Page 74 of Lord of the Underworld

He certainly can't keep his hands off of me.

Really? Thinking about sex in front of his mother? Not the time!

“Thank you for having us, ma’am,” I say.

“Please, I hope you’ll call me Mamochka, if you’re comfortable,” she says, squeezing my hand.

“I would love to, thank you.” I squeeze her hand back. Really? There’s no having to “earn” her approval, she just offers it? For a family as feared as this one is, I never would have expected this much warmth and kindness.

Konstantin joins us in the hall with his own warm greeting. "If you'll forgive me, Oksana, I must borrow your husband for a moment."

"Of course," I say, glancing at Vadim. He looks a little chilly and very determined. "I'm sure you have a great deal to catch up on, Pakhan."

"None of that," he admonishes. Konstantin is nearly as large and intimidating as his father and his son, but there's a gleam of humor always lurking in his smile.

"I heard that you decorated the house in Chicago," Mariya smiles, holding my hands. "I'm very happy to hear it because, as you can see, we also firmly believe in as much holiday decor as possible."

As we walk through the halls on a brief tour, I count six Christmas trees. Stopping next to one, I admire the delicate series of hand-blown glass ornaments, made in the Soviet era. "I love vintage glasswork," Mariya says, straightening one carefully.

"They're beautiful, I say. “And so rare these days."

Mother used to love decorating with the vintage glass ornaments. She used to say it was the only beautiful thing to come out of Soviet Russia.

Father smashed them all in a rage one Christmas when he couldn’t find his Patek Philippe watch.

The one he’d misplaced.

Another group of guards passes us. This is the third one I’ve noticed since we started the tour.

"Is it going to be too much, having us here?" I ask. "While I'm used to heavy security because: Vadim."

She laughs, nodding.

"I can feel the tension here," I continue. "Has something happened?"

Mariya shrugs. "I've made my peace with it. There's always something happening. We are Bratva."

"This is true," I say. But I remember Vadim's expression when he went with his father and I have a sickening feeling that it has to do with me. With the hunters.

She has thoughtfully tucked us in a separate wing of the house with a huge bedroom, a bathroom suite, and cozy seating area.

"This is Vadim's old suite. You'll note that it's a bit away from everyone else. He has always preferred his privacy."

"Why does this not surprise me?" I say. The rooms are decorated in deep blues and grays with beautiful Dagestan rugs, and a heavy, imposing bed. To my delight, there's yet another Christmas tree by the fireplace.

"Now that he's used to Christmas trees," she says with a sly grin, "we really need to keep it up. Think of it as exposure therapy."

"I respect this," I nod solemnly.

"I wish when you and Vadim were first engaged, that we’d had more time to get to know you better," she says, absently straightening the cover on the already perfectly made bed. "That's why I was happy that Vadim wanted to stay here with us. It will give me a chance to spend some time with you."

"I feel the same," I say warmly. Mariya's acceptance from the beginning felt so easy and comforting.

“We were very pleased when your family reached out about the arrangement,” she says. “We thought you and Vadim would be a good fit.”

I frown. Didn’t Father tell me the Turgenevs made the proposition?

"Have you spoken to your mother?" she asks.