Chapter 16 #2
“I’m so glad you’re feeling better,” Elena interrupts, pinning her attention on me, deciding it best to drop the subject of Frankie’s name entirely in case my brother says something else that will get him in hot water with his girlfriend.
Or worse, with her husband. “Kirill was beside himself with worry.”
“Yes, he was,” Sasha adds pointedly, clearly not thrilled about Kirill’s concern for me. “It does make you question where all this sudden interest really comes from.”
“Oh, I don’t know, Sasha, maybe because he didn’t want us going to war with the Outfit if she died,” Kostya shoots back, every word dripping with sarcasm. All that’s missing is the duh at the end.
“I’m sorry, did I ask for your opinion? If I wanted insight from the peanut gallery, I’d ask for it.”
Kostya just flips him off, with both hands.
“Boys, we have guests. Manners,” Elena says, and both men immediately shrink into their seats.
I give Elena a grateful smile, and she answers with a friendly wink. Well, look at that. Maybe I’m not as outnumbered here as I thought. Not if I have her on my side.
We all return to our meal, and that’s when I feel Kirill lean in close, his breath brushing my ear as he whispers, “Is your family as dysfunctional as mine?” he jokes, placing his hand on my thigh and gently running it up and down.
“Show me a family that isn’t,” I retort, meeting his eyes and losing myself in their deep, dark pull, as if I were suddenly falling into midnight.
Oh, boy. Enough of that.
“I have a question,” Lucky blurts out, thankfully giving me a reason to put all my focus on him. “When did the two of you start color-coordinating?” He points at us, and my cheeks flame red at being called out in front of everyone.
“Have some more lamb, Luciano. You’re talking too much,” I seethe through a wide smile.
“I think black suits you both,” Frankie adds cheerfully, completely unaware that her sweet comment is not helping.
“I like it too,” Kirill mutters under his breath, his hand squeezing my thigh.
At that moment, Sasha clinks the silverware on his plate and tosses his napkin on top of his barely touched food. “Apologies, Elena. I’ve lost my appetite,” he says in English—for our sake, apparently—before rushing out of the room.
“My apologies for my brother-in-law. He’s a tad… temperamental,” Elena explains, obviously saddened by not being able to have one meal with her family without someone throwing a tantrum.
“God, I love you, Elena. You can just call him an asshole. We all know what Sasha is,” Kostya grins, biting into his lamb with renewed enthusiasm now that his brother is gone.
“Kostya,” Mikhail reprimands, though the scolding doesn’t quite reach his blue eyes.
“You know I’m right, Misha. That man has been all sorts of moody since Lucky and Stella arrived.”
I don’t miss how he conveniently leaves Frankie out of that equation.
“He has his reasons,” Mikhail states firmly.
“And those would be?” I ask, needing to know why Aleksandr is being so unwelcoming as a host.
The second Mikhail stares down the table in my direction, Kirill swiftly pulls his hand off my thigh, which only pisses me off more.
“How is your brother Jude enjoying living in London these days?” Mikhail asks casually. “I’ve heard he’s made a beautiful home there with his new wife.”
The quiet threat woven into his words has my hackles rising.
“What does my brother have to do with yours being a righteous prick?”
“Stella,” Kirill whispers beside me, soft enough that his brother doesn’t hear it, but loud enough that I do.
My nostrils flare at how fucking submissive Kirill becomes the moment his Pakhan speaks. Instead of calling Kirill out on it, my anger directs itself straight at Mikhail instead.
“Well? Are you going to answer me or not?”
“I would have assumed a clever girl like you already knew the answer to that question.” When my face twists in confusion, he clarifies.
“As I told you earlier today, we Petrovs never forget to pay our debts. Your father came to my aid when he had no reason to. He could have easily let my enemies in Chicago continue conspiring against me, trying to overthrow my claim to the throne and erase my foothold in your city entirely. But instead, your father eradicated that threat, giving me enough time to learn who my real friends were and deal with the traitors in my own backyard.”
“That still doesn’t explain why—”
“Why Sasha has a bitter distaste for you and yours, even after your father proved he was willing to share his city with me, while I continued to reign as Pakhan here in Moscow?” Mikhail finishes for me.
He wipes the corner of his mouth with a napkin, the gesture almost theatrical.
“Well, answer me this. What kind of friend would I be to your father if I let my own brother take his firstborn son’s life?
” Cold sweat trickles down my spine at how casually he asks it.
“I have no intention of breaking the alliance with the Outfit,” Mikhail continues calmly.
“Not while Vincent is still Capo Dei Capi. And that means keeping Sasha on a tight leash where your brother Jude is concerned.”
“And his wife?” Lucky asks, just as captivated and horrified as I am.
Mikhail turns to Elena, squeezing her hand gently.
“Mina Crane is also safe from my brother’s wrath. Killing a man’s wife—the person he loves most in this world—is the same as killing the man himself, in my opinion. I would never wish that on even my worst enemy, let alone an ally.”
The way he looks at Elena—like she’s his queen, his entire world—finally eases the knot in my chest that his earlier words provoked.
Lucky, however, still looks enraged. Understandably so.
Because in Mikhail’s neat little promise to keep Jude and Mina safe, he made no such vow about Victor Crane, or Mina’s charmingly evil twin cousins, Remus and Romulus.
And since Remus is the closest thing Lucky’s ever had to a best friend outside of Enzo, I get why this rubs him the wrong way.
“You and my father have a harmonious understanding that allows you to conduct business in the same city,” I say, taking a page out of Mikhail’s book and keeping my tone calm and measured. “Is there no possibility of coming to a similar arrangement with the Cranes?”
“Sasha would never allow that,” Kirill answers for him.
“And why not?”
Kirill thins his lips, and when I turn to Mikhail, I understand why. There is an arctic frost to the Pakhan’s stare that makes it very clear Kirill has already said too much.
“I’ve never liked discussing business at the dinner table,” Elena cuts in quickly when she notices her husband burning holes into Kirill’s skull with his icepick of a stare.
“How about we talk about the upcoming festivities instead? Christmas is less than a week away, and we would love to have you all here, if you’re willing. ”
Mikhail offers her a soft smile, but nothing more, letting her ramble on about everything she has planned for the occasion.
Neither Lucky nor I says a word, because there is no way we could possibly stay in Russia for the holidays. My family would lose their minds at the idea.
From the way Mikhail’s cold gaze shifts to me instead of Kirill, I have a feeling Elena’s invitation doesn’t have his support either.
No. Mikhail might play the gracious host to our faces, but he wants us gone. And by us, I mean Lucky and me.
Frankie might not have a choice either way.
Once dinner is finished, we’re all left to our own devices. Which is a good thing, since polite small talk bores the hell out of me. Especially when it’s forced.
“Would you like to go for a moonlight walk?” Kirill asks, threading his fingers through mine, the second no one is in sight.
“I don’t know,” I jerk my hand away from his. “Are you sure it’s safe to even be seen with me?”
Kirill’s shoulders slump as he drags a tattooed hand over his face. “Don’t be like that, milaya.”
“Be like what?”
“You know damn well like what,” he groans, crossing his arms over his chest.
“No, I don’t. Why don’t you enlighten me?”
“Why do you always feel the need to pick a fight with me? We were having such a nice evening.”
“Were we?” I lift a stupefied brow. “Did we even attend the same dinner? Because that’s not how I remember it going down.”
“You’re acting like a brat.”
“Better than being a coward.”
Kirill’s mouth hardens into a narrow line. “Maybe it’s time you went to bed. You look like you need the rest.”
“Fuck you,” I snap, turning toward the main doors of the mansion and stepping into the cold.
Only the moment I’m outside do I remember that Russian winters are nothing like Chicago’s. The wind alone feels as if it could freeze a person solid.
“Such a troublesome little thing,” Kirill sighs in my ear as he wraps me in a large coat, the smoky clover scent of him chasing away my anger in seconds. “Come. A walk will do us both some good.”
Kirill takes my hand and leads me away from the house, my eyes drifting to the many guards stationed around the perimeter, each armed with an AK-47.
I’m surprised someone as sweet and gentle as Elena would be happy living in a place like this. But then again, her mind has probably been occupied with other matters to even care.
“How long has your sister-in-law been sick?”
Kirill releases a deep exhale, swinging his arm around me to keep the cold from swallowing me whole.
“The first time she was diagnosed with Hodgkin’s Lymphoma was about five years ago. It was touch-and-go for a while, but she beat it in the long run. She’s been in remission ever since, but…”
“But?”