Chapter 30
Frances
“You think you can spare a minute for your favorite uncle, niece?” Kostya says with a lopsided grin, tilting his head for me to follow him.
I can’t help but giggle at the comment. It’s going to take me a hot minute to wrap my head around having an uncle who’s only a couple of years older than me.
Kostya has mostly kept to himself during my stay here, but every time we have hung out, he’s been a riot—all sarcasm and sharp wit. So when he leads me into a quiet hallway and his face turns serious, I immediately know something’s wrong.
“Everything okay?”
“Define okay, Frankie,” he says, casting a look left and right, like he’s worried someone might overhear us whispering.
“You look worried.”
“That’s because I am.” Without another word, he opens a door and pulls me inside a room I’ve never seen before.
And suddenly I feel like I just stepped into a period drama. Velvet curtains the color of crushed berries frame tall arched windows. Crystal teacups glimmer on gold-rimmed saucers, resting on a lacquered mahogany table. The wallpaper is a deep green damask, and portraits of long-dead aristocrats stare down at us from gilded frames. If I had to guess, this must’ve been where royalty once entertained their most important guests over tea and secrets.
“What’s up?”
Kostya walks to the window, then turns to face me. His jaw is tight.
“I know that Elena’s waiting for you downstairs, so I’ll make this quick.”
“What is it, Kostya?” I insist, since he’s starting to scare me a little bit.
“When your boy toy heads back to the States… you need to go with him.”
I laugh, caught off guard by anyone calling Lucky my boy toy. But the sound dies quickly when I see the unflinching seriousness in Kostya’s jet-black eyes.
“You… don’t want me here?”
“Honestly? No. I really fucking don’t. The last thing I want is for you to stay here, when we’re just a stone’s throw away from Moscow. Aka Bratva headquarters. You should go home—today if you can.”
His words sting.
I thought we had a connection. We bonded over food and sarcasm. I honestly thought he liked me.
He must see the hurt in my face, because he steps closer and takes my hands gently in his.
“It’s not you, Frankie. I love the shit out of you. You’re my baby niece. Of course, I love you. But you staying here… that’s not smart, hun.”
“I don’t understand. I thought this place was safe. Misha said no one even knows where the house is.”
“This isn’t a house. It’s a prison.” His voice tightens. “One I was stuck in for years before I finally broke out. And I can’t, in good conscience, let you walk into the same trap.”
The confusion must be written all over my face, because he sighs heavily.
“Misha told you why Katya left for the States, right? How she did everything she could to keep you safe and as far away from the Bratva as she could?”
I nod silently.
“Well, here’s the punchline, Frankie. Fedorov’s not the Bratva anymore. We are. Get it?” When I still look confused, he lets out a sigh and tries to explain himself another way. “All I know is that Katya would have never wanted this life for you. She knew what it meant to bring a child into this world, under these circumstances. She protected you. She kept you hidden. From all of us. Not just that asshole Fedorov. And I think that was intentional.”
I swallow hard as I search his eyes to see if he’s just messing with me. But every word that comes out of his mouth feels like it’s weighted with truth.
“Don’t get me wrong. I love my brothers. But that doesn’t mean they’re not dangerous men. That we aren’t fucking dangerous. And you know what dangerous men have in common? Enemies, Frankie. And a whole ton worth too. Misha has been lucky so far that no one knows where he lies his head at night, but luck runs out. And when it does, do you really want to be caught in the crosshairs?”
I shake my head, too stunned to form words.
“I didn’t think so.” He lets go of my hands with a relieved sigh. “So when your boyfriend leaves, go with him. I’ll breathe easier knowing you’re out of this mess.”
“You do know Lucky’s a Romano, right? His family runs Chicago. Danger’s baked into their lives back home too.”
“The Romanos aren’t like us. Believe me, Frankie. They don’t force their kids into the life. They step into it only if they choose to. But us? You and me? We don’t get a choice. We’re Bratva, whether we want to be or not.”
“And you don’t want to be.” My voice is barely a whisper as the pieces click into place.
“Fuck no. I hate this place. I hate everything it represents. If I could, I’d leave tomorrow.”
“Then why don’t you?”
He looks at me with something like regret.
“Because I don’t have free will, Frankie. Not anymore. And believe me… if you stay in this house long enough, you won’t either.”
“Kira! Kira! Has anyone seen Kira?” Aleksandr’s voice rings out from the hallway, causing Kostya to swear under his breath.
“Well, that’s my cue.”
He presses a kiss to my cheek, walks to a massive painting on the wall, and pulls it open—revealing a hidden passage to the next room. Without another word, he disappears, the door clicking shut behind him, just as the door to this room opens.
“There you are,” Aleksandr says, smiling wide when he sees me. “Did you get lost? Elena’s been looking for you.”
“Sorry, Uncle Sasha,” I lie smoothly. “This house is so big, I got a little curious and ended up… exploring.”
“Well, remind me to give you a proper tour next time.” He smiles, only for it to slip off his face, as he starts to eye the room like he’s missing something.
“Uncle Sasha? Isn’t Aunt Elena waiting for us?”
“Yes. Yes. You’re right. We should go,” he says, his smile not as genuine as his first one. He then guides me out, but just before we move on, he pauses—his hand landing on the doorknob of the room Kostya is still hiding in.
Panic flashes through me and without thinking, I grab his forearm.
“Uncle… Do you think we’ll have time to visit Red Square today? Or maybe see some monuments in Moscow? Elena said the city comes alive this close to the end of the year.”
Aleksandr looks at me for a beat, then drops his hand from the knob, his features softening.
“You should see it in the spring. There isn’t a more beautiful city in the world.” He pats my hand gently, then continues leading me downstairs. “Though St. Petersburg comes in at a close second,” Aleksandr says wistfully. “I can’t wait to take you there.”
“Me neither, Uncle Sasha. Me neither.”
He beams at me like I’ve just made his whole day, and I smile back, even though a small pang of guilt nudges at my chest.
I hate lying, especially to someone who has been nothing but genuinely kind to me. But something tells me he and Kostya don’t see the world—or this family—in quite the same light.
Aleksandr keeps talking, his voice full of love for his country, describing rivers that freeze over like glass, palaces that glow under the snowlight, and golden cathedrals that shimmer against gray skies. He stops talking just long enough to help me into a heavy fur coat—fake, I hope—and leads me outside to the waiting limo.
Inside, Elena is already seated, stunning as ever in a matching white fur coat and pillbox hat. She looks like she walked straight off the set of Doctor Zhivago.
“There she is, my beautiful niece!” she exclaims, cupping my face with her gloved hands and kissing both cheeks twice. “ Dobroye utro. ”
“Hi, Aunt Elena,” I reply with a grin, sliding in beside her as Aleksandr takes the seat across from us.
“ Tetya, ” she corrects gently.
“Sorry?”
“Call me Tety a. It means aunt in Russian. If you’re going to stay with us, you might as well start learning the language.” She smiles brightly.
I nod and repeat it, “ Tetya. ”
I’m sure I butchered the word, and yet she lights up like I just handed her a bouquet of sunshine.
Over the past few days, I’ve noticed that Elena’s at her best in the mornings and she uses her energy wisely—whether it’s walking the grounds, visiting the market, or just sitting in the sunroom. Once the sun dips—and here in Russia, that can be as early as three-thirty—she disappears into her quarters and doesn’t come out again until the next day.
“So,” I ask, “where are we going today, Tetya? ”
Elena sighs, her face falling a little. “Ah, I’m afraid this morning will be quite the tedious affair.”
“How so?”
“It’s a doctor’s day,” she replies flatly, as if that explains everything.
“Don’t be like that, Elena,” Aleksandr chimes in, his tone gentle but firm. “You know these visits are important.”
“As you can see, Kira,” Elena says with a dramatic wave of her hand, “Petrov men are very protective. Even when they don’t need to be.”
“I’m sure they just want you to feel like yourself again,” I say, offering her hand a reassuring squeeze.
“I’ve been ill for years, and it hasn’t killed me yet,” she mutters—not to me, but to Aleksandr.
“And we intend to keep it that way, don’t we, zolotse? ” he says, using what I can only assume is a tender Russian nickname.
Elena rolls her eyes. “Men.” She turns back to me. “Is your boy as protective as my Misha and these overbearing brothers-in-law of mine?”
“Yes,” I answer without hesitation. “Very much so.”
“Ah, then you understand my suffering. They act like we can’t make decisions for ourselves.”
“Elena,” Aleksandr groans. “That’s not true. Don’t go scaring Kira.”
“Our Kira doesn’t scare easy, do you, niece?” Elena says, grinning sideways at me.
“No,” I shake my head, keeping my smile steady. “Words don’t scare me.”
Not unless those words come from Kostya, warning me to get the hell out while I still can. But I keep that thought to myself.
“See, Aleksandr? She’s a true Petrov.”
“Yes,” he says, his chest puffing a bit with pride. “Yes, she is.”
I throw them both a smile, then turn to look out the window, feeling loved, confused, and guilty all at once.
What did Kostya mean by his warning?
It felt like he was trying to protect me—but from what? Or who? Misha? Sasha? Kill? Certainly not Elena.
I try to untangle my thoughts, but they’re as knotted as a ball of thread, and before I realize it, we’ve arrived at the hospital for Elena’s biweekly check-up.
All three of us walk inside—Elena leaning on Aleksandr’s forearm for support, while four armed guards flank us from behind.
Hmm.
Not once did Lucky—or any of his siblings—need to be escorted by bodyguards through Chicago. But here? It doesn’t feel safe unless you have them.
And suddenly I don’t feel safe.
Even surrounded by people who love me, it doesn’t feel safe.
Not because they’d hurt me.
But because their enemies might.
And something tells me my uncles have made plenty of enemies on their way up the Bratva ladder.
I’m about to take a seat next to my uncle Sasha when a nurse greets Elena and gently ushers her toward the doctor’s office. But before she goes, Elena turns to me. “Come with me, Kira,” she says softly.
I don’t have it in me to say no.
So I follow her inside, where the doctor and nurse greet her warmly in rapid-fire Russian and begin running through the usual tests.
My poor Aunt Elena.
To have to go through this every two weeks, just to make sure her treatment is still working. Just to make sure the cancer hasn’t spread further. I overheard Uncle Misha say she stopped chemo a few months ago. That so far, the results are… hopeful.
It must be terrifying, loving someone who’s so sick though.
Especially for someone like Uncle Misha—who looks like he could scare the devil himself if he put his mind to it. The fact that he can’t scare off this disease must feel like torture to him.
Still, Elena keeps smiling through all of it.
If it weren’t for her frail frame, you’d never know the hell her body has endured just to keep breathing.
A couple of hours later, we’re seated in the doctor’s office, waiting for him to return.
“I told Olga to make us some borscht and pelmeni for lunch,” Elena says, brushing imaginary lint from her skirt. “After the morning we’ve had, I’m sure you must be hungry.”
“I’m fine, Tetya. Really. Don’t worry about me.”
“How can I not? It’s a tedious affair, all these doctors and hospitals. But I promise that tomorrow, I’ll make it up to you.”
I smile and squeeze her hand. “I’m just happy to be here, Tetya. Truly.”
“Such a kind girl.” She lifts her delicate hand and cups my cheek. “You look so much like her. So much like our Katya.”
“Did… did you know my mom well?” I ask, my voice catching in my throat.
Elena nods, her smile wistful. “I know I don’t look it now, but when I was younger, I used to run wild after Misha and Sasha. Katya was like a big sister to me. Always had a kind word. Always checked on me whenever I didn’t come out to play with her brothers.”
“Why would she need to check on you?”
She smiles sadly, her thumb brushing my cheek. “Ah, sweet Kira. That’s a story for another day. I fear I’ve already ruined this one with all the needles and tests. Let’s not spoil it further with tales of old ghosts and misspent youth.”
I’m about to tell her that I don’t mind—that I’m actually curious about her life and how my mom and uncles were a part of it—when Elena’s doctor returns, speaking quickly in Russian.
I stay quiet, not understanding a word. But even though I don’t know what is being said, I do feel a shift in the room. For some reason, Elena’s doctor is not pleased. Not pleased at all.
The two of them speak rapidly, the doctor’s expression growing more troubled by the second, while Elena keeps her soft smile plastered on like it’s armor. And then she does something strange, that I pick up immediately. She places a hand over her belly, gently, protectively.
Not a moment later, she rises to her feet, even as the doctor continues talking to her in urgent tones.
“Kira, we should go. It’s late,” she says simply.
“Are you sure, Aunt Elena?”
“I’m quite sure,” she replies, nodding curtly toward the doctor.
He looks like he just went ten rounds with Mike Tyson but doesn’t stop us from leaving.
“Is everything okay?” I ask as she leans on my arm for support.
“Everything could not be better, Kira. Everything is just perfect.”
There’s such a lightness in her voice, such radiant joy in her smile, that any concern I had fizzles out. Whatever argument she just had with her doctor, it seems she won—because she practically floats down the hallway, rejuvenated.
When we meet Aleksandr outside the exam rooms, Elena reins her joy in a bit.
“Everything all right?” he asks, his eyes scanning our faces.
“Everything is fine, Sasha. Now take us home. Kira is hungry.”
Actually, food is the last thing on my mind, but I don’t contradict her.
The hour-long drive back to the Petrov compound is quiet.
Elena sits beside me, her thoughts clearly keeping her occupied, while Aleksandr is busy tapping away on his phone. I just stare out the window, trying to make sense of the day—from Kostya’s cryptic warning to Elena’s tense doctor visit, everything feels upside down.
At least Lucky no longer seems disappointed with me.
Or at least he wasn’t last night when he came to bed and again this morning before I left it.
My cheeks warm at the memory—every kiss, every soft moan, the way his fingers traced—
But the moment is shattered when I catch a glimpse of Stella and Kirill walking out of the mansion.
I sit up straighter, and even though the limo hasn’t even fully stopped when I open the door and step outside, I head towards them in a sprint. But before I can call out Stella’s name, Lucky and Kostya walk out of the house too, their expressions unmistakably guilty.
“What’s going on?” I ask, looking from face to face.
“What’s going on is that your uncle Kirill says we’ve overstayed our welcome,” Stella huffs, arms folded, jaw tight with frustration.
“I never said that, milaya, ” Kirill snaps through gritted teeth. “Don’t put words in my mouth.”
“Whatever. I don’t care.” Stella shrugs him off. “It’s Christmas in a couple of days. Wasn’t looking forward to spending the holiday with you anyway.”
“Milaya—
“Don’t darling me, Kill. I’m over it.” She waves him off and stomps toward one of the black SUVs parked in front of the house, purposely waiting for her.
“Will someone please tell me what’s going on?” I demand, bypassing my uncles to stand in front of Lucky.
“We’re going home,” he says once he’s close enough.
“Home?”
“Yeah. We can’t stay here, Frankie. We’ve stayed as long as we could. Now it’s time we head back to Chicago.”
“Oh.” It comes out small, fragile. Like something inside me just cracked. “I didn’t think you’d leave so soon.”
“I know.” He reaches out and gently tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “But it is what it is, I guess.”
My gaze drifts toward the house, where Aleksandr is guiding Elena inside. Uncle Misha is waiting for her at the door, his expression unreadable.
And just like that, everything feels like it’s slipping through my fingers.
“I thought… I thought we’d have more time,” I whisper, staring into the warm chestnut of his eyes.
“And who says we don’t?” He smiles gently. “Just because you’re staying here for a bit doesn’t mean it’s forever.”
My brows furrow at the ominous sound of that. Like he’s just jinxed us somehow.
“Can’t you stay another week? Another day even?”
Lucky shakes his head, looking as torn as I feel.
“My father’s already on a rampage. I don’t want to risk him doing something reckless just to drag Stella and me home.”
I bite my bottom lip and nod, trying to swallow the lump in my throat.
“Hey, look at me,” he says, lifting my chin so my eyes meet his. “This is just a little hiccup in our long life together. Soon you’ll be home, and we’ll go back to how it used to be.”
“I don’t think my life will ever be the same after this,” I tell him honestly.
He glances over his shoulder at my uncles, then back to me.
“Yeah… I guess it won’t. But that doesn’t change how we feel about each other, does it?”
“No,” I say, shaking my head.
“You still love me, right?”
Instead of answering, I wrap my arms around his neck and hold him tight.
“How can you even ask me that? Of course I do.”
“Doesn’t hurt to check, babe,” he teases softly, but then his grip around me tightens. “Fuck, I’m gonna miss the shit out of you.”
“I’ll miss you too,” I whisper, tears already burning behind my eyes.
He pulls back just enough to look at me, brushing a thumb over my cheek.
“We’re the real deal, Frankie. You and me… we’re meant to be. So stay here with your family as long as you need. And when you’re ready, come home. Come back to me. Okay?”
I don’t have time to nod before Lucky leans in and kisses me.
It’s a soft kiss, filled with everything we’re feeling—love, sadness, hope, fear. A kiss that says goodbye, already counting the seconds until our lips meet again.
When it ends, I already feel like I’m mourning him.
“Drive me to the airport?” he asks quietly, almost sheepishly.
I loop my arm through his and rest my head on his forearm as we walk toward the waiting car.
The two-hour ride to the private airport doesn’t feel long enough.
Lucky and I barely speak. We just stare at each other, both needing to say how much we love each other but not having the strength to get the words out.
It doesn’t help that Kirill and Stella are going at it in the same car, shouting so loud it drowns out everything else. Normally, Lucky would’ve cracked a joke—told them to get a room and screw the anger out of their system—but neither of us is in the mood.
When we finally pull up to the familiar runway and see the jet already prepped for takeoff, my stomach knots. It’s all happening too fast.
And that’s when I notice the second car pulling up behind us.
Uncle Misha. Sasha. Kostya.
All three stepping out, clearly there to see the Romanos off.
There’s something about that—about them making sure Lucky and Stella actually leave—that unsettles me.
And I’m not entirely sure how I feel about that.
This all feels so surreal that I don’t even realize Stella is saying goodbye until her arms are around me, holding me close.
“If you need anything, just call. I’ll be on the first plane over here, okay?” she says softly.
I nod, unable to find the words to thank her—for everything. For protecting me. For keeping me safe when I didn’t even know I needed it.
She leans in closer, lowering her voice to a whisper. “Also… if you can, keep an eye on Kill for me.”
I nod again, still feeling like a zombie, my emotions too scrambled to speak.
And then it’s Lucky’s turn.
“I don’t know if I can do this,” I stammer, barely managing to hold myself together.
“You can. And you will.” He tries to assure. “Remember, I’m only a phone call away, okay?”
He brushes a strand of hair out of my face with such tenderness it nearly undoes me.
“I’ll check in on Darius. Explain everything to him. And I’ll even make sure Sister Margaretta knows you’re okay. You know she’s been calling my mom nonstop looking for you, right?”
Guilt twists inside me. I should’ve called her. I should’ve let her know I was safe.
But everything…is happening too fast.
Me finding my family…only to watch my other family depart.
“Stop,” Lucky says, seeing the guilt all over my face. “She cares about you. As long as she knows you’re okay, that’ll be enough for her.”
He smiles faintly, trying to hold it together. “Now give me some sugar, babe. Enough to last however fucking long you’re going to stay here.”
Then he kisses me like his life depends on it.
And I kiss him back with everything I have, pouring all my love, all my fear, all my hope into that one moment—praying it’s enough to sustain us while we’re apart.
When he pulls away, a sob escapes me.
I hate that it hurts this much. I hate that he has to go.
Lucky rests his forehead against mine, eyes shut, breathing me in like he’s trying to hold onto this one moment.
“Just do what you need to do,” he murmurs. “Don’t worry about me, okay?”
“Okay,” I stammer, barely holding myself upright.
“That’s my girl.” His voice breaks just a little. “I love you, Frankie. I’ll wait for you my entire life if I need to. Just… know that. Okay?”
“I love you too.” A single tear streaks down my cheek.
And as if seeing me cry is more than he can take, Lucky presses one last kiss to my temple, then turns and walks toward the plane—fast, before either of us has a chance to fall apart completely.
As I watch Lucky walk up the stairs to board the plane, my heart feels like it’s shattering into a million pieces.
What am I doing?
He turns around just before stepping inside, tears in his eyes as he mouths, I love you.
My own tears spill over, hot and fast, as I mouth it back, I love you.
And then he’s gone from sight.
My body begins to shake. Watching the boy who changed my life in every imaginable way walk out of it is so agonizing, my knees nearly give out.
A steady hand presses on my shoulder, anchoring me.
“Did you know…” Misha’s voice is soft beside me, “that I haven’t left Russia in over a decade? Do you know why that is?”
I shake my head, swiping at my tears.
“It’s because of my Elena. I couldn’t bear to be away from her. Not for a day. Not for an hour. Not even a second.” He exhales slowly. “Love leaves a mark on the soul, Kira. It binds us. Makes it hard to breathe without them near.” His other hand joins the first, and he gently turns me to face him. “We just got you, Kira. And it hurts to let you go. But I understand now… family doesn’t always come by blood. Sometimes the family we choose means more than the one we’re born into.”
“I…” I choke out, “I’ve wanted a family for so long. One that was mine.”
“And now you have one,” he says with a tender smile. “You will always be a Petrov. You will always have us. Come what may. But I think, deep down, you already had a family too—even before you even realized it.”
“I love him, Uncle,” I say on a sob.
“I know you do,” he says, pulling me into his arms, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. “Katya would be so proud of you, Kira. That you’ve grown into this remarkable young woman who knows what she wants. I’m proud of you too. So damn proud.”
He pulls back, wiping the tears from my cheeks.
“Now go. Be happy. That’s all any of us want for you, sweet girl.”
I look at him, then at my uncles—each one lined up with their own brand of love in their eyes.
“Will I see you again?”
Misha’s shoulders drop. “Kirill and Kostya will be in Chicago after the holidays.”
“I’ll fly out whenever I can,” Aleksandr chimes in.
“And you?” I ask Misha quietly.
“I’m afraid I’ll have to wait for you to visit me again.”
Which is his way of saying he’ll never leave Elena since she’s too fragile to endure the journey to the States.
Especially now when she’s…
Then it hits me.
The way her doctor looked at her.
The way she held her belly like she was guarding something precious.
“Uncle…” I say slowly. “You should talk to Aunt Elena. Or if not her, then at least to her doctor. I think… I think… she might be hiding something from you.”
His brow tightens. “What kind of something?”
“I can’t be sure. I don’t speak Russian. But… I think… Aunt Elena might be pregnant.”
His eyes go wide, stunned into silence just as the plane engines begin to rumble.
“Go, Frankie. Or you’re going to miss your flight,” Kostya says, tossing me a wink.
Uncle Misha is still stunned speechless when I hug him and each of my uncles goodbye, and then I’m running—sprinting down the tarmac like a woman possessed, praying no one closes the door on me.
I’m halfway there when I realize what I’m doing. I’m running to tell the boy I’m in love with that even a day apart from him is too much to bear in this full-on rom-com moment.
Goddammit, Lucky. Look what you’ve turned me into. I’m a cliché now.
And yet I’m still grinning, and I can’t stop.
The grin only grows when I see Lucky coming to the door and then racing down the stairs—his face mirroring mine, lit up and tear-streaked.
When I’m close enough, I launch myself into his arms and he catches me with ease, holding me like he never intends to let go again.
“Jesus Christ, Frankie. For a second there, I thought I was gonna have to defect to Russia.”
Laughter bubbles out of me between tears, and my heart sings when I see his tears falling too.
“I’m sorry it took me so long,” I whisper.
“It’s okay, baby. You’re here now. That’s all that matters.” He lifts my chin and kisses me, slow and sure, like he’s memorizing the shape of our love.
And just like that, nothing else matters.
Just us.
“Let’s go home.”