Chapter Thirty-One
In which a New Year’s Eve celebration - Bratva style - is deeply complicated.
Oksana…
New Year's Eve…
"So, how does a Morozov celebrate New Year's Eve?"
I'm hovering between Violet and Rose, trying to get my eyeliner straight as we crowd in front of the mirror in her master bedroom.
"With as much noise as humanly possible and the occasional bullet," Violet says dryly.
"Since I know your husband Roman is Vor for the Morozov Bratva, and Vadim is Vor for the Turgenev's, I have a pretty good idea of who pulls his gun first," I say dryly.
"Always," Rose says, outlining her lips. "It's always them. Plus, the torture."
"We're not talking about that tonight!" Violet says sternly. "I have to admit Rose, I'm a little surprised you didn't invite anyone tonight."
"Yeah, nothing says Happy New Year more than inviting someone new to a Bratva celebration and hoping he doesn't do something that gets him murdered before the countdown.
" Rose steps back, eyeing her makeup critically.
"Besides, you know I've sworn off men. For life, probably.
" She looks beautiful, wearing a short, glittery silver dress that will leave a lasting impression on the male guests and probably half of the female ones.
"Eventually, you'll find someone who isn't a selfish weasel," I say, putting my arm around her shoulders, less in solidarity and more for balance so I can get my spiked heels on.
"There has to be at least three or four percent of the single male population here in New York that don't completely suck. "
They both look doubtful.
"What's on the agenda for tonight?" I ask, trying to angle in the mirror so I can see the back of my dress. Mine is silver, too and swooping very low in the back. There is no wearing a bra with it. My posture is going to be perfect tonight.
"We start with a meetup with all the Bigs and the Bads," Rose says.
"The Bigs and the Bads?" I laugh.
"It's a collection of some of the other crime families. Clients, allies, and the like," Violet says. "Then, we'll head to my wonderful in-law's place. Ella and Maksim host a family-only party to finish the night to make up for all the schmoozing."
"It's my favorite part," says Dasha, pulling the top of her dress down a bit to show more cleavage.
"A little showing off of how much more powerful and wealthy we are to the crime world.
Then, we actually get to relax and dance," she says dreamily.
"We'll drink champagne right from the bottle, and generally behave like irresponsible adults. "
"And how is this different from your usual Friday night?" Iris asks, straight-faced, as Dasha throws her makeup brush at her head.
"Sounds like my kind of night," I laugh. Iris is scooting around Rose to get a look in the mirror, and even a bathroom as large and luxurious as this one is getting a little crowded.
"I'm so glad Vadim wanted to celebrate with us tonight," Iris says, flashing a happy smile at my reflection in the mirror.
"The cousins had a great time torturing him at his bachelor party in Moscow.
Andrey says he can't remember the last time that Vadim actually came out for anything other than business, though he did stop by our wedding party with his father for about ten minutes. You're a good influence on him."
"I think you underestimate how much the Turgenevs value you all," I say. "I don't want to presume that I know what they're thinking, but I know your family connection is extremely important to them. Vadim has never said anything negative about any of you."
Violet stops brushing her hair to stare at me. "Has Vadim ever said, I don't know, anything?"
"I'll have you know he is capable of more than single sentence responses," I say loftily.
"When?" Rose asks. "Like, in bed?"
Why am I still cursed with blushing every time sex is brought up?
Dasha's eyes widen as she points at me gleefully. "It is! He's a dirty talker, isn't he!"
"What does he say?" Rose asks. "Is it like, hot and dirty, whispered in your ear, or loud and commanding?"
Violet catches my mortified expression. "All right, you've tortured her enough. Though one day," she says, her tone turning thoughtful, "I would like to hear what tall, dark, and extra spooky sounds like- Sorry. No more!"
"Thank you," I say sourly as they smirk at me, clearly unrepentant.
"You can't blame us for being curious," Violet says. "It's not every day we can get a glimpse into the inner workings of the Angel of Death."
"No, Uncle Alexi is the Angel of Death," Ava corrects her, pushing past us and sitting down on the toilet without ceremony. "Vadim is the Angel of Death II. It skips a generation."
Everyone laughs, but it feels warm. There's no question that they're all intimidated by Vadim. I'm sometimes intimidated by Vadim. Their curiosity is more about wanting to know him better versus digging up terrible stories.
"Will someone please zip me up?" Caroline is the last of the cousins to enter the bathroom.
"This room is more crowded than the mosh pit at an Insane Clown Posse concert," Dasha grumbles, tucking in her elbows to make room.
Reaching over, I grab Caroline's zipper, pulling it up. "What happened?"
"I had to nurse the baby. Naturally, the little monkey would pick the moment I'm wedged into my gown to be hungry," she sighs, a little frazzled.
"Well, you look amazing," I say, fastening the little hook and eye at the top of her dress.
"Shall we dazzle the men with the grandeur of our beauty, then?" Ava says, and we free ourselves from the stifling confines of the bathroom to find the men in Violet and Roman's living room, lounging on the sofas, magnificent in their formal wear.
At first glance, one might think this was New York Fashion Week. The stellar height and handsomeness of these men, every one of them, is a testament to the Morozov genetic legacy. Closer up, though, it's clear that there is a cold edge, a vague, yet unwavering menace surrounding them all.
Vadim is patiently listening to Roman's story about blowing up half the harbor to get vengeance on one of the Italian mafias.
He looks over Roman's shoulder and sees me, and his steady, flat gaze changes.
His eyes are warm, and he leans forward.
Roman turns around, trying to see what has captivated my husband.
"You're beautiful," my husband says, already standing in front of me with that unnatural speed that always makes me blink twice.
"And you, sir, have that rock star combination of a bad boy mixed with an unspeakably hot man," I sigh, smoothing my hands down the front of his tuxedo jacket.
"What would it be like," Alexsey says, "if we'd been born into a regular family, where everyone just hits the local bar, gets shit-faced, wearing those paper hats, and celebrating midnight by vomiting in the nearest gutter?"
"Well, when you say it like that, you make it sound so desirable," Nikandr says dryly.
Vadim is still looking at me as if there is no one else in the room, and it makes me feel like I'm glowing clear down to my toes. "Are you ready, moy svet?"
"Yes," I say decisively. "Let's go be magnificent."
"As you wish," he murmurs, just enough for me to hear before he kisses the tip of my nose.
The Bigs and the Bads party is pretty much what I expected, having endured an innumerable amount of them at home with my family.
The ballroom at the Four Seasons glitters with a myriad of crystal chandeliers and sparkling, silver-white decor.
It's hard to see any of it. Different crime families swirl around each other, puffing up and peacocking, to compete for who is the most feared.
Bodyguards circle relentlessly. Clumps of arms dealers, drug importers, and like circulate gleefully in between, thrilled to have all of their clients in one room.
Everyone seems to be having fun, drinking a little too much, laughing a little too loudly. Just like a regular New Year's Eve party. Not that I've been to any of those.
"I have to go to the ladies' room," I not-quite shout to Vadim, trying to be heard over the cacophony.
"I'll take you," he says, his hand sliding to my elbow. The man he's been speaking with does not look happy about this.
"Not to worry, I have Lavr and Marlen with me," I say, and he nods, not entirely happy about it.
All the girls seem to have dispersed to the far corners of the ballroom, so I'm on my own.
When I emerge from the ladies' room, the bodyguards lead me on a circuitous route to get back to Vadim.
It's slow going, and I sip my champagne, looking around.
The press of so many bodies is beginning to feel claustrophobic.
"A bit stifling, isn't it?" The man to my left seems to be attempting to make his way in the opposite direction.
"Extremely," I nod.
"This is the New Year's Eve party for our circle, and everyone got an invitation tonight, apparently," he says.
He has a faint accent; I can't place it.
He's handsome enough, dark eyes and olive skin, his brown hair is swept back.
Marlen hovers next to me, staring at the man, who has been nothing but polite.
But he's got the shrewd gaze of someone who's inflicted an excessive amount of violence, just like everyone else here.
"John Stevens," he says, introducing himself with a courteous incline of his head, and I nod back politely.
"Oksana Turgeneva," I reply, expecting that my last name will make him disappear.
"Oh, I know." He takes a drink as his eyes scan the crowd.
"I see," I say shortly. My champagne has a sour taste, like all the fizziness evaporated.
"You've been the subject of many conversations, once you married the Angel of Death," he muses. "You're almost notorious."
I watch him closely. His gaze is blank. "That is hardly flattering, and I suspect that's exactly how you meant it, Mr. Stevens. Is there something you're trying to tell me?"
Marlen and Lavr step closer, bookending me between their tall, bulky frames, but the man doesn't seem particularly intimidated.
"Not at all, Mrs. Turgeneva," he says, and something that stirs a memory in the back of my mind, something about the way he speaks, a cyclical speech pattern that rises and falls in an almost musical loop.
Like Italian, but heavier. The room is noisy, if I could hear him more clearly, something would make sense to me, I know it.
His head tilts oddly, like a bird, spotting a tasty bug. "I just wanted to get a look at you," he says. "Enjoy your evening, Mrs. Turgeneva."
"Enjoy yours," I reply in a tone that clearly indicates that I hope he'll be disemboweled by the end of it.
"Have we found Vadim yet?" I ask Lavr.
"Yes ma'am," he says, clearly relieved to bring me back. "Over there by the east window, he's looking at you."
I turn back for a moment to look at the odd John Stevens, but he's gone, plunged back in the ocean of guests.
Vadim is suddenly next to me, and his finger gently lifts my chin as his brows draw together. "You look pale. Are you all right?"
What am I going to say? That a random stranger wanted to get a look at me because I was notorious? Not exactly a reason to stab someone, though it's entirely possible the Vadim would still take it as one.
"I think I'm just a little claustrophobic," I say, which is true. "It would be nice to have some breathing room."
He's still searching my face with that frown. "Let's go, we've done our duty."
"So much better," Iris moans happily, twirling in circles, her arms spread wide, as if to prove that she's not going to bump into another guest.
Uncle Maksim and Aunt Ella are hosting the family party at their four-story brownstone, along with Uncle Yuri and Aunt Tania. The two couples produced these gigantic, brutal, and exceptionally intelligent children… who then married exceptionally intelligent and beautiful spouses.
The sense of warmth and security here instantly makes me feel better. Instead of breaking off into little groups, everyone stays together in the enormous great room, couches and chairs pulled together by the fire, sharing stories.
"I have noticed that nearly all these tales seem to start with a distinct act of violence that then multiplies into some cataclysmic finish where the Morozovs come out unscathed," I murmur to Ava.
She toasts me. "You have described this family in a single sentence."
I lean my head against Vadim's shoulder, enjoying the flow of conversation swirling around me. At one minute to midnight, he kisses my hand, "This is the first time I have ever wanted to welcome the New Year." His tone is almost achingly gentle. "The beginning of a full year with you."
Oh, my heart.
Glasses are filled and everyone starts counting down.
"Ten, nine, eight…"
"Twelve months of knowing you better," I say, full of happiness and champagne. "Twelve months of loving you more." Vadim goes completely still, watching me.
"Seven, six, five…" everyone shouts.
"I love you," I say clearly, so that even with the noise and furor of the countdown, he can hear me. "I love you so much. I think I have loved you since the day you saved me." I laugh giddily, joy bubbling up in me, "Well, the first time you saved me."
"Four, three, two, one…"
Dimly, I can hear the muffled boom of fireworks exploding over the city, the calls of "Happy New Year!" from neighbors stepping out their doors to shout it into the night.
Vadim lifts me, my feet dangling and he kisses me with all the devotion he has always shown me. I kiss him back, teary and grateful that the worst moments of my life miraculously ushered in the best, fourteen years later.
"Happy New Year, my sweetheart," I say.
"And to you, moya lyubov'," he says, kissing me as the party goes on around us, until there's nothing but light and sound, and his lips on mine.
It was after the party and driving back to spend the night at Andrey and Iris's place, when I finally realize what the oddly unpleasant John Stevens' accent was. It was Greek.