Chapter 19
IVAN
I text Nadia, letting her know I won’t be showing up at Zvezda until much later tonight. Then I tuck my phone away and wait.
I’m just outside the highly secure community my mother lives in.
The gates should have opened by now, but family dinners tend to run late sometimes, especially since we only get together once a month.
Not that we keep to a specific date. Can’t establish too much of a routine or our enemies will know exactly when to strike.
We try to make it as hard as possible on anyone who might be watching.
Safety precautions include changing the gate security every three months or so. Dima carefully vets each replacement, making sure they can’t be bribed or threatened. No one is allowed to get too comfortable or know too much. Our mother’s safety is too important.
The gates finally swing open, and I drive through slowly, taking in the familiar landscape.
Back when my brothers and I were underbosses to Viktor Petrov—I refuse to call that bastard my father—we pooled our money until we had enough to build this small estate for our mother.
It was supposed to be a safe place, away from her monstrous husband.
But we didn’t manage to move her until after Viktor’s death, when Aleksei took over as pakhan and assumed control of the castle. That fucking castle.
Tradition dictates that the pakhan lives in the monstrosity our grandfather built when he rose to power. But the bad memories Viktor left behind meant that if Aleksei wanted even a shred of peace in his own house, he had to tear down everything that monster touched—which was a lot.
I try not to visit the castle if I can help it, and I definitely don’t envy my brother for having to live there, surrounded by ghosts and old violence.
Heavy is the head that wears the crown.
I take a left turn, and my mother’s modern, single-story house comes into view.
Elmira also lives somewhere on the estate, which means she sees Mom more often, but she prefers the privacy of her own space.
My brothers and I have our own houses here as well, but we favor being in the city, in the thick of things.
It’s how we keep our fingers on the pulse—and how we maintain control.
As I pull into the driveway next to Mira and Dima’s cars, the front door opens, and Mom steps out.
She’s sporting a wide grin, and her salt-and-pepper hair is tied into a bun, though loose tendrils have already escaped to frame her face.
An apron covers her dress, both stained from cooking, but she doesn’t seem to notice or care.
Her blue eyes twinkle with delight as I step out of the car, and I feel a quiet satisfaction knowing my brothers and I helped put that light back in there.
Viktor Petrov was a bad man, a bad leader, a bad husband, and a bad father who dimmed the light in everyone around him. But he’s gone now. And we’re still here.
“Vanya.” Her voice is a soft lilt, and she stretches out her hands to me as I approach.
Instead of taking them, I wrap my arms around her back and lift her clean off her feet, spinning her once, twice.
The sound of her laughter as she grips my shoulder is music to my ears. I rarely heard it growing up. So now I take every chance I can to drink it in.
“Oh my goodness, Vanya!” she gasps through her laughter. “Put me down. I’m too heavy—you’ll break your back.”
“Never, Miss Sonya. I love having beautiful women in my arms, and you’re not heavy at all. Have you been eating well? You feel lighter.” I frown, testing her weight—she does feel lighter compared to the last time I came over for dinner.
“Vanya!” she squeals, digging her nails into my shoulders. “Put me down, you rogue, and let me see your face.” When I don’t comply, she lightly slaps my shoulder. Grinning, I finally lower her to her feet.
The moment she regains her balance, her hands are cupping my face, turning my head this way and that while she studies me with a mother’s critical eye. “You have dark circles. I knew staying up to work at Zvezda would eventually catch up to you. You need more sleep.”
I wrap my fingers around her wrist and gently tug her hands off my face. I haven’t been sleeping well because I’m sick with wanting a certain prisoner of mine—something I obviously can’t tell my mother.
“After eating your food tonight, I’m sure I’ll sleep like the dead,” I say with a wink, and she chuckles, just like I wanted her to.
She turns towards the front door. “Come on in. The twins are here already, and now that you are too, we only have to wait for Aleksei and—” She trails off when she sees headlights approaching the house.
“Speak of the devil,” I mutter under my breath as Aleksei’s Lincoln pulls up next to my car. Two other SUVs stop farther down the road—his security.
“Vanya, don’t speak about your brother like that,” Mom scolds, but she’s already floating down the steps to greet her firstborn.
One of Aleksei’s men exits the passenger seat and opens the back door just as she reaches the car.
Aleksei emerges and directs a rare smile at her.
He leans down to kiss both her cheeks, then stills while she returns the gesture.
She hooks her arm through his, practically glowing as they walk towards me.
“You shouldn’t be outside. It still gets chilly in the evenings,” he’s saying as they get closer to me.
“I was waiting for you two. My heart is full now that you’re both here. I’ve missed my boys.” She slips her free hand into the crook of my arm and walks us towards the front door. Her boys. Only she can call men like us boys and get away with it.
I smirk at Aleksei, who narrows his eyes at me in warning. I’m definitely teasing him about this later.
Aleksei opens the door, and we end up doing an awkward side shuffle inside because Mom refuses to release either of us. We move through the small entrance room into the living room, then through a door to the large space that houses both the kitchen and dining area.
Dimitri and Elmira are already there, deep in conversation. They glance up as we enter.
“Ah, good of you two assholes to finally show up,” Dima says as he licks one of the cooking spoons.
Mira smacks his hand away. “Stop that.”
He glares at his twin, but she’s already shifted her attention to us. “Hey, you two.” She does a little wave with her fingers.
Now that we’re inside, Mom lets go of our arms, and I head straight for Mira. “Hey, you two?” I mock as I hold her by the scruff. “Is that how you greet your long-lost brothers?”
She slaps at my hand, rolling her eyes. “I saw you a few days ago. Besides, I’m sure the security you have tailing me reports my every move daily.” She drives her elbow into my stomach, and I release her with a low groan.
Aleksei steps in on her other side, ruffling her hair. "And what about me, sokrovishche? You haven't seen me in a month.” Sokrovishche. Treasure. Aleksei's called her that since she was small.
“Hey!” she protests, slipping out from between us to finger-comb her hair back into place. “I’m twenty-six now. Twenty-seven in a few months. You don’t treat Dima like a baby, and we’re the same age. The misogyny stinks.”
“Don’t bring me into this, Mira,” Dima warns.
Before I can respond to her accusation, Mom cuts in. “Enough bickering, kids. I swear, you all act like five-year-olds every time we have dinner.” But she’s grinning. She loves this. “Now, come help me serve.”
All four of us fall into place without protest, helping carry the food to the dining table. Afterwards, Aleksei texts one of his men to come in and collect their portions—security will eat out in the cars while we dine in here.
Once we’re seated, I glance across the table at Mira. “So how’s your plan for the exhibition coming along? Come up with an idea yet?”
“What exhibition?” Aleksei asks, looking between us.
Mira’s face lights up instantly. She’s a ceramicist and loves talking about her art—something she never had the freedom to do while Viktor was alive.
He couldn’t understand it, couldn’t see the value.
She was his princess, and her existence was solely for a political marriage that would benefit him.
But not on Aleksei’s watch. He dotes on her. We all do.
“A gallery downtown reached out to me about an exhibition they’re hosting in a few months,” she explains eagerly. “They want me to display some pieces. The theme is functional art, and I’ve finally decided on my direction. Candles.”
She leans forward, her excitement building.
“It’s rare to find scented candles in ceramic jars—it’s almost always glass.
I’m going to collaborate with a candle maker and perfumer to create a small collection with custom scents, and then design a line of ceramic candle holders in a cohesive glaze palette to go with them. ”
Dinner passes with most of the conversation revolving around Mira’s exhibition, and I’m grateful for it. My mind doesn’t have a chance to slip to Melani—except once or twice.
After we finish eating, we move to the backyard to share drinks while watching the flames flicker in the brick fireplace. Then Dimitri clears his throat, drawing Aleksei’s and my attention.
“About Daniel Salvi—I’ve got new intel about his next moves and—”
“Are you talking about work right now?” Mom interrupts, glancing between us with raised brows. Aleksei shoots Dima a pointed look.
“You know better than to do that here,” Mira censures lightly.
We don’t talk business in front of Mom, and in return, she pretends not to know we inherited Viktor’s empire. But the legacy is no longer about Viktor. Aleksei took over seven years ago and has more than erased that man’s existence with his stellar leadership.