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“Kolya, leave the dead in their graves.” She turns to me and pats my chest. “There are things in motion that you do not fully understand. Trust the people who are looking out for you, and not the vipers who once trailed after your father.”
“Then tell me what you know, Zhanna!” I exclaim. “You can’t just come into my home, insult both me and my sister, and then whisper cryptic words for me to decipher!”
“You forget that I have my own secrets,” she replies. “Secrets that I’m not at liberty to share. I have said what I needed to say.” Zhanna turns to Eden, smiling sadly again. “I hope I didn’t spook you, my dear.”
“No …” Eden says hesitantly.
“I won’t be able to attend your shower, dear,” Zhanna says. “But I will send a gift.”
Zhanna roams the room again. Her gaze flits from one painting to the next, her movements graceful in spite of her age.
“I saw this one in Paris decades ago,” she says, pausing before a Modigliani on the wall. “I once dreamed of running away to Paris, like most foolish girls. To give into my heart’s wildest desires. I wanted to live on the Boulevard, paint in a studio, and have more babies than I would ever need. But life had other plans for me.”
“Thank goodness I did not pursue those reckless young dreams. That would’ve been my undoing.” She turns to Eden and me. “Please accept from an old woman her well-wishes. And do not forget that danger and betrayal lurk around you both. Wait and see, Kolya. Wait and see.” She looks back at Larissa, and the warmth that she showed Eden is gone in a blink. “Come along, Lara, and take me home now.”
With those final words, she walks out of the penthouse with Larissa hurrying after her.
Eden and I exchange confused glances, both of us trying to process what happened.
“Who was that?”Eden asks cautiously when we’re alone again. “Is she your grandmother?”
“No,” I answer. “Zhanna Nikolaeva is a woman with a complicated past and many secrets.”
“Like you,” Eden says quietly.
“Like us,” I correct her.
Eden’s expression darkens for a moment, but it fades as quickly as it appeared. “What do you think she meant by what she said?” she asks.
“I don’t know,” I admit, sitting down. “But it must be important if she felt the need to come here personally.”
“Are you okay, Nikolai?” she whispers. “You look unsettled.”
I hesitate for a moment, disarmed by the concern she always shows for me. It’s hard to imagine that her father is a traitor. But then again, many still have a hard time seeing me as Gennady’s son and heir.
“I’m fine, Eden,” I assure her, pulling her down on the couch. She doesn’t look at me and places some space between us. It’s like we’re back to square one again. The weight of Eden’s gaze presses down like a mountain against the side of my head, heavy with questions I don’t intend to answer.
Questions that I cannot answer even if I want to.
“So if she’s not your grandmother,” she says. “Who is she?”
“A powerful woman with ties to the Bratva,” I reply. “A person equally respected and hated by the pakhans. At times an ally, and at times an enemy.”
“But what is she to you?” Eden asks, her eyes searching mine.
“My godmother.” I pause, considering how best to explain the past. “But I always thought the bond I had with her was severed by my mother’s death.”
“Because you still think that you’re the reason why your mother died?” she asks.
I glance at her sharply, wondering how she can know something like this.
She doesn’t shrink back. “Larissa told me.”
I nod my head, sighing. “Of course she did …”
I remind myself that I’m the one who should be extracting secrets from Eden, not her from me. She’s very good at doing that. She’s very good at looking pretty. I admire her slim figure in a black peasant dress with intricate embroidery, wondering if I should take her out and show her off, or lock her away from the world so that only I get to see her.
“You look very pretty in that dress,” I finally say.
