Chapter 35
KONSTANTIN
I don’t remember the last time I felt this light.
Mila shrieks with laughter. I’m on my knees on the rug, letting her climb onto my back like I’m some kind of mountain goat, her little hands tugging my collar, her curls bouncing wildly.
Nikolai lounges on the couch nearby, propped up on a pile of cushions, pale but alert, his soft smile warming the edges of my heart. He’s holding a toy helicopter in one hand, twirling the rotor lazily as he watches us.
This—this moment—it’s everything. I don’t remember the last time I felt this kind of happiness. The kind that isn’t built on adrenaline or rage or strategy, but just…existing.
“Papa, you’re slow!” Mila squeals, bouncing harder, and I pretend to collapse, groaning as if I’ve been defeated.
“You’ve vanquished me,” I rasp, and she roars with laughter, arms thrown wide like a conquering queen.
“Konstantin,” Irina calls from the hallway, her tone exasperated but fond. “You’ll crumple your shirt. The guests will be here any minute.”
I twist my neck to glance down at my wrinkled button-up. Sure, it’s freshly pressed—or it was—but the fabric’s already clinging to me in places it shouldn’t. Mila’s sneakers have probably left little footprints on the back. I could fix it. I probably should.
But I don’t care. Not today.
Let them come and see me like this, with rumpled sleeves and a grin I can’t seem to wipe off. Let them see me alive.
Irina sighs when I don’t move. “Fine. Just don’t blame me when you look like you rolled down a hill.”
“Too late,” I mutter as Mila climbs off, breathless and proud.
I stand, brushing off imaginary dirt, and walk over to Nikolai. He hands me the helicopter without a word, and I give it a little spin. His eyes light up like I just made magic.
“You excited for tonight, buddy?” I ask.
He nods slowly. “Will there be cake?”
I laugh. “There will be cake. And dancing. And maybe a toast or two if someone insists.”
He looks thoughtful. “You should let Mommy talk. She’s better at it.”
“She’s better at everything,” I say, ruffling his hair gently. “But don’t tell her I said that.”
The house has never looked more alive. Flowers spill from tall vases on the dining table.
Soft music plays from the speakers, the playlist Nadya curated herself.
There’s a warm scent of roasted garlic and herbed butter wafting in from the kitchen.
The patio is lit with lanterns, the long table set with polished silver and cream linens. It’s going to be an epic night.
I glance toward the hallway where Nadya disappeared ten minutes ago. I wonder what dress she’ll wear. I wonder if she knows just how much I’d go to hell and back for her—again and again.
“I want to see the party outside,” Nikolai says, tugging at me.
“Let’s go,” I say, taking the children by their hand and leading them out.
The sky is streaked with shades of amber and rose as the sun begins to dip behind the trees.
The backyard is warm with golden light, the garden strung with soft fairy lights and lanterns swaying in the breeze.
Tables are set up across the lawn, music low, the scent of grilled food starting to drift from the catering station.
Guests start trickling in through the side gate. Familiar faces. Bratva allies. A few of Nadya’s friends. Irina is already making sure drinks are poured, chatting easily with one of the waitstaff.
Then I spot them—Dmitry and Alexei. They arrive together, but something is off.
Dmitry walks ahead, slow and composed as always.
Alexei lags a few steps behind, jaw set, eyes forward.
There’s no conversation between them, no shared glance.
I watch them carefully, instinct ticking in the back of my head.
But then Alexei sees Mila, and his entire face changes. “Mila!” he calls, crouching down as she runs straight into his arms. He scoops her up easily, spinning her once. She shrieks with delight, and even Nikolai perks up.
“Look who’s here,” I tell him.
Alexei walks over with Mila still clinging to his shoulder. “Hey, champ,” he says to Nikolai, reaching out to ruffle his hair. “You look good.”
Nikolai smiles shyly. “I’m okay.”
Alexei sits beside him and pulls out a new sketchbook from under his coat, sliding it onto the kid’s lap. “Thought you might like this.”
“Thanks,” Nikolai says, fingers already flipping through the blank pages.
I glance away as Dmitry approaches. “Impressive setup,” he says, tone neutral.
“It’s just dinner,” I reply.
He nods, his gaze following the kids for a beat. “Alexei’s good with them.”
“He is,” I say carefully, still studying his face. “They like him.”
Dmitry hums.
“Didn’t think you’d come,” I say.
“I said I would,” Dmitry replies, calm. “Besides, Alexei insisted.”
“He brought the kids a sketchbook,” I murmur, unsure why I mention it.
Dmitry glances at me. “He’s always had a soft spot for children. Even when he was one.”
Silence stretches between us. Not the kind that begs to be filled—but the kind that carries the weight of decades.
“You think this…whatever this is erases everything that came before?” I ask, unable to stop the bitterness from creeping into my voice. I promised Nadya I would be good tonight, but I can’t help myself.
“No,” he says. “I think it’s a start.”
I shake my head, laughing mirthlessly. “You killed everything good in our family and now you want a fucking start?”
He sighs. “I honestly don’t know what I want, Konstantin. If you had asked me a few months ago, I would have said something different.”
“What changed?” I ask.
“It’s not important,” he says, looking away.
I frown. “I think it is.”
“I never wanted you to hate me, Konstantin.”
“You made that choice for both of us,” I say.
He goes quiet. The silence stretches, filled with the music and clinking glassware behind us. He looks like he’s about to say something else. His eyes flicker, jaw tight, and for one strange second I see hesitation—something I’ve never associated with him. He opens his mouth.
“Konstantin!”
I turn instinctively toward the sound of Nadya’s voice, clear and warm like sunlight through a storm. She’s striding toward me, and for a heartbeat the whole world stills.
She’s in a deep crimson dress, one that clings to her curves like a second skin. Her dark hair is swept to one side, soft waves cascading over one shoulder. A single diamond glints at her throat. But it’s her eyes that undo me.
I glance back, but Dmitry is already turning away, the moment shattered. Whatever he was about to say is gone with the wind. I’ll find him later, I tell myself.
“You’re supposed to be greeting people, not brooding with your father,” Nadya teases, slipping her arm into mine.
“I wasn’t brooding,” I lie.
She raises a brow.
“Okay, maybe a little.”
“You clean up nice,” she murmurs with a smile.
“You look like sin wrapped in silk,” I murmur back, and she laughs low under her breath.
“Behave,” she warns.
“No promises.”
Together we turn toward a small group that’s just stepped into the patio lights—potential allies I’ve been trying to court for months. Nadya is perfect beside me, offering that diplomatic smile that hides the claws. She’s warm where I’m cold, silver where I’m all steel.
By the time we’re done shaking hands, I’ve got two verbal agreements and one promise to talk again in a week.
It’s efficient, strategic, a little exhausting.
And when I glance back at my father, expecting a flicker of irritation—because these were once his contacts—I find him still distracted, that unreadable expression fixed on Alexei.
Something shifts in my chest. What is it that I can’t put my finger on?
“Hey.” Nadya nudges me gently. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”
I shake my head. “Nothing.”
Her eyes narrow a little. “You sure?”
“Yes,” I assure her.
“Look at us,” Nadya murmurs. “Almost normal.”
“Almost,” I echo, scanning the crowd.
We pass one of the Shurov sisters—Tatiana, the older one. She nods politely but her eyes flick toward Dmitry in the shadows. Smart woman. Everyone’s trying to figure out what tonight means.
“You look like you’re trying to read minds,” Nadya says under her breath.
“Just wondering who’s here for us…and who’s here for him.”
“Don’t worry too much about your father. Not when I’m here.”
I nuzzle her neck. “I’m not thinking about him at all.”
She gives me a long look, then kisses my cheek. “Good. Because tonight is ours.”
Before I can respond, Irina steps up beside us, a glass of something dark in her hand. She’s wearing a navy-blue gown with a high collar and lace sleeves. “No one’s spilled anything yet, and no bodies in the garden. I’m impressed.”
Nadya laughs softly. “We’ll count it a success if we make it to dessert.”
Irina smirks, but her eyes flick toward the path where Dmitry is standing. Her mood dims a little. “He came, then.”
“You should try relaxing, Irina. Tonight’s supposed to be a celebration.”
Irina raises a brow. “And yet your father-in-law is lurking in the shadows, and half the people here once tried to kill each other.”
“She has a point,” I murmur, and Nadya elbows me gently.
Irina’s gaze flicks past us toward the corner where Dmitry stands, alone for once, his arms folded, his expression unreadable.
“You think he’s up to something?” Nadya asks.
Irina hesitates. “It’s not like him. All this…cooperation. Turning up here like some doting grandfather. There’s something he’s not saying.”
For some reason, I’m inclined to believe her.
“Something’s off,” I say, lowering my voice. “He was about to tell me something before Nadya called me over.”
Irina crosses her arms, scanning the perimeter with practiced wariness. “That man never says anything unless he gains something from it.”
“He offered to be the donor,” Nadya says quietly. “That wasn’t a trick.”
“And you believe that?” Irina asks.
Nadya pauses. “I believe he doesn’t want to lose another son. And he saved my son’s life, and for that I’ll always be grateful to him.”
“Fair enough,” Irina concedes. “But don’t let your guard down, not even for a second. Peace with Dmitry Buryakov is a ceasefire, not a treaty.”
We’re all quiet for a moment. The firepit flares. Somewhere, someone laughs.
“I just want the kids to have this,” Nadya says, her voice soft. “A night where everything feels…good.”
“They will,” I say, pulling her a little closer. “Because we built it. Not him.”
Nadya sighs. “You’re right. It was my call to invite him here tonight, I’m not going to regret it. Besides look how much fun the kids are having with Alexei.”
I follow her gaze, and sure enough, Alexei now has Nikolai in his arms.
Irina waves to someone in the crowd and says, “I’ll be back soon.”
Nadya scans the tables like a general surveying the front lines. Then she tuts. “We’re running out of champagne. And the canapés are gone,” she says, already moving toward the house. “I’ll talk to the caterers.”
“Don’t terrify them,” I call after her, watching her go. The sway of her hips, the way she moves with so much intent—it’s almost funny.
I’m still smiling when Lev appears beside me, holding a glass he hasn’t sipped from. “You look almost relaxed,” he says.
“I’m trying to pretend that’s allowed,” I reply.
He gives a short nod, eyes flicking around. “Security’s tight. My men are posted outside the perimeter, just as you asked. We’re trying not to piss off the wrong guests.”
“Good,” I say. “It’s family night.”
“That’s what worries me.”
Before I can answer, there’s a faint crack almost too fast to register, whistling past my ear.
The hairs on my neck rise.
A second later, someone screams.
The glass in Lev’s hand shatters against the grass.