“Uncle Kirill?” Kira calls out as she enters the room. “Are you alright?”
I lift my heavy head, a smile tugging at my lips at the sight of my niece.
“Just a long night, that’s all,” I lie. “Where’s your boyfriend? He usually follows you like a shadow wherever you go.”
Frankie’s cheeks turn pink as she sits beside me. “He went to see Stella before breakfast.”
“Of course.” I nod, even as the sound of her name feels like salt sprinkled over the wound she left last night.
“Before I left them, I heard Dr. Sokolov tell Stella that he thinks she’ll be up and about any day now. And that’s all thanks to you,” she beams. “Is it really true you went to medical school?”
It takes me a minute to remember where she got that idea. Then I recall our conversation on the plane. I must’ve said something along those lines, explaining how I knew how to retrieve a bullet.
I doubt Frankie would find comfort knowing the closest thing I have to medical training was watching Dr. Sokolov work as he patched up my brothers during the coup d’état our family pulled on Vasily’s throne and the brutal war that followed. I learned fast and did whatever Dr. Sokolov taught me, my small contribution to tearing down the oldBratvaorder and putting Misha on the throne.
“So… how are you liking Russia so far?” I ask, needing to deflect that loaded question.
“Honestly? This is a dream come true,” she says in earnest, and my heart breaks a little at how eager she is to be a part of this family.
“Even after learning that we Petrovs are—”
“Bratva?” she finishes for me, the light in her smile dimming somewhat. “I have to admit it was a little hard to come to terms with. I was already having trouble wrapping my head aroundLucky and his family being part of the mob, and now, here I am,Bratvaroyalty. It’s going to take me a hot minute to process all this new information.”
“Completely understandable. You’ve lived a sheltered life before we came into it. I’m sure I speak for all my brothers when I say all we want is your happiness, Ki… I mean, Frankie.”
“It’s okay, Uncle Kirill. You can call me Kira. I don’t mind it. It was the name my mother gave me, so it would be unkind on my part not to give it the respect it deserves.”
Blyad.It’s like I’m talking to Katya.
“Thank you,” I tell her quietly. “That means the world to us. Katya would have been so proud of the woman you’ve become.”
“You really think so?” she asks nervously, playing with the ends of her long hair.
“I know so. Has Misha shown you her pictures?”
“I saw the one in the library. Are there any more?”
“Come with me,” I say, holding out my arm for her to take. Her eyes sparkle with excitement as she quickly slips her hand into the crook of my elbow, letting me lead her back to the library where Misha first told her she was a Petrov.
“Take a seat,” I tell her, smiling genuinely as I search the shelves for the small family album we kept.
Once I find it, I sit beside her and open it, flipping through each page filled with memories of days long gone, memories of who we used to be.
“We didn’t have much back then,” I explain. “So we didn’t always have the possibility of getting our picture taken. But one day, Sasha saw some distracted tourists and, well… got their Polaroid camera from them.”
“You mean Uncle Sasha stole it,” she teases. “You can say it, Uncle Kirill. By now, I’m aware that stealing is the lesser sin our family commits.”
That troubles me more than she knows.
“We didn’t have a choice, you know. Not really,” I try to explain.
“How so?”
“I’m not sure what Misha told you.” I hesitate, not wanting to piss off my brother by saying too much.
“He told me a little. Showed me my mother’s letters to him. But it’s not enough. I want to know everything about her. Everything about my family. About you and my uncles.”
“Very well.” I inhale slowly and settle back into the couch, pointing to the photographs from back when we had nothing, yet somehow, had more than most.
