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“She is a part of the old order, isn’t she, darling?” Yustina explains. “There’s no place for history when you’re trying to build the future.”
I don’t even realize that I’ve started to step forward until Niki’s hand clasps down on my arm. “Don’t. Give her a chance to handle this on her own.”
Paige tilts her head to the side, her eyes narrowed to slits. “The future I have in mind includes Cyrille and Ilya.”
Yustina curls her lower lip in surprise. “But Ilya is the son of the late don, is he not…?”
“Ilya and Cyrille arefamily,” my wife hisses. “They will always have a place in this house.”
Yustina seems to realize she’s made a mistake. She smiles and inches backward. “I was only trying to offer you my advice, Paige. I have been in this world much longer than you have. You need to make sure Cyrille understands that you’re in charge now. Her son won’t be inheriting the Bratva; yours will.”
“When I want your advice, I’ll ask for it,” Paige snaps. “Until then, I’ll thank you for sticking to what you know. Judging from your appearance, that seems to be botched plastic surgery and low self-esteem.”
Niki gasps and claps a hand over her mouth to stifle a stunned giggle. “Whoa! Did she really just say that? That was fucking brutal!”
I watch as Paige stares the woman down for another seconds before Yustina turns and glides away, cheeks blazing with shame.
“Yes,” I murmur as pride sears through me. “Yes, she did.”
50
PAIGE
I might’ve just committed a terrible mistake.
Yustina Smirnova is the wife of a senior Vor. I remember her picture from Nessa’s flashcards.
“Be careful of this one,”Nessa warned.
Then I met her, and I wasn’t careful at all. I just made an enemy.
I don’t regret it, though. I only regret that it had to happen, that Yustina gave me no other choice. Because no one is going to say a bad word about Cyrille or anyone else in my family. Ever.
I march away from Yustina and straight into the drawing room across the hall. I click the door shut behind and take a deep, shuddering breath. It’s been a difficult evening and it isn’t close to being over.
Turning to the console table next to the door, I grip the edges with trembling fingers and stare at my reflection in the mirror hanging above.
I try to see myself the way they all do. Do I come across like the ditzy young bimbo who doesn’t have a clue what she’s doing? Or do I come across as someone strong and in charge? Someone who knows her own mind and refuses to apologize for it?
I felt confident going into this dinner, but these women drinking my drinks and eating my hors d'oeuvres live and breathe this life. They know the rules. They know how to present the right front and manipulate people to their whim.
Now that I’ve spent an evening amongst them, I’m not sure I’ll ever measure up.
The door opens, and I jolt away from the mirror. But the thudding in my chest settles when I see Misha enter. He closes the door and looks over at me, his expression unreadable.
“Did I fuck up?” I ask bluntly. “I know she’s important. Or her husband is important, which makes her important, I guess.”
“Her husband has served under four different dons,” he tells me. “My grandfather, my father, my brother, and now, me.”
My palms are starting to sweat. “I know I was rude, but she was being a bitch about Cyrille.”
“I heard.”
I came into this night wanting to make Misha proud. That is still true, but I won’t do it at the expense of the other people I care about.
I square my shoulders. “I’m not going to apologize to her. I understand that she and her husband are important, but she insulted my sister-in-law. I won’t stand for that. No matter what you have to say about it.”
He stands less than a foot away from me now. “Nothing I say will make you apologize to her?”
