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“Words are cheap,” Sorokin sneers, placing his fork down.
“I agree. Your passion is commendable, Eden Zakharovna,” Popov says, his voice measured but not unkind. “But actions always speak louder than words. You’ll have to prove yourself if you want our trust.”
Today, I wore a modest suit, imitating the style of suit the men wear except with a skirt. Standing, I shrug off the jacket and undo the buttons on the lower half of my silk blouse, pulling the fabric away to expose the scar at my side.
“Is this not proof enough? I’ve bled for my husband. For this Bratva. What more do you require of me?” The room is silent, and this is my moment. “I will do whatever it takes to bringabout change and secure a lasting future. A dialogue between me and my family is not an indication of deceit. If there can be a truce, I will seek it. We all have better things to do than fighting over a patch of desolate land in New Jersey.”
“That patch of land brings in a billion each year,” replies Dmitri, smirking. “I wish you luck, but this is a hard hill to climb. And its slopes are littered with corpses.”
“My son will be a pakhan one day.” I meet their eyes, one by one, willing them to see the sincerity in my words. “If I cannot end this war, he will.”
“Very well,” Popov concedes, nodding his approval. “But remember, we will be watching closely. Do not give us reason to doubt you.”
Nikolai places his hand over mine as I sit down. “We understand,” he replies. “Eden has already proven her loyalty to me. I support her desire to seek a truce instead of more bloodshed. I’d rather break bread with my in-laws, not their heads.”
“And are you prepared to put asideyourpersonal feud?” Popov asks. “Because if I recall, you swore a vow, Nikolai Gennadyevich, to avenge your brother. If your lovely wife secures a peace, will you break that vow?”
Nikolai takes his hand away, and my hand feels cold. “I’m not opposed to the other solution if they refuse our generous terms.”
“Very well, Nikolai Gennadyevich,” Popov concedes. “We will remain neutral in your feud. But remember, should you fail to defend our mutual interests, then we will be forced to act. These are our terms. Are they acceptable?”
Nikolai’s voice is low and resolute. “They are.”
The meal continues with no mention of business, and I’m given a glimpse into what pakhans talk about in private. I listen intently to the stories and the gossip, learning more about people I don’t know but who interest me. They share stories of escapades from years past, and slowly, I feel a longing to be connected to the Bratva. I want to belong here more than ever.
“If you will excuse me.” I stand and look toward the door. The hint is taken, and I’m escorted by a guard down the hallway to a bathroom so comfortable I could add a television and move in.
When I return to the hallway, I don’t immediately enter the dining room. I take a breath, lean against the wall, and stare at a massive canvas ofSt. George and the Dragon. Judging from the style, it has to be from the early Renaissance. The gold frame alone is worth as much as the property the mansion sits on. But before I can move away, the door opens, and Sorokin walks out. I compose myself quickly.
“Impressive, isn’t it?” he comments on his acquisition, the way a father would take pride in an offspring.
I nod politely. “Raphael,” I state rather than ask.
His gaze lands on me. “Yes. Few people know that.”
“I studied art history,” I smile smugly. “I met Nikolai as I was about to begin my studies abroad.”
He grins at my lie, not showing whether he agrees with it or simply chooses to tolerate it. “Would you like to see the rest of my collection?”
“I would,” I speak with sincerity that he recognizes. “If it’s no trouble.”
“Then come with me, Eden Zakharovna.” His personality changes completely when he smiles. And I can tell this side of him is rarely seen, as his guards watch intently.
Nikolai enters the hallway, hearing Sorokin’s offer. “That is kind of you, but Eden should rest first.”
Sorokin notes my hand resting on my stomach and nods in understanding. The maid shows Nikolai and me to a private room that looks out onto the estate through large windows.
“There’s a vineyard here?” I ask.
“A private one.” Nikolai nods. “Rest a little. They want to talk business, and later, we’ll take a tour.” He pulls me into his arms and kisses me softly. Suddenly, I’m not tired anymore, but he insists I need to rest for the baby.
Stopping at the door, Nikolai turns before leaving and gives me a killer sexy wink. “You were right. Youdohave a gift for charming, dangerous men.”
10
NIKOLAI
The sweet scentof grapes fills the air, mingling with the earthy aroma of the soil as we walk through Sorokin’s vineyard. Lush rows of grapevines stretch out beside the castle, occupying acres of land that sweep into the distance. The deep green leaves rustle from the constant breeze off the Atlantic Ocean, creating a multisensory solitude.
