Chapter 15 #3
“And why is it so important to you to be on my father’s good side?” I ask outright.
From the corner of my eye, I watch Kirill’s jaw tick, but he remains uncharacteristically silent.
“The Outfit has earned my allegiance by vanquishing my enemies, and for that, a debt is owed. And Petrovs always pay their debts.”
“You sound like a Lannister. It didn’t end well for them, you know?”
It’s the only time I see real confusion crease his brow, enough to lighten my pissed-off mood.
“It’s a show, brother,” Kirill says, finally speaking. “She’s referring to a TV show.”
“Ah. I see. I’m unfamiliar with the reference, but I can assure you real life differs from fiction.
In my world, the consequences for one’s actions have real repercussions.
” And with that ominous remark hanging in the air, he turns his attention to Kirill.
“Have you shown Stella the grounds? I’m sure she’s been locked away for so long she could use some fresh air. ”
“We just came from doing that. I was about to make her some tea—”
“Then please, don’t let me interrupt,” Mikhail cuts in. “Stella, it was a pleasure meeting you. I hope you will feel well enough to join us for dinner tonight.”
“I wouldn’t miss it.”
“Glad to hear it. Stella.” He gives me a curt nod in goodbye. “Kiryushka,” Mikhail says before leaving the room.
Kirill’s fists ball at his sides as he crosses to the counter and starts rummaging the cabinets in search of a teapot.
“So that was your Pakhan, huh?” I ask, my gaze never wavering from the fuming expression on his face. Kirill nods once, still too pissed to use his words. “Friendly, wasn’t he?” I add sarcastically. “I can see why he’s king. Even his own flesh and blood are scared of him.”
“Loyalty is coaxed in many ways, milaya,” Kirill mutters through gritted teeth, finally finding the kettle and filling it with water.
I sit on the stool near the kitchen island and watch him set the teapot to boil, then grab some loose tea leaves from a container and sprinkle them into a little silver tea infuser.
“What does Kiryushka mean?” I ask, since his mood soured the moment Mikhail called him that.
“It’s a childish nickname.” His jaw twitches. “The women in my family used to call me that when I was younger, and my older brothers still throw it at me whenever they think I’ve done something wrong.”
I don’t dare ask Kirill to explain what he could have possibly done for Mikhail to call him that. I’m pretty sure it has something to do with me.
“If I remember correctly,” I say lightly, “you once told me a little old word shouldn’t affect a person so much. That it was just a word. A small, insignificant word.”
“I did say that, didn’t I?” A tiny smile starts to tug at the corner of his mouth.
“Yes, you did.” I nod, smiling. “So tell me, what does this insignificant word mean anyway? Kiryushka?” I try to repeat the word in Russian, though I’m almost positive I butchered it.
“‘One who does not deceive,’” he says flatly.
“That’s not so bad. It’s better than principessa, don’t you think?”
“Not when your brothers use it to call you out on a lie.”
“And what lie was Mikhail trying to call you out on?” The question flies out of my mouth before I can stop it.
Kirill looks at me with something frighteningly close to longing, and I immediately regret opening my stupid mouth.
Ever so quickly, I push myself off the stool and move to sit in a nearby nook instead, just to get some distance from that unnerving look.
“Brothers were put on this earth to be pains in the ass,” I add, pretending I didn’t see anything in Kirill’s eyes. “I wouldn’t worry too much about it.”
“What’s this I hear? Who’s a pain in the ass?” A guy who looks like a younger, cockier version of Kirill says as he strolls into the room.
“Case in point,” Kirill mutters under his breath at the peacock-looking newcomer, before he makes an introduction. “Stella, this is Kostya, my younger brother. Kostya, Stella.”
With an ear-to-ear grin, the Yungblud doppelganger slides into the seat across from me, his pitch-black eyes gleaming with mischief.
“Well, hello there,” he coos, placing his closed fists under his chin, leaning in closer on the table to stare at me. “I’ve been dying to finally meet you, Stella. I’ve heard a lot about you. Emphasis on a lot.”
“Konstantin,” Kirill warns through gritted teeth.
“Don’t mind him,” Kostya says, waving a dismissive hand in Kirill’s direction as if shooing away a fly. “He gets grouchy when he doesn’t get his way.”
“So I’ve noticed,” I say, mimicking his form and resting my chin on my hands too, amused at the youngest Petrov already.
Unlike Mikhail, he doesn’t have an intimidating bone in his body. In fact, his carefree nature and cocky attitude remind me a lot of my own twin brothers. Yep, Kostya is giving a strong Enzo-and-Lucky chaos vibe.
“So are you still mad this one got you shot?” he asks casually.
“For fuck’s sake, Kostya!” Kirill curses as he burns his hand on the tea kettle.
“Hey, you just keep doing whatever you’re doing while I catch up with your girlfriend here.”
“She’s not my girlfriend,” Kirill says.
“I’m not his girlfriend.” I say in unison with him.
“Ohhh, I see. You guys don’t do labels. Cute.” Kostya shrugs as if he’s cracked some kind of code. “So, am I the only one who knows you two are banging, or is that secret out yet?”
“We… um… we’re not banging,” I say, shifting back into my seat, feeling self-conscious for the first time in forever. And I’m never self-conscious.
“Huh.” One of his brows lifts all the way to his hairline. “You know what? That actually explains a lot.”
“Klyanus’ Bogom, Kostya, yesli ty seychas zhe ne uydesh’, ya tebya ub’yu.”
Whatever threat Kirill just proclaimed to his brother, it falls on deaf ears.
“Wait,” he says, looking confused all of a sudden, “if you guys aren’t banging, what the hell are you doing?”
“We’re… getting to know each other,” I reply, using Kirill’s words against him.
“What kind of pussy ass shit is that?” Kostya belts, looking stunned.
“Ask your brother,” I retort, pressing down on my lips to hide my smile.
To my sudden delight, that’s exactly what Kostya does, throwing his head over his shoulder so he can interrogate his brother. “What kind of pussy are you? I mean, look at her?! She’s fucking hot!”
Kirill doesn’t reply. His nostrils flare as he yanks open drawer after drawer, slamming them shut—with so much force I’m surprised they don’t break—when he doesn’t find what he’s looking for.
Seeing he’s not going to get a real explanation from his brother, Kostya turns his attention back to me, leaning forward just enough to grab my hand and stare into my eyes.
“Since he’s pussying out, you can always take me on a test drive,” he coos, wiggling his brows suggestively, before pressing his lips on my knuckles.
A heartbeat later, a butcher knife whistles through the air and buries itself in the center of the table with a violent thud, forcing Kostya to jerk back and peel his mouth from my hand.
“Hands off, Kostya. Or next time I won’t miss,” Kirill says, standing behind the kitchen island, his black-eyed stare winding tight in my gut.
“Ohhh, aren’t we jealous?” Kostya laughs, completely unfazed by the butcher knife now jabbed into the table between us. “Don’t worry, bro. I know she’s yours. And now, so does she.” Kostya gets up from his seat, throws me a wink, and struts out of the kitchen.
A few seconds later, Kirill slides a hot cup of tea into my hands and settles into Kostya’s seat across from me.
“You’re right. Brothers are a pain in the ass,” he groans.
“Told you,” I giggle, blowing on my tea before taking a sip.
“I just hope dinner goes better than whatever that was,” he adds, worry lines etched across his forehead, suggesting that maybe the rest of his family won’t be as charming or funny as Kostya.
Hmm. Maybe I should be worried, too.
Still, when his eyes meet mine, warm and uncertain, I know one thing for sure—whatever is in store for us at this dinner, I’m walking into it with him, and that might be the scariest part of all.