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Every inch of him screams strength and danger—his broad shoulders and bulging biceps, the ink that covers his arms and knuckles, even peeking out from above his T-shirt, the curving lines climbing up his neck. He looks like a natural athlete, his body toned to perfection. His calm confidence, too, makes my heart stutter. Like a lion, he effortlessly rules the world around him.
And yet, I find him all the more attractive because he’s respectful, even polite—unlike my brother’s other friends, who never fail to offer me a lewd joke or two whenever we cross paths. They do it when Viktor isn’t paying attention, of course. My brother would crack their skulls if he ever found out they find me attractive.
But even after I slammed into him, Mishka handled me almost delicately, his touch gentle, and he didn’t take advantage of the moment to cop a feel. I could almost dare to call him a gentleman.
Shaking the silly thoughts from my mind, I try to focus on something more concrete. Like the bruises smattering Viktor’s and Mishka’s faces.
“What happened to you boys? Did you get into a fight?” My eyes land on the discoloration accentuating Mishka’s strong jaw, and I turn to my brother, planting my hands on my hips as my wayward dog slips from my mind to be replaced by my willful brother.
“I might have gotten into a bar fight,” Viktor admits casually. His grin stretches before he flinches, his fingers reaching instinctually for his split lip. “Mishka came to my assistance.”
“Well, I could hardly call three against one a fair fight,” my brother’s new friend states, combing his hair out of his eyes. It falls back into them a moment later, seeming determined to call my attention to their fathomless blue depths. “Didn’t seem right to just stand by and watch.”
“What did you do?” I demand, turning back to my brother. I have no doubt he instigated the conflict. That’s what he does.
“Hey, the girl didn’t tell me she had a boyfriend when she started dancing with me. And she didn’t seem to mind when I kissed her.”
I roll my eyes at my brother. Figures he would choose to make out with some random girl at a club. “Sounds like a typical Tuesday,” I observe dryly.
Viktor snorts a laugh, though his new friend seems as stoic as ever. Mishka folds his arms casually across his chest, emphasizing the size of his biceps as he silently observes our banter.
“Anyway,” Viktor says, “Mishka here is looking for a job. I thought the clan might be able to find him something, seeing as he proved pretty handy in a fight. Where is Otets?”
“His office, I would assume.” I shrug. I don’t keep tabs on our father.
As Pakhan to the Sakharov Bratva, he usually works long days in his office, with many dangerous men coming and going at all hours of the morning and night. Not that I’m supposed to be privy to any of it. As a woman, I have no place in the family business. But I’ve been raised to know all the ins and outs of what it takes to marry well and be a good wife.
How else is my father supposed to solidify his connections and strengthen the family name?
I fight to suppress the involuntary eye roll as my mother’s quip repeats automatically in my mind.
I’m lucky, of course. Most girls in my position would have been forced into an arranged marriage by now, often to a man twice her age and with a bald patch spreading across his head. At least Papachka says he wants me to be happy—if I can find someone he approves of.
Not that I’ve been looking very hard.
Becoming someone’s wife isn’t really my life’s ambition.
I have bigger dreams than that.
That’s why I’m going to college. Or as my mom would say, “the ideal place to meet a husband”. I don’t think my parents realize that I’m actually serious about veterinary school.
“Viktor.” Papachka rounds the corner from his office, his grin broad as he looks at my brother with pride. “I thought I heard you come in.”
My brother has the same near-burgundy hair and gray eyes as our father, but otherwise, the two couldn’t be more opposite. While my father more closely resembles a grizzly bear, with an impressive amount of facial hair and a barrel chest to match his burly six-foot-five frame, my brother is what I would call scrappy. And while Viktor is anything but short, his appearance is still almost youthful, with lean muscle and a stubborn chin that’s working on the Garibaldi beard but not quite there yet.
While handsome by most girls’ standards, my brother has rather massive shoes to fill if he intends to take my father’s place as Pakhan someday. Which I know he intends to do. I doubt he’ll ever fill them physically.
“Otets, I have someone I want you to meet. Mishka has some rather impressive hand-to-hand skills I thought we might be able to utilize. Any chance we have an opening in the ranks?”
“Viktor, you know better than to discuss business in front of your sister,” my father rumbles, his smile slipping from his lips as he glances my way.
A subtle cue that my presence is no longer required, and while I have zero interest in carrying on the “family business”, it doesn’t sting any less to know just how little my father wants to involve me in it.
“Shall we take this into my office?” he suggests, gesturing back in the direction he just came from.
“Of course,” Viktor agrees, his playful demeanor slipping away as he falls into his grown-up persona I see him use whenever he wants to impress my father.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Gospodin,” Mishka says, offering his hand as all three depart without a backward glance.
