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Larissa retreats to a chair in the corner, where only I can see the hurt expression on her face.
“Kolya,” Zhanna says, her lips curving into a faint condescending smile. “Are you so surprised to see me?”
“Yes,” I concede.There is no point in lying to Zhanna. Old age has given her the most remarkable ability to sniff out a lie from the truth.
“I received an invitation from Nina Orlov,” Zhanna continues. “But imagine my surprise when I had to hear about the details from your sister instead of you.”
I try not to look at Larissa’s face, but her hands move, gripping the armrests of the chairs tightly until her knuckles turn white.
“I have been lacking in my duties as your godmother.” Zhanna shakes her head. “I wish you had spoken to me first,and not the vultures circling Gennady’s corpse.”
“This wedding is necessary,krestnaya.” My voice is devoid of emotion. “Even if you don’t believe so.”
“For whom, I wonder?” Zhanna lowers her gaze and her voice. “You? Or the ghosts that still haunt you to this day?”
I stand as if my seat were scorching hot. Larissa also stands, moving quickly to my side. “I am the pakhan,krestnaya. And I will right this wrong inflicted upon my family. It is my duty to do so.”
She flicks her hand at me dismissively. “Oh, Kolya,” she scoffs. “Stop it with your flair for the dramatic. You sound like your poor mother.”
“I will do what the Bratva demands of me,” I continue, my voice resolute. “I care for no one but the Bratva.”
“And the Bratva cares for no one but the Bratva,” she interrupts me. “I know the words as well as you do. Perhaps even better. You are being led down a path that only has one end. And I would hate to see the Starukhin line snuffed out because of it.”
“You’re not some oracle!” Larissa declares. “If you know something, Zhanna, just tell him. None of these riddles!”
“You will not interrupt me again,devushka.” Zhanna’s voice is even, but does nothing to hide her annoyance. She turns back to me. “You are allowing your emotions to blur your judgment, Kolya, and people are using it to control you.”
“Who?” I ask.
“Everyone.”
Zhanna turns to face me, ready to lace into me again, I suppose, but her expression changes to alarm. Her pale blue eyes widen and her mouth drops open. At first, I think she’s having a stroke until I turn quickly to see what caused it.
Eden is descending the spiral staircase.
Her eyes meet mine briefly, filled with questions and concern, before focusing on Zhanna, first with curiosity and then with a hint of apprehension.
Zhanna lifts her finger and points at Eden. “Who is this?” she demands in Russian.
“She’s my fiancée,” I reply in English as I step between them to shield Eden from Zhanna’s piercing gaze and sharp tongue. “Eden.”
“Eden …” she whispers the name as she rises from her seat.
Zhanna’s haughty countenance crumples at the sight of Eden, revealing an unfathomable sadness. She looks at Eden with a gloomy look edged with tiredness, as though seeing an old friend after years apart. A friend she regrets not treating like the good friend they were. Her gaze drifts away as if lost in memories of another time.
“It seems that you’re not the only one haunted by ghosts, Kolya,” she tells me in Russian again. “Your bride has a dark past.”
Is this the confirmation I needed? Did she know Budanov?I look between them, trying to decipher the meaning. But Zhanna offers no more explanation as she moves past me to get a closer look at Eden.
To my surprise, she extends her hand and Eden gently takes it in hers. Zhanna gasps at the touch and presses Eden’s hand to her own withered cheek. A single tear rolls down her weathered cheek.
“Are you all right?” Eden asks with concern in her eyes.
“Yes, dear.” Zhanna nods. A forced smile returns on her lips, but the sadness never leaves her eyes as she switches back to English. “Please forgive an old woman’s peculiarities.”
The words linger in the air with a sense of finality. Zhanna’s gaze never leaves Eden’s face. She must know something. I have lost the opportunity to ask.
But I doubt that opportunity ever existed in the first place.
