Page 36 of Obsession of the Bratva

Ilana Romanov. Or rather, Ilana Chernykh now.

She blinked as she saw me, clearly awkward. I couldn’t blame her. I felt the same way.

“Hi,” she said eventually.

“Hi.”

More silence, and then her eyes narrowed slightly. “I know you.”

I froze. Had Nico told her I was here? “Oh?”

“You’re Vera.”

There was no point denying it, even though I had no idea what she knew, or, much rather, how much she knew. Nico wasn’t a big sharer, and I doubted his family knew about the breakup, the kidnapping, and everything that had gone down since. Which only meant she knew me from whatever Nico had told her in the past.

“Yes. I am. And you’re Ilana.”

Something strange crossed her face. Recognition. Surprise. Understanding. Then she laughed. It was not cruel but more like someone finally solving a puzzle.

“Oh my God.”

I frowned. “What?”

“You’re her. You are THE GIRL.”

I stared at her, my confusion growing. I had no idea what that even meant or if being THE GIRL was a good thing or a bad thing in Ilana Chernykh’s dictionary.

“Oh. I would have had a better reaction to it if I knew what that meant. But I am completely lost here,” I confessed, not wanting to lie to her. “Oh, also, please come in.”

I realized we were still standing at the door, and I quickly moved aside to let her enter. She had a secured and packed parcel in one hand and a small bag in the other. She looked around the empty house, and then her gaze found mine again.

“Well Nico never told us much about you, but the fact that he did tell us something about a certain woman in his life is enough confirmation that you meant something to him.”

Ilana and I walked towards the living room as we spoke and sat side by side on the large sofa, which overlooked the gardens beyond the glass walls.

“Really? He doesn’t speak about the women in his life?”

“No. But can you blame him? He does not know these women himself. If you know my brother, you know that he has been living a rather… colorful life when it comes to his lady friends. All of that stopped, though, when you were there.”

“And then started again,” I said quietly, my mind returning to Bianca.

“Well he never told us what went down between the two of you, but he just spent months being absolutely unbearable.”

Despite everything, a reluctant smile appeared.

“That sounds like him.”

“Oh, you have no idea. But I clearly am still in the dark about whatever is happening because here you are, inside his house, in his t-shirt, looking completely at ease.”

I laughed, having no explanation for whatever this was either. Within thirty minutes, we were sitting in the kitchen drinking tea, and to my surprise, I liked her immediately. She was warm, funny, and blunt. When she gave me the package, I asked her if Avgust might have told her what was inside, and she rolled her eyes and told me it was some vintage gun. Nico had acquired it for his collection. We both rolled our eyes at that as if saying boys. She was nothing like the intimidating Romanov image I had built in my head, and I loved that. It felt as if we were friends already.

“So how exactly did you end up here?” she asked eventually.

I nearly choked on my tea. “That’s a complicated question.”

“I gathered that much.”

“I don’t think Nico would appreciate me answering it.”