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He gives a soft whine and thumps his tail in response.
Planting one last kiss on his muzzle, I stand again, and we descend the stairs together.
“Ah, Alina. Perfect timing,” my father announces as he sees me approaching. “You look lovely, my dear.”
“Thank you, Papachka.” I match his smile as his gray eyes twinkle.
Next to him, my mom looks stunning with her blonde hair done up in a high ballerina bun. Her silver dress accentuates her slender frame before draping to the floor.
“The cars are ready for us.” My father gestures toward the door, and I lead the way, commanding Boris to stay before I pass through the threshold.
Sure enough, two black Escalades await us. Several of my father’s men, all dressed in suits, chatting in groups, are ready to accompany us. Among them, I spot my brother. Next to him stands Mishka, who looks striking in a charcoal gray suit and silver-blue tie.
His eyes slide in my direction, and his face remains passive as he makes note of my outfit. Then he looks away as if I’m hardly worth notice. Gritting my teeth, I fight to control my temper at the subtle way he disregards me.
I’m still mad at him about his presumptuous statement this morning, and even more so now that he’s once again made me feel invisible. With a huff, I stomp toward the second car, brushing past him, and slip inside. A moment later, Viktor and Mishka join me along with three more of my father’s men.
8
MISHKA
It feels entirely contradictory to be serving as the bodyguard to my worst enemy’s son. But that seems to be the part I will have to play in order to ingratiate myself with the Sakharov family and get close enough to kill Sergio.
My job tonight is simply to keep a watchful eye while the Sakharovs celebrate an engagement. Or so Viktor told me. While plenty of clan members will attend the event, it doesn’t hurt to have a few new guys “on duty”, so to speak.
Which means I’m the party’s bouncer against—well—guys like me, who might want to hurt the Pakhan while he and his men have their guard down. The irony does not escape me. And if I’d been prepared for it, I might have used this very event as my opportunity. But I don’t have the kind of weapons I would need to succeed if I tried to kill Sergio tonight. And I suspect it will be too packed with people to allow an ideal shot, anyway.
I remain silent as the driver takes us down the winding New England roads that lead out of the city and away from the bay. The dark trees loom on either side of the narrow road, offering a beautiful and mysterious landscape.
One row in front of me, Alina fills the car with her warm, intoxicating scent. Her blonde hair is down tonight, shaped into perfect curls with a deep part so it all cascades over one shoulder like a golden waterfall, leaving the other velvet-clad shoulder exposed.
Her soft navy dress makes her eyes all the bluer, which I couldn’t help but notice despite her best effort to ignore me completely. It would seem she’s still salty with me for my question this morning.
As blunt as the question might have been, I am genuinely curious about what Alina chooses to do with her body. I shouldn’t be. I shouldn’t care. It’s none of my business. But I hate the thought of someone else grinding against her, another man touching her intimately.
It’s nearly an hour’s drive before we arrive at the venue, and I flank Viktor and Alina as we finally disembark, following the people from our car into the grand two-story hunting lodge nestled in the woods.
“Gospodin,” the captain who must be hosting the engagement party says warmly, opening his arms wide as Sergio leads his entourage through the front doors. “We’re honored by your presence tonight.”
“I wouldn’t miss it, Alek,” Sergio booms.
“Please, let me introduce you to my lovely bride, Bianca.”
The Pakhan greets the raven-haired beauty by brushing a kiss across her knuckles. Then he introduces the rest of his family to her before Alek invites us all to come in and make ourselves at home.
The inside of the restaurant is as impressive as the outside, with deer antler chandeliers casting a warm glow over the room. Thick rough-hewn tables cut from pine trees give the space a rustic feel, and the delicate floral centerpieces surrounded by candles offer an elegant finish.
On one side of the room is an imposing fireplace made of river rock, and along the back wall is a good-sized dance floor. A live band plays jazz music in the corner, filling the room with energy.
Keeping my head on a swivel, I watch as man after man approaches Sergio and his family to greet them and introduce or reacquaint him with their families. And though I can’t imagine Alina’s faring well after the hangover she had this morning, she stands tall and doesn’t show her discomfort.
Thankfully, no one seems to give a second thought as to who I am as I follow in the Sakharov family’s wake. When I first decided to infiltrate his Bratva, I debated whether someone might recognize me. It wasn’t entirely out of the range of possibilities, considering the Sakharovs and the Nezhit ran within the same territory.
But if anyone knows me, they don’t show it. They don’t give me more than a passing glance as I silently shadow Viktor. And seeing as I’m as Russian as the rest of them, I blend in well.
“Are you always so sullen and brooding?” Alina teases, stepping close to me as it seems the greetings have finally finished and the party is in full swing.
I glance toward her to catch the glint of amusement in her eye, and she smiles at me cheekily. No woman should have the kind of power she holds in her gaze.
