Page 34 of Lord of the Underworld

"Thank you," Sofia says wearily. "I knew you would protect her."

There's something more to what she says and how she said it. But I don't have time to analyze it now. I nod politely. "I will be taking her home with me. She'll have around the clock medical care."

"Very well," she nods. "Let me get your clothes, milaya devushka. I am sure you want to change out of that dress."

Inexplicably, Anka starts laughing. "Look on the bright side, if you really want to keep your wedding dress for your future daughter, there's a spare ready to go. No blood!" Oksana joins her and they hug, laughing and wheezing a little together.

I watch in silence. Some things I should not be expected to understand. Humor seems to be one of them.

Out in the main room, there are two camps in opposite corners. Oksana's family is in one, speaking with their security. Benedikt is blustering, backhanding one of the men as he shouts at him, trying to regain some control by pretending his security is all to blame.

Mine is in the other. Mother nods to me. "I've already called Anka's father, he'll be here in a moment to take her home. How are you?" She eyes my blood-splashed clothes, but doesn't bother to ask if any of it is mine.

"I spoke with Dr. Komilova," Father says. "She's theorizing that he took Flakka. It's a new synthetic drug that supercharges the nervous system for a short time. It causes violent and uncontrollable behavior. There's a tidal wave of overdoses reported with this."

"A pity, then, that he didn't drop dead before he got to Oksana," Mother says sharply.

My grandfather looks at me, tilting his head toward the terrace, my father and I follow him. The door is shut, and Grandfather's already lit a cigar, offering one to each of us.

I reject mine. This is not a celebratory occasion.

“The father needs to go,” Grandfather says, staring out over the city at the brilliant sprawl of glittering high rises and the glowing, unearthly beauty of the ancient architecture of Moscow.

"He is useless," Father agrees, puffing his cigar reflectively. "Nikolai seems like he might be capable of moving into the role of Pakhan quickly."

"He stepped in and took responsibility tonight, he promised to conduct an investigation into how Yefim got into the bridal suite," I say. "He's ready." I hear a little rumble, like boulders rolling down a mountain. It's Grandfather's version of a chuckle.

"Not tonight, grandson."

"No," I acknowledge. "But soon. Father, are all the contracts in place for the trade agreements with Vasiliev?"

"Benedikt was almost pathetically eager to sign them," he says in disgust. "It gives us access through Vasiliev's ports in Georgia and Turkey for the new gun shipment routes."

"Good. Even less reason to keep him alive. If you will excuse me," I say, "I will take my bride home."

Placing his heavy hand on my shoulder and squeezing briefly, my grandfather nods to me. This is his version of a hug, a pat on the back, and a proud utterance of, "job well done." All in a simple gesture.

My father watches it all with a smile, he's never resented my close relationship to my grandfather. In fact, he encouraged it early, he saw the similarity between us early.

Mother smiles as we come back in and gives me a quick kiss. "Please let me know if there's anything you need, all right? If you have to leave suddenly, I can come over and sit with Oksana."

"Thank you, Mat'."

Dr. Komilova finishes bandaging up the bullet wounds, and she looks up at me briefly. "Thank you for making it a clean in and out," she says wryly. "It was easier to stitch the entry and exit wounds quickly."

I have no response for her, nor does she seem to expect one. With a slight groan, she stands, picking up her bag. "Stepan," I say, "have someone escort the doctor to her car and carry her bag for her."

Oksana is in the bedroom, her arms wrapped around Anka, who's also changed. I can hear Viktor Volkov cry out, "Where is my daughter!"

"Clearly, my father's here," Anka says tiredly. "Along with Polina, of course. My stepmother is going to require a lot of attention if I don't move quickly, because she will pretend to faint from all the stress."

"Love you, fam," Oksana whispers, giving her a kiss. "I'm so very sorry."

"Not your fault," Anka says in a tone that tells me this is something she has said to her many times.

Chapter Fifteen

In which Vadim’s penthouse manages to be both magical and menacing at the same time.