Chapter Fourteen #2
The room was incredibly warm, the fire roaring in the stone grate.
Sergei and Yelena sat together on a velvet sofa, while Maxim and Nadia occupied their usual wingchairs.
Sasha and Tamara shared a loveseat, Tamara tucked comfortably against Sasha’s side, his arm resting securely across the back of the cushions behind her.
Raisa stood in the center of the room, holding a crystal glass of sparkling water, pacing with a slow, deliberate strut of undeniable pride.
"I am simply stating a fact," Raisa announced to the room, her sea-green eyes shining with a wicked, triumphant light.
She gestured toward Tamara with her free hand.
"I am the greatest judge of character this syndicate has ever produced.
I deserve a bronze statue in the courtyard to commemorate the greatness I have achieved for this family. "
Marco, sitting in a leather armchair near the fire, let out a loud, booming laugh, resting his elbows on his knees. "A bronze statue? You are too humble, moya zvezda. Perhaps we should rename the estate in your honor."
"Do not mock me, Italian," Raisa shot back, though she was smiling brightly. She turned her attention to her brothers. Dmitri was laughing softly by the drinks cart, shaking his head.
"I am serious!" Raisa insisted, waving her hand.
"I found Tamara. I looked at her in the medical wing, battered and terrified, and I knew instantly that she would be perfection for Sasha.
I orchestrated the entire thing. I saved the alliance, I saved the heir, and I secured an angel for this house. "
The entire room erupted into warm, affectionate laughter. Yelena smiled proudly at her daughter, while Maxim tapped his cane in agreement.
Sasha looked at Raisa, his expression a mask of stoic, unbothered calm, though the deep affection in his eyes betrayed him. He tightened his arm around Tamara’s shoulders, pulling her slightly closer to his side.
"Whatever brought her to me," Sasha stated, his deep voice rumbling through the quiet parlor with unquestionable sincerity, "I am eternally thankful."
Raisa stopped pacing, crossing her arms over her chest, narrowing her eyes at her towering older brother.
"You see that?" Raisa translated immediately, pointing an accusatory finger at Sasha while looking at Marco.
"He just dodged the admission! 'Whatever brought her to me.
' You just do not want to give me the credit, Aleksandr!
You refuse to admit that your little sister is a brilliant, unparalleled tactical matchmaker! "
Sasha simply took a slow sip of his vodka, offering his sister a faint, maddeningly indifferent shrug. "I thanked the universe, Raisa. The universe is vast. Take from that what you will."
Dmitri burst into loud, wheezing laughter, nearly spilling his drink.
Tamara pressed her hand over her mouth, her shoulders shaking with silent, joyous giggles as she leaned into Sasha’s chest. Marco stood up, crossing the room to wrap his arms around his indignant wife from behind, pressing a kiss to her cheek to soothe her manufactured outrage.
"I give you all the credit, Raisa," Marco promised, his voice thick with amusement. "You are a tactical genius."
It was a beautiful, hilarious, incredibly sweet moment. The blood-soaked realities of their world were locked outside the doors. For tonight, they were simply a family, anchored by the light of a woman who had taught them all how to breathe a little easier.
As the evening wore on and the older generation retired to their respective wings, Marco, Raisa, Sasha, and Tamara remained by the dying embers of the fire.
Things were finally settled. The Odessa conflict on the borders had been effectively stalled by Marco’s shipping blockades, and the Volkovs were quietly paying their tariffs from St. Petersburg.
Marco reached for Raisa’s hand, lacing his fingers through hers. "Now that the dust has settled here in Moscow, Raisa and I have been discussing our logistics. Lorenzo and Enzo need us back in Naples. We are planning to return to Italy at the end of the week."
Tamara’s bright expression instantly fell. She sat up straighter, looking at Raisa with genuine, heartbreaking sadness. Over the past month, Raisa had become far more than a sister-in-law; she had become her fiercest protector and her closest friend.
"You are leaving so soon?" Tamara asked, her sweet voice laced with disappointment. "I... I will miss you terribly, Raisa."
Raisa felt a sharp pang of affection for the delicate woman. She walked over, sitting on the edge of the loveseat beside Tamara, taking her small hands.
"I will miss you too, Tamara," Raisa smiled warmly. Then, a spark of mischievous brilliance lit up Raisa’s eyes.
She looked up at Sasha. "You know, you should come with us to Italy.
The Mediterranean sun would do wonders for you.
You can let Sasha stay here in the snow and handle the business, and you can come stay at the Falco estate with me. "
Sasha, who had been relaxed against the cushions, immediately sat up, his imposing frame going rigid. His dark eyes widened in, staggering horror at the sheer concept of his wife boarding a plane without him.
"What?" Sasha barked, his voice dropping into a sharp, commanding panic. "No. Absolutely not. I am not sending my wife to Italy with you. What are you doing? No. I will not allow that."
Raisa laughed, a bright, victorious sound, delighted by her brother’s instant, possessive panic.
Marco chuckled, leaning against the mantle of the fireplace.
"Relax, Sasha. She is just teasing you. But the invitation is genuine.
You can both come to Italy. We always have an open invitation for you.
The family would be absolutely delighted to formally meet Tamara, and the Neapolitan coast is beautiful in the spring. "
Tamara’s eyes lit up, looking eagerly at her husband. "Oh, Aleksandr, could we? I have never been to Italy."
Sasha looked at his wife’s hopeful, angelic face, his fierce possessiveness instantly melting into a desperate need to give her whatever she wanted. He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck.
"Of course we can go," Sasha promised gently, before looking back at Marco and Raisa with a deeply practical frown.
"But we cannot just leave tomorrow. The Bratva is not a corner store.
We have to think about these things. The logistics, the security details, the border crossings... it is not exactly next door."
"Always the pragmatist," Raisa teased, standing up and linking her arm through Marco’s. "Take your time, Sasha. The Falco estate is not going anywhere. Just ensure you bring my sister-in-law to me before the summer heat sets in."
As Marco and Raisa bid them goodnight and walked down the grand corridor toward their own suite, the quiet peace of the Voronin estate felt unbreakable.
They were blissfully unaware that hundreds of miles away in a St. Petersburg billiards room, a foolish, jealous girl had already handed a map of their fortress to a pack of starving wolves.