Chapter 9 - Kirsten
The estate looks like something out of a magazine, and I am completely out of my depth.
Menlow’s car rolls up a long driveway lined with manicured hedges.
At the end sits a gigantic mansion that somehow manages to look both imposing and inviting.
Warm golden glows spill from every window.
Cars are parked along the circular drive—expensive ones, the kind I used to walk past without a second glance because I’m not at all a car person.
Now I’m about to walk into a house full of people who probably own fleets of them.
“You’re quiet,” Menlow observes.
“I’m terrified.”
“You don’t look terrified.”
“Good. That’s the goal.” I smooth my hands over the navy dress for the hundredth time. Anya and Kristina chose well. The fabric is soft, the fit is flattering, and the silver embroidery makes me feel almost elegant.
Almost.
But elegant or not, I’m still walking into a gathering of one of the most powerful Bratva families in the country. No amount of pretty stitching can prepare me for that.
Menlow parks and cuts the engine. He doesn’t move to get out.
“Kirsten.”
I turn to face him.
“They’re going to love you,” he insists. “Just be yourself.”
I sputter my lips and reply, “I’m a data analyst from the suburbs who’s never held a gun or attended a black-tie event. I don’t think that’s what your family is expecting.”
“My family is expecting my wife. That’s all you need to be.”
Wife. The word still feels strange. Foreign. Like a costume I haven’t quite figured out how to wear.
“Fine.” I take a breath. “Let’s get this over with.”
Menlow comes around to open my door. I take his offered hand and step out into the cool evening. The scent of roses drifts from somewhere nearby—a garden, probably. The kind of garden that requires a full-time staff to maintain, if I had to bet on it.
The front door opens before we reach it, and Anya appears in a stunning gold dress to wave us inside.
“Finally! Everyone’s been asking when you’d arrive.” She pulls me into a quick hug before I can protest. “You look amazing. I told you that dress was perfect.”
I manage a smile. “You did. Thank you again for helping me find it.”
“That’s what sisters are for.” She links her arm through mine and tugs me toward the door. “Come on. Time to meet the rest of the family.”
The inside of the house is even more impressive than the outside.
High ceilings with intricate molding, polished hardwood floors that gleam under crystal chandeliers, and artwork on the walls that probably belongs in museums. Fresh flowers have been arranged on antique tables, and their fragrance mixes with something delicious cooking in a distant kitchen.
But what strikes me most isn’t the wealth.
It’s the noise.
Laughter echoes from somewhere down the hall. Children’s voices, high and excited. The clatter of dishes and the sound of conversation happening all at once. It sounds like… a home.
Anya leads me through a grand foyer and into a massive living room.
It’s packed with people. Far more people than I expected.
They’re scattered across sofas and armchairs, gathered in small clusters, drinks in hand.
A few kids chase each other around the furniture while adults try halfheartedly to calm them down.
This is not what I pictured when I imagined a Bratva gathering.
I expected cold, formal men in dark suits speaking in whispers about business and violence.
Instead, I see a woman with wavy brown hair laughing at something a blond man just said.
A dark-haired woman bouncing a toddler on her hip while talking to another woman with honey-colored eyes.
Two men arguing good-naturedly over what looks like a chess game while a third watches with obvious amusement.
A little boy runs past us, nearly colliding with my legs before darting off again. Someone calls after him in Russian, sounding exasperated but fond.
It’s warm, chaotic in the best way, and so incredibly normal.
“Overwhelming, isn’t it?” Anya’s voice is sympathetic. “Don’t worry. You’ll learn everyone’s names eventually.”
Kristina appears beside us, elegant in a deep green dress with detailed embroidery along the sleeves. Her dark blonde hair is swept up, and her green eyes are kind as she looks me over.
“You made it. How are you holding up?”
“Ask me in an hour.”
She laughs and replies, “Fair enough. The bar is in the corner if you need reinforcement. No one will judge you.”
“Good to know.”
Menlow appears at my other side. “Ready?”
“No.”
“Too late.” He places a hand on the small of my back. The touch is light, but it steadies me. “Let’s start with my cousin Konstantin.”
He guides me across the room toward a tall man standing near the fireplace.
Steel-gray eyes, close-cropped dark hair flecked with gray, and a jaw that could cut glass.
He’s towering and broad-shouldered, impeccably dressed in a tailored suit.
He’s in conversation with another man, whose lean muscles are visible even beneath his dressy clothes.
Both men turn as we approach. The weight of their attention is almost physical.
“Konstantin. Kolya.” Menlow’s voice is respectful but not deferential. These are his cousins, I remind myself. His equals, in a way. “I’d like you to meet my wife. Kirsten.”
The steel-gray eyes assess me. It’s not hostile, exactly. But it’s thorough. He’s inspecting everything about me—my posture, my face, and the way I’m standing. Looking for threats. Looking for weaknesses.
Konstantin extends a hand. His grip is firm. “Welcome to the family, Kirsten.”
“Thank you. You have a beautiful home.”
“My wife’s doing, not mine.” A hint of warmth enters his voice at the mention of his wife. “She’s around here somewhere. Probably trying to keep the children from destroying the garden.”
The other man—Kolya—doesn’t offer his hand. He just watches me with those unsettling blue-gray eyes.
“You work at the company Menlow acquired,” he states. Not a question.
“I do.”
“And now you’re married to him.”
“I am.”
“Quick turnaround.”
“Kolya.” Menlow’s tone carries a warning.
“I’m just making conversation.” But Kolya’s gaze doesn’t waver from my face. “It’s quite a coincidence, isn’t it? Employee one day, wife the next. Forgive me if I find that interesting.”
My spine stiffens. I don’t know this man, but I know scrutiny. He’s testing me. Probing for cracks.
“There’s no coincidence,” Menlow explains before I can respond. “Kirsten was in a dangerous situation because of the people at that company. I handled it.”
“By marrying her?”
“By doing what was necessary to protect her.”
Kolya’s eyebrow arches. “And she just happened to agree to that?”
“To be fair, she had no idea who I was or what my family does. She was an innocent employee who got caught up in something she didn’t understand. When I married her, she didn’t know anything about the Bratva world. I told her after.”
The silence that follows is heavy. Kolya’s face doesn’t change, but something in his posture seems to recalibrate. I can practically see him reassessing everything he thought he knew about this situation.
“So she’s completely clean,” Konstantin states, rubbing his chin.
“Completely. She’s not a plant, she’s not a spy, and she’s not using me for access. She’s my wife.” Menlow looks around the room, making sure others are listening. His voice carries. “That means she’s one of us now. Whatever protection we extend to family, we extend to her.”
I don’t know what to say. I didn’t expect him to defend me like this. Didn’t expect him to make it so clear, so public, that I’m under his protection.
Konstantin studies me for another long moment. Then he nods.
“Again, welcome to the family, Kirsten. Truly.” This time, the words sound genuine. “I apologize if Kolya’s questions made you uncomfortable. We’ve learned to be cautious.”
“I understand.” And I do, surprisingly. I can only imagine the way they’ve been burned before in their line of work. Betrayed by people who got close to exploit their connections. It makes sense that they’d be suspicious of a sudden marriage.
“She’s tougher than she looks,” Menlow adds. “She’s been handling everything I’ve thrown at her remarkably well.”
“High praise from you.” A new voice joins the conversation.
I turn to find a blond man approaching. He’s dressed immaculately, with every detail of his appearance polished to perfection.
His smile is wide and easy. Charming in a way that seems almost too natural.
“You must be the mysterious wife. I’m Dmitry, your husband’s cousin. ”
“Kirsten.”
“I know. Everyone knows. It’s all anyone’s been talking about since Menlow called ahead.” He leans in conspiratorially. “You’ve made quite the impression without even being here. That takes talent.”
Despite myself, I smile. There’s something disarming about Dmitry. He’s like a golden retriever in human form—impossible not to like.
“Don’t let him charm you too much,” Menlow warns. “It’s how he gets information.”
“Slander.” Dmitry presses a hand to his chest in mock offense. “I’m simply being welcoming. Unlike some people.” He shoots a pointed look at Kolya, who ignores him completely.
A woman appears at Dmitry’s side—his wife, judging by the way she looks at him so adoringly. She’s curvaceous and confident, with the bearing of someone who knows exactly who she is.
“Are you terrorizing the new girl already?”
“I’m rescuing her from the inquisition.” Dmitry slides an arm around the woman’s waist. “This is my wife, Angelika.”
“Welcome to the madness.” Angelika teases with a giggle. “If you need an escape from the men and their posturing, the women are gathered in the sunroom. Much more civilized.”
“I might take you up on that.”
“Please do. Sera’s been dying to meet you. She was an outsider once, too. She gets it.”
Before I can respond, a small body crashes into Dmitry’s legs. A little girl, maybe four or five, with her mother’s dark hair and her father’s bright eyes.
“Papa! Uncle Max said a bad word!”
“Did he now?” Dmitry scoops her up with ease. “What word?”
The girl cups her hands around his ear and whispers. Whatever she says makes Dmitry laugh.
“That’s definitely a bad word. I’ll have a talk with Uncle Max.”
I watch the exchange with something like wonder. This is a Bratva family. These are dangerous men who deal in weapons and violence, and God knows what else. And yet here’s Dmitry, holding his daughter while his wife rolls her eyes affectionately.
It doesn’t match the image in my head. Nothing about today matches the image in my head.
“You look overwhelmed.” Menlow’s voice is low, meant only for me.
“I am.”
“In a good way or a bad way?”
I consider the question. The scrutiny from Kolya was uncomfortable. The wealth is intimidating. The sheer number of people is exhausting.
But there’s also laughter here. Children running around without fear. Wives who clearly love their husbands. A family that, despite its dark business dealings, seems genuinely connected.
“I don’t know yet,” I admit.
He nods like that’s a fair answer. “Take your time. There’s no pressure to have everything figured out tonight.”
“Just the pressure of meeting twenty new people who are deciding whether or not to trust me.”
“They’ll trust you. Give them time.”
“You sound confident.”
“I am. You’re genuine. They’ll see that soon enough. And until they do, they’ll trust me. That’s enough.”
Someone calls his name from across the room. He glances over, then back at me.
“Will you be all right for a few minutes? I need to speak with my brother Alexei.”
“Go. I’ll survive.”
He squeezes my hand briefly before walking away. I watch him go, noting the way his brothers greet him. There’s respect there. Affection, too. These men would die for each other. I can see it in the way they stand together.
I’m alone in a sea of strangers.
A woman approaches. Wavy dark brown hair, warm brown eyes, a dimpled smile. She’s plus-sized with soft curves, dressed in a simple but elegant sweater dress. She carries two glasses of wine.
“You look like you could use this.” She offers one of the glasses. “I’m Sera. Konstantin’s wife.”
“Kirsten.” I accept the wine gratefully. “Thank you.”
“I remember my first family gathering.” Sera’s tone is sympathetic. “I spent most of it hiding in the bathroom.”
“That’s reassuring.”
She laughs. “It gets easier. I promise.” She gestures toward a group of women near the windows. “Come meet the others. We’re much less scary than we look.”
I let her lead me across the room. The women welcome me with smiles and introductions. Frances, Kolya’s wife, with her honey eyes and kind face. She has a plus-sized figure like Sera and dimples when she smiles. Her warmth is immediate and genuine.
Lucy, married to Maxim, asks about my work in data analytics with genuine interest. She’s dark-haired and put-together, with a sharpness to her questions that tells me she understands numbers the way I do.
Ariana, Roman’s wife, is elegant with silky dark hair and an eloquent way of speaking. She’s poised and charming, the kind of woman who could hold court anywhere. Despite her sophistication, her smile is welcoming.
And then there’s Jasmine, married to Menlow’s brother Alexei. She has an angelic face and dark brown eyes that hold old pain. When she squeezes my hand, she holds on a beat longer than necessary.
“It’s a lot to take in,” she tells me quietly. “But you’re not alone. Most of us who married into the family were not born into this world. We found our way. You will, too.”
I think about her words as the evening continues. About all these women who came from outside the Bratva, who married into power and danger, and somehow built lives here. They seem happy. Content. At home in a world that should feel foreign to them.
Maybe that’s possible for me too.
Or maybe I’m fooling myself.
From across the room, I catch Menlow watching me. He’s standing with his brothers, Alexei and Pavel, but his attention is on me, making sure I’m okay. Making sure I’m safe.
Something twists in my chest.
He’s the reason I’m in this situation. The man who trapped me in a marriage I didn’t want.
But he’s also the man who defended me to his family. Who made it clear I was under his protection. Who keeps watching me like he actually cares whether I’m comfortable or not.
I don’t know what to do with that.
I don’t know what to do with any of this.