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“Then you must trust her,” Zhanna whispers. “That’s all you can do. Trust. Trust her heart, her intentions, and above all, her love.”
I don’t answer as my thoughts fill my head. Can I honestly do that? Can I let go of my fears and also embrace the unknown, trusting that Eden won’t regret the decisions she’s making?
“You need to treat Eden not with suspicion but with trust,” Zhanna answers my unspoken thoughts. “And trust that she will lead you to a future you will be proud of.”
Trust her heart, her intentions, and her love. I repeat it to myself like a mantra, attempting to quiet my doubts and fears.
Suddenly,the cultured atmosphere is shattered as a commotion erupts from across the room. My attention snaps to the source, and I see Pavel grappling with a man in an ill-fitting suit—Luigi Bianchi. A murmur rises among the attendees, and their curious gazes lock on the escalating struggle.
In two strides, I’m standing beside them. “Enough!” I hiss, aware of the tense scrutiny. “Not here.”
Immediately, Pavel listens, and the manhandling stops, but he stands close and ready.
The cocky grin plastered on Bianchi’s face betrays his lack of fear in a public place, despite being surrounded by discreetly well-armed Bratva elites. I sneak a gaze at his fingers, still wrapped in bandages, and savage pride surges through me.
“Bianchi.” My teeth clench as I struggle to maintain composure in front of these influential figures. “I thought you would be wise enough to avoid meeting me again.”
“AndIsaid the next time I saw you,” he smirks, “I’d gut you. But unfortunately, my boss wants me to deliver a message for you.”
“So much for you being nobody’s messenger boy.” It’s my turn to smirk.
“Careful, Starukhin. Your wedding is approaching.” Bianchi’s expression darkens and he points a bandaged finger at me. His shifty eyes dart to Eden, who maintains a stoic expression, and I step to block her from his view.
“What do you want?” I ask, my voice barely more than a growl.
“Such a shame not everyone has been invited,” Bianchi replies casually. “Vito Genovesi would like to see his niece. Did our invites get lost in the mail?”
“If it’s war he wants,” I choose my words carefully but clearly, “then he can come tell me himself.”
Bianchi slowly reaches into his pocket and pulls out a phone. “For you,” he says with a sinister grin. “You never know when you’ll need to make a call … or take one.”
I refuse to touch it, and I’m about to tell Pavel to throw him out, but Eden takes a step toward Bianchi. Her hand is outstretched as she waits for him to place the phone in her palm.
Luigi hands her the phone with a slight bow, showing her respect he would never show to me. “If you decide to invite your other family to your nuptials, Ms. Budanov.”
Eden keeps her gaze on Bianchi as she speaks. “Anton, please escort …”
“Luigi Bianchi,” he presses his hand to his chest as he answers her questioning gaze.
“Please escort Mr. Bianchi to the door.” Eden smiles. “You don’t have to leave, but I would prefer you not stand near us. Tonight, I’m spending time with my fiancé’s family.”
“Of course, Ms. Budanov.” Bianchi doesn’t resist when Anton places a large hand on his shoulder. “And best of luck to you, Starukhin. You’re going to need it.”
I clench my fist, but Eden steps in front of me. On her tiptoe, she kisses my chin while slipping the phone into my pocket. I want to kiss her for what she’s done. A smug smile passes over my face as I take pride in how she so effortlessly handled this situation. As Bianchi is escorted away, Eden floats aside to admire another piece of art.
I return to Zhanna and sit down. “I need a meeting,” I say, leaning close to her ear. “One that I requested but never received after the first gallery bombing.”
“Of course, Kolya,” she responds, her eyes narrowing with interest. “With Popov? So, there’s no mistake?”
“Da.” I nod. “Sorokin and Chuikov too. There are things I have to discuss with them. And there’s already enough blood in the water.”
“I understand, Kolya.” Zhanna nods slowly. “I will make it happen. Before the wedding and the baby.”
“She told you.”
“Of course she did.” Zhanna nods. “Eden is a link to the past, not only hers but yours.”
“A riddle again,” I reply, my voice low and hard.
