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“Is… Silvia here?” I ask tentatively, feeling the tension vibrating through the room.
“She and thepakhanare putting Isla to bed,” Val states, stepping around the corner from the hall into the entry.
The sight of him fills me with intense relief. His familiar face gives me a sense of security in a sea of hostility. Though I vaguely recognize a few of the men, I don’t know them like I do Val and Efrem.
Curling in on myself, I slip between the towering bodies to make my way to Pyotr’s dark-haired bodyguard. “Thanks,” I murmur, glancing back over my shoulder. “Can I… go see them?” I’ve never even thought to ask before, but the atmosphere in the house tonight is something very different than I’ve ever felt before.
Val gives a curt nod and barks something in Russian, causing the room to burst into activity as I slip down the hall.
Heart hammering, I stop in the doorway to Isla’s bedroom. The door’s open just wide enough to let a small strip of light pour across the floor and illuminate Silvia and Pyotr sitting on the corner of Isla’s bed.
Not wanting to disturb them, I stand silently, listening as Silvia murmurs softly to her daughter. Pyotr leans in to press a kiss on the tiny girl’s forehead, then Silvia does the same. They rise from their seats a moment later to creep from the room.
My heart softens at the sight of Silvia’s hand slipping into Pyotr’s, and he leads the way back into the hall. I step aside, and neither says a word until the door closes behind Silvia.
“Dani, is everything okay?” Pyotr asks, studying my face with his sharp silver gaze.
“Yeah, of course. Sorry to show up so unexpectedly,” I say, my cheeks warming as I feel like I’ve intruded on the family.
My eyes flick to Silvia, and in the hall’s light, I’m surprised to see her features are pale and drawn. “Are you okay?” I blurt, my own concerns flying out the window at her apparent distress.
“I’ll let you girls talk,” Pyotr says, his voice low as he pulls me in for a quick hug. Then he stalks down the hallway toward the roomful of intimidating armed men.
I follow him with my eyes, my sense of unease intensifying at the stiff way he carries his shoulders. Something isn’t right.
“What’s going on?” I murmur, leaning close to Silvia so I can take her hand.
She gives my fingers a gentle squeeze. “Come with me to the kitchen. I need a glass of wine,” she states.
I follow her wordlessly, taking a surreptitious glance back toward the entry to find the group of men conversing with Pyotr in hushed tones.
In the kitchen, Silvia pours two generous glasses of wine and hands me one without asking. Then we settle at the kitchen table. I’ve never seen Silvia look so shaken. Though I’d initially come here to blow off steam, it’s the furthest thing from my mind as I watch my friend raise her wine glass to her lips with shaky fingers.
“What’s wrong, Silvia?” I press, my anxiety too intense to let me stay quiet.
“Isla’s been running a fever for the last few days,” Silvia explains after taking a generous drink. “Nothing life-threatening,” she adds quickly as my eyes widen in fear. “And she’s doing much better today. But it got bad enough that I decided to run to an all-night pharmacy in the city for the medication her doctor prescribed.”
“Okay?” I say, at a loss for how this could relate to Silvia’s anxiety if Isla’s health is improving.
“Oh, Dani. I’m not supposed to talk to you about everything going on because it might compromise you or your parents. I don’t want it to ruin our friendship,” Silvia murmurs, tears shining in her eyes.
“Hey,” I say, reaching across the table to grip her fingers. “You can tell me anything,” I promise. “And to hell with what my parents think.”
Silvia looks startled by my vehement statement, but after a moment, she nods. “You’re aware that the Veles family has a certain… reputation,” she hedges.
My impatience flares up as I find my cushy life as a politician’s child suddenly getting in the way of the people close to me being open and honest with me once again. But I know Silvia’s hesitancy comes from a good place, so rather than letting my temper overrule my common sense a second time, I cut to the chase.
“That you’re actually involved with the Russian mob?” I suggest, frankly.
Silvia’s eyes widen. Then she releases a snort of laughter. “Well, I’ve never had someone put it quite so bluntly, but yes. So you’ve heard that the Veles are a Bratva, and Pyotr is the newpakhan—their leader.”
It clicks then, the Russian word Val always uses to describe Pyotr. I’d assumed it was a term of respect.
“The Veles have been… well, not ‘at war,’ per se, with another Bratva for many years now, but the conflict has been escalating.”
“The Zhivoder Bratva,” I breathe, my mind flashing back to a conversation I had with Efrem about the rough group of boys Ben had been hanging out with. Efrem had spoken with such vitriol, I knew it had to be more than just what had happened on our date—when Ben had insisted I go home with him.
Silvia nods. Then she takes a deep breath. “They’ve made threats. They’ve killed people. And last night, they killed my driver while Isla and I were inside the pharmacy.”
