Chapter 7 - Valentin
“You ready?” I ask Gela as I help her out of the car. Tonight’s the night we’re meeting my family, and needless to say, she’s nervous as hell.
“Let’s just get this over with,” she says as she steps out of the car.
Honestly, I don’t blame her for being nervous. I’m on edge too. Meeting the family is anxiety-inducing for couples who have been together for ages, even. We haven’t even known each other for over a month, and this marriage isn’t exactly an honest one.
“It's going to be fine,” I lie, because I can’t exactly tell her I’m afraid that my siblings will look at her like she's an exotic animal in a zoo.
After all, she’s an American wife who knows nothing about our world.
“Just... follow my lead, okay?” I tell her as I guide her up the stairs to the mansion. “And try not to look so terrified.”
“How should I look? Dear god, they’re going to be so pissed about this situation,” she winces, and I notice her fidgeting with her wedding ring, the one I had delivered yesterday.
“I know,” I say. “But let me do the talking.”
“Are you going to tell them exactly what happened between us?” she asks, fishing for information.
It won’t be easy, telling them I kidnapped a woman. “I think, for tonight, let’s just drop the bomb about us being married. We’ll take it one day at a time from there.”
“Fair enough. We don’t want a nuclear war,” she says, smoothening her hair with trembling hands as she stares up straight at the door.
“You look beautiful,” I say, without thinking.
Fuck. Where did that come from?
She freezes. So do I. She turns to me, my heart racing harder as she does.
“Thanks,” she whispers.
Okay, she didn’t bite my head off. That’s good news, I suppose.
“Let’s head in,” I nod.
“And pray they don’t bite my neck off for depriving them of a wedding?” she offers with mock sweetness.
“That would be a miracle,” I mutter, placing my hand on the small of her back to lead her forward. She must be super anxious, I think to myself, not to pull away.
One of Trifon's men opens the oak doors when I ring the bell.
“Mr. Yuri.” He nods respectfully at Gela and me.
“Is everyone here?” I ask.
“Yes, sir. In the main living room.”
“Good.” I guide a very tense Gela inside.
The guard leads us through the marble foyer, which features thirty-foot ceilings and a chandelier my brother bought from the Plaza in New York during its renovation.
“Are all of you guys in import/export?” she whispers, taking in her surroundings.
“Something like that,” I say, thinking of all the ways this night could hit the roof. What was I thinking? Maybe bringing her here wasn’t a good idea.
I should have called ahead and told my siblings about her, warning them to avoid discussing any of our operations. She doesn’t know we’re Bratva, goddamn it. I’ve really screwed this up.
I begin to spiral, attempting to damage control. I need to set the narrative tonight, somehow. I need to find a subtle way to tell my siblings to keep their big, loud mouths shut.
“Remember what I said, just—”
“Follow your lead. I got it.” She looks at me like she’s mentally throwing darts in my direction for repeating instructions to her.
“Sorry,” I whisper back.
We reach the double doors to the living room, and I hesitate. Behind those doors are the only people in the world I truly trust.
My family.
What will they think of Gela and me bringing her here? In the past, I’ve never cared what they think of the women I’ve been with. But for some reason, the idea of my family rejecting her feels like a knife to the gut.
“Are we going in, or should we make a run for it?” Gela suggests, bringing me back to reality.
“Too late now.” I give her a wary smile and push the doors open.
My sisters, Darya and Nadya, are the first to notice us enter from where they’re huddled on the sofa. They look up, and I see their smiles turn to confusion at the sight of Gela.
“Val!” Nadya jumps up rather exuberantly from her seat after collecting herself. She's the baby of the family, always excited about everything. “You brought a friend!”
She rushes over, ready to envelop Gela in one of her bear hugs, but stops short when she sees my warning look.
The rest of the party turns toward us.
“Oh dear.” Yulia, Trifon’s wife, makes way toward us, giving me a quick hug and Gela a kiss on her cheek. “We’re so happy Trifon brought a friend. Maria?” She turns to the housekeeper, flustered. “Set up a new table setting for our friend, will you?”
“What the hell?” my brother Darya jokes. “I didn’t know we were allowed to bring friends. Smart move, brother.” He pats me on the shoulder. “You’ve brought sane company to tether yourself to reality amongst this crazy crew.”
“Keep talking like that, and I’ll cut off bar access.” Trifon levels a playful glare at Darya before turning to Gela.
“Hi there.” He shakes Gela’s hand and places an arm around Yulia’s shoulder. “Welcome to our house,”
“Umm…hi.” Gela gives the couple a nervous smile and a wave. “Gela Jones.”
I watch my siblings walk around with total blinkers, confusing Gela to be a friend, and I feel that if I don’t set the story straight now, the hell I’ll get later will be even worse.
“Trifon’s never brought a friend over before.” Leonid gives me a suspicious look, as though to ask whether I’m whipped.
“Actually.” I decide to rip off the band-aid. “We’re not friends.”
Everyone goes silent.
“We’re married. Gela is my wife.” I slide an arm around her waist, just for show, but my entire body goes electric. She slides closer, making it harder to concentrate. Must be the nerves, I tell myself.
The silence that follows is deafening.
“Your... wife?” Darya repeats slowly.
“When did this happen?” Trifon asks, stiffly.
“Since a week ago,” I answer, and Gela pales at the sight of my shocked siblings.
A heavy, roaring silence falls over the room. We stare at each other, awkwardly at best, until at last, Iosif gives us a thin smile to break the tension. “Congratulations, I guess? Though I'm a little hurt I wasn't invited to the wedding.”
“There was no wedding,” I clarify, which doesn't help.
“Just a signing of papers in a dingy back office,” Gela adds, finding her voice. “Very romantic.”
I shoot her a look, and she bites her lower lip nervously.
“You're American?” Trifon observes.
“Born and raised,” she confirms.
“And what do you do, Gela?” he asks. I know he’s trying to assess just what she knows, whether she’s innocent or not.
“I run a digital marketing agency.”
Trifon's eyes narrow as he gives me an accusatory look, and I know he’s mad I brought a civilian into our world without telling her who we are.
“Why don't we all sit down?” Darya suggests. “Yulia's prepared dinner. It should be ready soon.”
“Yes, yes, please,” Yulia insists, and everyone shuffles to the dining room.
We all move to sit, and I guide Gela to sit next to me. The room still feels charged, angry, accusatory.
“So.” Nadya leans forward and rests her chin on her hands, “how did you two meet?”
Gela answers with the simple truth. “He bought me an iced tea when the card machine was down at my favorite café.”
Nadya's face lights up. “That's so sweet! I didn't know you had it in you, Val.”
“There's a lot you don't know about me, Nadya,” I mutter.
“Clearly,” Leonid says dryly. “So, what, you buy her a tea and then you're married? There's more to this story.”
“There is,” I admit, “but it's not important right now.”
“I think it's very important,” Leonid argues, but Trifon raises a hand to silence him.
“If Valentin says it's not important right now, then it's not important right now,” Trifon declares, his tone leaving no room for argument. “What matters is that Gela is family now.”
Those words—"Gela is family now”—hit me harder than I expected. There's an unspoken rule among us: family protects family, no matter what. By acknowledging Gela as family, Trifon is extending to her the same protection and loyalty that we give to each other.
Gela looks uncomfortable with the pronouncement, but nods politely.
Darya, ever the peacemaker, changes the subject. “Gela, have you been to Russia? Do you speak any Russian?”
“No and no,” Gela answers. “Though I did try to learn some basic phrases from an app this morning.”
“Oh? Let's hear something,” Darya encourages.
Gela hesitates, then clears her throat. “Privet, menya zovut Gela.”
Her pronunciation is atrocious, and we all try not to wince. Still, I feel a surge of something warm in my chest at the effort she's making. She and I both know she doesn’t have to.
But she’s playing her part, and for that, I’m eternally grateful.
“That was... a start,” Darya says kindly. “We'll help you learn more.”
Just then, the maids come in with arms laden with dishes. Soon enough, traditional Russian food covers the table: borscht, beef stroganoff, blini with caviar, and more.
“Everything looks amazing,” Gela gushes at Yulia, who beams at the compliment.
“Thank you. It's not often we have a new family member to impress,” Yulia replies, shooting me an annoyed look.
I know I'll be getting an earful from her later for not giving her a heads-up. This was the casual fare at Yulia’s. Had she known Gela was coming, she would have done ten times better.
Dinner progresses surprisingly smoothly.
My siblings make an effort to include Gela in the conversation, careful to steer clear of any business talk since they’ve caught on that she doesn’t know about our world.
Nadya and Darya are particularly charming, asking Gela about her life growing up, her work, and her hobbies.
Gela, initially guarded, gradually opens up.
“So… You race bikes?” she asks Nadya incredulously.
“All the bloody time,” my daredevil of a sister looks far too pleased with herself. “And this year? I’m going to try my hand at race-car driving.”
“Over my dead body.” Trifon glares at her.
“Come on, brother,” Nadya laughs at him. “Just because you’re a dull bore, doesn’t mean I have to be too.”