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21.
KATYA
It felt like I walked into an episode of theTwilight Zone. With the opulent room, which mirrored a scene from a smaller Versailles, or perhaps Buckingham Palace, as a backdrop. At the long, elegant table sat ten people—amongst them Yuri. To his right sat Svetlana, Kristoff’s ex and final nail in my coffin.
What the hell was she doing here? How had she wormed herself into yet another aspect of my life? She smiled curtly at me, after which she whispered something to Ilya, who sat at her other side.
Aslanov startled me when he put an arm on my shoulder.
“This is my daughter, Ekaterina.” The pride in his voice couldn’t be missed.
Neither could the sneer in Ilya’s eyes. Right before he cast his gaze down, there was rage in them.
Several of the guests greeted me, and Aslanov took his place at the head of the table. He gestured that I should sit at his right side, a place of honor. That’s when Ilya grabbed his wine glass.
Over the next hour, dinner was served, and Aslanov introduced me to several people. Every now and then, I caught Yuri’s wry smile. All conversations were held in Russian, and despite him being in a Bratva, I knew he didn’t understand a word of any of it. Something no one seemed to care about. The vodka flowed like a river, and delicious food came and went.
Then someone came in and whispered something into Aslanov’s ear, after which he excused himself.
It was as if Yuri had awaited that moment, because he got up and stood right next to me.
“I’m out,” he said. “If I get any more Russian food, I’m going to scream.”
“Too healthy for you?” I asked, knowing of his addiction to junk food.
He frowned. “Would it kill them to have burgers and fries?”
Speaking of killing…I leaned closer to him. “What the hell is she doing here?” I hissed into his ear.
“Business,” he quipped, not sounding in the least surprised that she was seated at another pakhan’s table.
Of course. I should’ve thought of it myself. After her husband’s untimely death, Svetlana unofficially led her own Bratva.
After a pat on my shoulder, Yuri made himself scarce.
Tasha, a gorgeous, silver-haired woman sitting next to me, asked me how long I was staying.
“I’m not sure yet.”
“You have caused quite a stir,” she whispered, her eyes darting around the table as if making sure no one was listening.
I sipped from my wineglass. “I suppose Aslanov doesn’t have a child show up on his doorstep every day.”
She smiled. “It happens more than you think. But as far as I know, you’re only the second. After Ilya, of course.”
I choked on my wine. “What?”
My eyes immediately darted to Ilya. For the past hour he had been ignoring me, instead talking to Svetlana, who was practically wrapped around his neck.
“You didn’t know?” Tasha asked. Again, she quickly perused the room, to be sure no one listened. “I don’t like to gossip, but it’s like a public secret. Ilya’s been his right-hand man for years. I think he hoped one day he would be pakhan, but with you here, who knows what’s going to happen?”
The veal I just ate turned to stone in my stomach. I actually had a brother, and neither Aslanov nor Ilya had bothered to mention that fact to me.
“What do you mean, who knows what will happen?” What did people think? That I was a contender for the Aslanov bratva throne?
Tasha leaned closer to me. “I hate to speak ill of the dead, but Ilya’s mother was a whore. It wasn’t like with your mother. Everyone knows how much Aslanov loved Inessa.”
I didn’t like her tone about Ilya’s mom, but wasn’t sure how to react.
