“Actually, Uncle Misha and I were talking about that earlier today. I’d like to be called Kira by my family, in honor of my mother, but once I go home… I mean,ifI ever go home—”
“What do you meanever?” Lucky cuts in, immediately tense. He doesn’t like where her head is going.
“What Kira is trying to say,” Mikhail interjects smoothly, “is that it will be safer if the outside world continues to know her as Frankie O’Malley, and nothing else.”
I’m not at all surprised when no one asks any follow-up questions to his statement. Everyone seated at the table understands why thePakhanwould prefer his niece never legally take the Petrov name. Keeping her identity as it is gives her anonymity and protects her from his enemies. It’s smart. Even if Frankie doesn’t yet grasp the real danger that comes with being a Petrov.
“I’m so glad you’re feeling better,” Elena interrupts, pinning her attention on me, deciding it best to drop the subject of Frankie’s name entirely in case my brother says something else that will get him in hot water with his girlfriend. Or worse, with her husband. “Kirill was beside himself with worry.”
“Yes, he was,” Sasha adds pointedly, clearly not thrilled about Kirill’s concern for me. “It does make you question where all this sudden interest really comes from.”
“Oh, I don’t know, Sasha, maybe because he didn’t want us going to war with the Outfit if she died,” Kostya shoots back, every word dripping with sarcasm. All that’s missing is theduhat the end.
“I’m sorry, did I ask for your opinion? If I wanted insight from the peanut gallery, I’d ask for it.”
Kostya just flips him off, with both hands.
“Boys, we have guests. Manners,” Elena says, and both men immediately shrink into their seats.
I give Elena a grateful smile, and she answers with a friendly wink. Well, look at that. Maybe I’m not as outnumbered here as I thought. Not if I have her on my side.
We all return to our meal, and that’s when I feel Kirill lean in close, his breath brushing my ear as he whispers, “Is your family as dysfunctional as mine?” he jokes, placing his hand on my thigh and gently running it up and down.
“Show me a family that isn’t,” I retort, meeting his eyes and losing myself in their deep, dark pull, as if I were suddenly falling into midnight.
Oh, boy. Enough of that.
“I have a question,” Lucky blurts out, thankfully giving me a reason to put all my focus on him. “When did the two of you start color-coordinating?” He points at us, and my cheeks flame red at being called out in front of everyone.
“Have some more lamb, Luciano. You’re talking too much,” I seethe through a wide smile.
“I think black suits you both,” Frankie adds cheerfully, completely unaware that her sweet comment is not helping.
“I like it too,” Kirill mutters under his breath, his hand squeezing my thigh.
At that moment, Sasha clinks the silverware on his plate and tosses his napkin on top of his barely touched food. “Apologies, Elena. I’ve lost my appetite,” he says in English—for our sake, apparently—before rushing out of the room.
“My apologies for my brother-in-law. He’s a tad… temperamental,” Elena explains, obviously saddened by not being able to have one meal with her family without someone throwing a tantrum.
“God, I love you, Elena. You can just call him an asshole. We all know what Sasha is,” Kostya grins, biting into his lamb with renewed enthusiasm now that his brother is gone.
“Kostya,” Mikhail reprimands, though the scolding doesn’t quite reach his blue eyes.
“You know I’m right, Misha. That man has been all sorts of moody since Lucky and Stella arrived.”
I don’t miss how he conveniently leaves Frankie out of that equation.
“He has his reasons,” Mikhail states firmly.
“And those would be?” I ask, needing to know why Aleksandr is being so unwelcoming as a host.
The second Mikhail stares down the table in my direction, Kirill swiftly pulls his hand off my thigh, which only pisses me off more.
“How is your brother Jude enjoying living in London these days?” Mikhail asks casually. “I’ve heard he’s made a beautiful home there with his new wife.”
The quiet threat woven into his words has my hackles rising.
“What does my brother have to do with yours being a righteous prick?”
