Page 26 of Lord of the Underworld

"Did you hear about Yefim?" Maks asks. He strolled over to the tea cart, popping one of the tiny sandwiches in his mouth and winking at Anka, who rolls her eyes.

"Way to ruin the vibe, Maks," she says.

I look up, and the stylist nearly stabs me in the eye with the mascara wand. "What do you mean?"

There had been whispers through the mansion over the last several days about some dire injury to the Sovietnik. I'd heartlessly hoped the injuries would be severe enough to keep him from coming to the wedding.

Maks takes one of the pretty little stools and drags it across the marble floor with a resounding screech as the stylist’s cringe. "It happened three days ago. Someone attacked him at home," he says, looking longingly at the plate of sandwiches. "It's pretty horrific."

"How so?" I ask. I'm looking forward to the answer and I'm not ashamed to admit it.

"They took out his left eye," he says gleefully before seizing a smoked salmon canape. "Then, they sliced his nose off. And I'm not going tell you what they did to his-"

Masha, Mr. Maurice's "wardrobe mistress" makes a terrible little hurking sound and presses her hand against her mouth.

Anka slaps Maks' shoulder. "Stop it. This is not the time or place, you Cossack! Do you want your sister to vomit? Do you know how hard they had to work to get her looking this good?"

"Harsh," murmurs Dasha.

Inside, I'm filled with joy. There's a warmth in my chest that's radiating outward.

"I don't know," Caroline says, trying to look serious. "Oksana is glowing. Almost radiant. Do continue."

The New York contingent of this family is tough. Ava's a physician assistant, so I know blood and guts don't upset her, but everyone else looks intrigued, as well.

"The assailant cut off his dick!" Maks says gleefully. He's given up on basic civility and I'm here for it. There's a chorus of little shrieks from the cousins.

"This is your Bratva's Sovietnik?" Ava asks incredulously.

"Not anymore, I'm guessing," Iris mumbles into her glass.

"That's… oddly specific," I manage to say without grinning like a fool. "Have they caught his attacker?"

"No, and there's no sign of how they got in or out," Maks says. He leans over, snagging the bottle of champagne out of the ice bucket next to the dressing table. "You don't need this, right?"

My makeup artist has given up, retreating to stand by the dress rack, still clutching the mascara wand.

"Like it would stop you," I say. "What, um... You said there was something worse?"

"Worse than getting his dick cut off?" Anka says.

"Oh, I haven't gotten to the best part," Maks says, a wicked glint in his eye. "You ready?" He used to do this to me when we were kids. He'd find a truly horrific, bloody slasher film and he would wake me up and make me watch it with him.

"What?" Oh, I sound eager. Too eager.

He catches my gleeful expression before I can hide it and eyes me suspiciously for a moment. "They took his dominant hand," he says. "They didn't chop it off. They sliced down between each finger down to the wrist; they didn't even cut off his hand. Just left it… flapping."

Poor Masha bolts for the bathroom, barely making it in time as we all wince in sympathy.

"This way was somehow even more disgusting," Maks says after taking another swig from the bottle. "The doctors had to amputate it anyway, of course."

"Smooth, Maks. The wardrobe mistress is out of commission and now, I'm going to have to iron the wedding gown!" Anka throws a sandwich at his head and he catches it in his mouth like a trained seal.

"This should be horrifying," Ava murmurs, "but since no one seems upset - aside from poor Masha, of course - I have to admit I'd like to know what kind of knife the assailant used to sever tendon and bone like that, the metacarpals are particularly-"

Zoya drops the bottle of hair spray and runs for the bathroom, shoving Masha aside, and throwing up everything but her internal organs.

"Ladies, I'm so sorry!" I say, rising and looking for clean towels. "We're horrible people."