I don’t have time to answer Kostya’s loaded question since that’s when we hear something crash against the kitchen floor. We both turn around to find Kira frozen in the doorway, pale as a ghost, the shattered remains of a lemonade pitcher scattered at her feet.
“I…I’m…sorry,” she murmurs softly. “It just slipped.”
Kostya forces a smile and hurries for the broom. “No worries, Frankie. Here, let me get this cleaned up for you. There’s a fresh batch of lemonade in the fridge.”
Kira keeps her eyes down as she moves to the refrigerator, her hands trembling as she pulls out the pitcher.
“Are you okay,plemyannitsa?” I ask, my brow lifting.
“Yes, I’m fine, Uncle,” she says with a fragile smile that never quite reaches her eyes.
I wonder how long Kira had been standing there listening to Kostya and me. Had she heard about my plan to go to San Francisco?
Hmm.
No matter. By this time tomorrow, the news will be out anyway. After I talk to Misha, I’m sure he’ll announce it over dinner.
But I still have today.
And today, I intend to get drunk and pretend that I’m not about to sign my life away to the Triad in the morning.
Today, I can still pretend my home is in Chicago.
With her.
With my Stella.
“You look uncharacteristically sober this morning,” Misha observes sarcastically once I’ve stepped into his office.
It’s true. I haven’t had a drop to drink, knowing he’d only take me seriously if I was a hundred percent present and sober.
“May we talk,Pakhan?”
That’s all it takes for my brother’s features to harden. The boss replaces the brother in an instant.
“Sit,” he orders, nodding toward the chair in front of his desk.
I obey, lowering myself into the seat, my expression deadly serious.
“What is it that you want, Kirill?” he asks, annoyance clear in his voice.
That’s on me. I haven’t exactly given him many reasons to be patient or even happy with me these past months. But hopefully after this talk, I’ll fall back on his good graces.
“I’m here to tell you I’ve thought long and hard about your proposition.”
“And what proposition is that?” he counters, leaning back and lacing his fingers together just beneath his chin.
“My arranged marriage to the Triad girl.”
My brother doesn’t move a muscle. When he remains silent, I continue.
“I will accept it. I’ll marry Wei Sun’s granddaughter.”
“Funny,” he says coolly, not a hint of amusement in his expression. “As I recall, I made no such proposition. It was an order.”
I swallow. “Yes. And I’m here to tell you that I’ll fully comply with it and any other order you give me.”
He studies me in silence for a long, brutal moment before speaking again.
