“Stella,” Kirill whispers beside me, soft enough that his brother doesn’t hear it, but loud enough that I do.
My nostrils flare at how fucking submissive Kirill becomes the moment hisPakhanspeaks. Instead of calling Kirill out on it, my anger directs itself straight at Mikhail instead.
“Well? Are you going to answer me or not?”
“I would have assumed a clever girl like you already knew the answer to that question.” When my face twists in confusion, he clarifies. “As I told you earlier today, we Petrovs never forget to pay our debts. Your father came to my aid when he had no reason to. He could have easily let my enemies in Chicago continue conspiring against me, trying to overthrow my claimto the throne and erase my foothold in your city entirely. But instead, your father eradicated that threat, giving me enough time to learn who my real friends were and deal with the traitors in my own backyard.”
“That still doesn’t explain why—”
“Why Sasha has a bitter distaste for you and yours, even after your father proved he was willing to share his city with me, while I continued to reign asPakhanhere in Moscow?” Mikhail finishes for me. He wipes the corner of his mouth with a napkin, the gesture almost theatrical. “Well, answer me this. What kind of friend would I be to your father if I let my own brother take his firstborn son’s life?” Cold sweat trickles down my spine at how casually he asks it. “I have no intention of breaking the alliance with the Outfit,” Mikhail continues calmly. “Not while Vincent is stillCapo Dei Capi. And that means keeping Sasha on a tight leash where your brother Jude is concerned.”
“And his wife?” Lucky asks, just as captivated and horrified as I am.
Mikhail turns to Elena, squeezing her hand gently.
“Mina Crane is also safe from my brother’s wrath. Killing a man’s wife—the person he loves most in this world—is the same as killing the man himself, in my opinion. I would never wish that on even my worst enemy, let alone an ally.”
The way he looks at Elena—like she’s his queen, his entire world—finally eases the knot in my chest that his earlier words provoked.
Lucky, however, still looks enraged. Understandably so. Because in Mikhail’s neat little promise to keep Jude and Mina safe, he made no such vow about Victor Crane, or Mina’s charmingly evil twin cousins, Remus and Romulus. And since Remus is the closest thing Lucky’s ever had to a best friend outside of Enzo, I get why this rubs him the wrong way.
“You and my father have a harmonious understanding that allows you to conduct business in the same city,” I say, taking a page out of Mikhail’s book and keeping my tone calm and measured. “Is there no possibility of coming to a similar arrangement with the Cranes?”
“Sasha would never allow that,” Kirill answers for him.
“And why not?”
Kirill thins his lips, and when I turn to Mikhail, I understand why. There is an arctic frost to thePakhan’sstare that makes it very clear Kirill has already said too much.
“I’ve never liked discussing business at the dinner table,” Elena cuts in quickly when she notices her husband burning holes into Kirill’s skull with his icepick of a stare. “How about we talk about the upcoming festivities instead? Christmas is less than a week away, and we would love to have you all here, if you’re willing.”
Mikhail offers her a soft smile, but nothing more, letting her ramble on about everything she has planned for the occasion.
Neither Lucky nor I says a word, because there is no way we could possibly stay in Russia for the holidays. My family would lose their minds at the idea.
From the way Mikhail’s cold gaze shifts to me instead of Kirill, I have a feeling Elena’s invitation doesn’t have his support either.
No. Mikhail might play the gracious host to our faces, but he wants us gone. And by us, I mean Lucky and me.
Frankie might not have a choice either way.
Once dinner is finished, we’re all left to our own devices. Which is a good thing, since polite small talk bores the hell out of me. Especially when it’s forced.
“Would you like to go for a moonlight walk?” Kirill asks, threading his fingers through mine, the second no one is in sight.
“I don’t know,” I jerk my hand away from his. “Are you sure it’s safe to even be seen with me?”
Kirill’s shoulders slump as he drags a tattooed hand over his face. “Don’t be like that,milaya.”
“Be like what?”
“You know damn well like what,” he groans, crossing his arms over his chest.
“No, I don’t. Why don’t you enlighten me?”
“Why do you always feel the need to pick a fight with me? We were having such a nice evening.”
“Were we?” I lift a stupefied brow. “Did we even attend the same dinner? Because that’s not how I remember it going down.”
