Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Anya
My heart is racing impossibly fast as Matteo Moretti returns me to my father’s table, promising to come back in mere moments.
I had planned to get through this wedding by interacting with as few strangers as possible.
I certainly didn’t imagine that I would accept a dance with anyone, let alone one of the many Moretti sons.
I couldn’t say no when he asked me, not when I expected terror to hit me and the only thing I felt was a gentle excitement at the idea. He handcuffed himself in the middle of a wedding reception without shame or hesitation simply to make me comfortable enough to share a dance with him.
How could I reject such a gesture?
Especially when I didn’t feel scared enough to faint.
I’m still processing these past few minutes when my father speaks.
“Did he say he was coming back?” His question is stiff, but not harsh.
I bob my head, nodding slowly. “He’s bringing the twins to see us. That’s okay, right?”
He looks over his shoulder to spot Matteo, watching as one of his brothers unlocks his handcuffs. I can’t read the expression on my father’s face, but he doesn’t seem angry, and certainly not furious. That’s a good sign, at least.
“It’s okay,” he agrees, turning back to me. “Are you okay?”
I don’t even know how to explain what I’m feeling, but I know he’s mostly asking to make sure I’m not freaking out or hurt.
“I’m okay,” I confirm, twisting my hands in my lap. “He was nice.”
“Too nice?” Uncle Lev asks harshly. I’m not surprised to see him so heated. He’d be ready to jump at the opportunity to bash Matteo for simply breathing near me, and he did much more than that.
“Friendly,” I clarify, face feeling warm. “I don’t think he’s interested in me in that way.”
I don’t think any man is, but my uncles and my father are more skeptical. It’s in their nature to be.
“I don’t like the look of him,” Uncle Mikhail grumbles.
Nose wrinkling, I ask, “How does he look?”
“Smug.”
“I—” Can’t get my thoughts out fast enough. My attention is called elsewhere.
“Oh, you see Papa Morozov, do you?” Matteo coos nearby, bouncing baby Cesar on his hip. My breath catches, seeing him holding both babies with such love and familiarity. “You want to say hi, hmm?”
My father holds his hands up, face melting into a smile only reserved for his grandchildren. “Hello, malyutka.” Tiny one, I mentally translate, smiling at the term.
Cesar practically throws himself at my father, tumbling into his arms with a wide, goofy smile. The one-year-old begins to babble senseless words immediately, like he’s diving into an elaborate story to tell his grandpa.
While my father is occupied by Cesar, Matteo comes closer. Isobella is tucked into his side, shyly observing the people around us.
Pausing next to one of my uncles, Matteo notes the lack of any empty chairs. “Any chance you’re going to offer us your seat so I can introduce the girls?”
“Nyet.”
“Lev,” Father warns, voice stern.
Spitting in Russian angrily, my uncle swears, “Ya nablyudayu za toboy, mal’chik.”
I’m watching you, boy.
Scraping his chair as he stands up, my tattooed, brick wall of an uncle glares at Matteo. The youngest Moretti boy is tall, and likely quite strong, but next to Lev, he looks much more slim. As my uncle rounds the table to keep an eye on us while standing, Matteo drops down into his seat.
“Anya,” he greets, smiling happily, wholly unaffected by the tense air my family has created. “I’d like you to meet Isobella Anla Moretti-Morozov. She is one year and one month old, very shy, and very interested in all things pretty. Princesses, pink, unicorns, you name it.”
Warmth spreads in my chest, hearing the way he speaks about her.
“Hello,” I say softly, eyes greedily soaking up every detail of her face. Bright blue eyes, button nose, tiny brown eyebrows, and the cutest plump rosy cheeks.
Matteo gently pokes her stomach through her dress. “Isobella, can you say ‘hi’ to your Aunt Anya?”
Tucking her little chin down, Isobella lifts her hand and waves it ever so slightly.
“Smart girl,” he praises, kissing the top of her head.
“I’ve seen pictures of you,” I tell her, wondering how much she can understand at her age. “Your papa has shown me.”
“You hear that?” Matteo asks, grinning at her. “She’s been waiting to meet you.” Looking back to me, he suddenly asks, “Do you want to hold her?”
More than anything.
“Will she let me?” I ask, biting my lip nervously.
“Of course,” Matteo says with a wave of his hand. “She’s very shy, but very brave. She knows Uncle Matteo wouldn’t trust just anyone with her.”
I hold my breath as he lifts Isobella up and carefully places her in my lap. He doesn’t even come close to touching me, obviously being mindful of my space and his. The small weight in my lap feels incredibly light and delicate.
With wide and curious eyes, my niece looks up at me and reaches for my hand.
She holds it against her stomach, her tiny fingers wrapping around mine.
Almost like instinct, I lean down and set my chin against the top of her head.
Her little brown locks of hair are so soft, it almost makes me choke up.
“Do you want a picture?” Matteo asks, pulling his phone out of his pocket.
“Yes,” I reply automatically.
I hate photos, but something tells me that I’ll regret not capturing this moment. I don’t have any recent pictures of myself, and I don’t have any pictures with the twins at all.
“Smile.”
I avoid looking at the phone and instead smile down at Isobella, waiting until the flash goes off to look back up.
“Thank you.”
“Anytime.” Matteo grins. “I’ll send this to my dad and he can send it to yours. Unless you want to exchange—”
“Nice fucking try,” Uncle Lev snaps, cutting him off with a sneer.
“Fuck!” Cesar shouts proudly.
“Uncle Lev,” I gasp. “Small ears are present!”
Matteo cracks up, poorly trying to smother the sound with his hand. “Don’t worry, Anya. He’s not the first person to drop the F-bomb around the little mimic. He knows five words consistently. Mama, dada, milk, socks, and fuck.”
“Saw-ocks,” Cesar echoes, grinning happily.
“Socks?” I ask, eyebrows drawing in.
“He’s obsessed with them. We had to start buying the ones with grippy stuff on the bottom because he started walking and kept slipping when he would try to run.”
The mental image of baby Cesar trying to speed run in his tiny slippery socks makes my heart ache.
“You know so much about them.” I’m so jealous that it hurts.
“I see them every day,” Matteo replies with a shrug. “They’ve each thrown up on me and cried themselves to sleep in my arms more than once. I’m their favorite, right, Cesar?”
The baby shakes his head, laughing. “No.”
“Oh yeah,” Matteo groans loudly. “He likes that word a lot now too.”
I giggle, knowing that Cesar likely doesn’t know what he’s just denied.
“Way to go, little guy.” Matteo huffs, pretending to glare at Cesar. “You’ve made me look like a liar. That wasn’t very nice.”
Oblivious to what he’s being softly scolded for, he smacks his lips together to make a small pop before blowing a raspberry in response.
Matteo rolls his eyes, but chuckles. “Cute.”
He is cute, adorable even. “He looks like you,” I tell Matteo quietly.
Happiness practically vibrates off him as my comment lands. “You think so? Everyone says he looks like Apollo but that’s because Apollo and Jade are so similar. He has Dmitri’s nose, though. And his smile, I think.”
“Does he smile a lot?”
“Cesar?” Matteo tilts his head. “Or Dmitri?”
Both.
I don’t answer, pretending to be distracted by Isobella instead.
Matteo doesn’t press, choosing to change the topic instead. “I could send you updates about them, you know? And pictures.”
A deep rumble leaves my uncle. “You motherfuc—”
“Lev,” Father cuts him off.
“You’re not seriously considering—”
“We’ll discuss it later,” he interrupts again, leaving no room for argument. The fact that Lev is more upset than my dad is promising. I’d like to take him up on his offer. More pictures and updates would be nice.
“Well, this isn’t awkward at all,” Matteo quips, looking between the two men with an almost goofy grin.
“Don’t push your luck,” my father warns.
Matteo gives him a two-finger salute. “You got it, Sir.”
“Saw-ocks,” Cesar shouts again, wiggling his feet as if to show us he knows what the word means. He was wearing tiny shoes earlier in the night when I spotted him, and it seems like he’s kicked them off.
Matteo chuckles, nodding at me. “Do you want to switch? Cesar isn’t as calm but he won’t pull your hair if you put it behind your back. He happens to be quite fond of pretty girls.”
“Ya zastrelyu yego,” Lev snaps.
I will shoot him.
“You know, I think you’d get along swimmingly with my brother Nico,” Matteo tells him, completely unfazed. He likely didn’t understand the Russian threat, but the tone was unmistakably violent.
Uncle Lev breathes out sharply through his nose. “I have met Cesar’s little protégé already.”
“That’s right,” Matteo says, snapping his fingers. “You were friends with my uncle, weren’t you?”
“Acquaintance,” Uncle says like a correction.
“You came to his funeral,” Matteo points out. “That’s friendship.”
“What is your point, boy?”
Matteo lifts a brow, tilting his head. “My point is that you knew my uncle. You knew what kind of man he was, and I know he would talk about his brother and his nephews. You should trust that your friend didn’t leave this world with nephews that he would be ashamed of.
He helped raise us, and he did a great job. ”
You could hear a pin drop at the table.
“I’m not saying you need to trust me blindly, but you should know that I would never do anything to disrespect your family. Especially not to Anya. Morettis put the safety of women and children—especially family—above all else. Always have, always will.”
Uncle Mikhail clears his throat and drains his glass while Uncle Lev and my father stare at Matteo as if he’s grown an extra set of eyes.