she meets my gaze head-on.
“Okay. Tell me about them,” she invites. “If this is going to be my world, too, then I deserve to know about it. Don’t I?”
Oh, she can be ballsy.
I cock an eyebrow.
“Fine,” I allow, a challenge in my eyes. “What do you know about the bratva?”
***
“That’s not the way back?” She sounds uncertain, and an accusation lurks beneath her words.
Slowly, I turn my head to face her. I guess she wasn’t in the haze that I’d thought she was on the way to the restaurant. It bodes well, though, that she’s got enough backbone to question it.
“Nope,” I agree cheerfully.
We’re headed for Newbury Street. I already texted the driver, Otto, that. It’s just fun to keep her guessing. I’ve given her more than enough information tonight.
Besides, there’s a soft furrow between her brows that I greatly enjoy.
Typically, I hate to let anyone drive me places. Call it control issues, if you want. But it’s mostly that no one drives fucking fast enough. That said, it does offer the perk of getting to pour my attention on my wife. She’s a strange creature.
The evening hasn’t been what I’d expected. That’s how I like them. This one has exposed a handful of Janella’s depths.
For a man who’s been surveilling a fairly accomplished criminal for months now, it means something when I say she’s a conundrum.
Janella is the same woman who let herself be degraded by her father, sold like chattel.
She flinched when Ivan brought that first-aid kit…
and she offered for me to fuck her instead of offering her the protection of the Yuri name.
With the same mouth, she’d admonished me for being crass over dinner tonight.
Regardless, even now that I’ve told her the bare bones of the weight that name holds in this town, I still suspect she’d rather I let her go.
She’s smarter than she wants to let on. Her tongue sharpens itself—a weapon she’s prepared to wield when she must. She can spar with me just fine.
Yet there is an innate sweetness to her, too—in how she scowled at me until I tipped twenty percent, the tender way she thanked every server who brought a dish or took it away.
When I’d tried to test her by ordering for her, she’d let me.
But she’d fought with me about the wine, telling me Chateau Pétrus paired better with steak than the bottle of Caymus I’d been ordering.
And she’d been right. Then she’d told me that her mother had been a part-time waitress when she met her father.
By the time she died, she’d owned the café next door to that restaurant.
There was no bitterness in her voice when she talked about her parents—only… yearning.
She clamped up immediately when I pressed her about it.
But she hadn’t blinked twice when she’d asked me, point-blank, if I’d ever killed someone. Nor quivered when I told her that, yes, I’d killed more than I could count on two hands.
Yet, “Oh my God,” she chokes out, stunned, when the car comes to a stop in front of Valentino.
“You said,” I point out, “the clothes weren’t to your taste.”
Janella balks. “I—”
“Said it was fine, yes. Surrendering to your fate. I get it. Very impressive.” I clap my hands twice, mocking. “That isn’t how Yuris live. And that is what you are now.”
“Iosif,” she sighs, her eyes dropping to the ground.
“Get out of the car, Janella.”
The store’s windows glow white and gold. She gets out of the car but stalls in front of them. I watch her hesitate, like she’s a vampire who needs to be invited in.
“After you,” I insist, gesturing grandly. “Unless you’d prefer that I carry you?”
Ah, now that gets her moving.
As soon as we enter, an immaculately primped woman approaches us. Her smile is all professional ease. “Good evening. How may I help you today?”
“My wife needs a new wardrobe,” I declare, catching the way Janella’s eyes turn to saucers in my periphery. She is not subtle. We’ll have to work on that. “We’ll see everything. Money is no object.”
The saleswoman’s eyes light up.
“Of course, sir,” she chirps eagerly. “Right this way!”
She leads us deeper into the store. I can tell Janella is trying to be inconspicuous, but she isn’t succeeding. She’s still wide-eyed and wowed.
From what I know of Driscoll, he may not be a billionaire, but he rakes in a fine revenue from his operation. Surely, Janella shouldn’t be this dazzled by a run-of-the-mill designer store.
Yet, when she gravitates toward a rack near the back, I see her fingers skirt over the silk like it’s made of glass she could shatter. There is undeniable reverence in her eyes. When her fingers catch a price tag, she recoils like she’s been electrocuted.
I’m beside her in an instant.