My chest tightens. This is what family means in our world. Not just blood and business, but showing up. Closing ranks. Supporting each other even in endeavors we might not understand or value.
Aurora’s art isn’t just hers anymore.
A young couple pauses to inspect a small piece made of broken mirror fragments arranged in concentric circles. The woman leans forward, entranced by how the jagged edges catch and reflect the light from different angles. When she does, her fractured reflection changes the whole vibe of the piece. The man checks the small card beside it before whispering to his companion. She squeezes his arm and nods. A gallery assistant appears with a notepad in hand.
Another sale. From the interest I’ve observed tonight, it certainly won’t be the last.
Aurora strolls toward them, her hands clasped behind her back. Her smile is genuine when she introduces herself. As the starstruck couple asks questions, her eyes light up. She gestures as she speaks, hands painting invisible pictures in the air.
I drain my drink and set the empty flute on a passing tray. The urge to cross the room, to take my place by her side and claim her publicly, is overwhelming.
But this moment belongs to her. I won’t overshadow it with my presence or darkness. I won’t risk scaring away potential buyers with the menacing aura I can never fully mask.
Besides, if I allow myself to venture too close to her right now, I might act recklessly and bend her over one of these pretentious white pedestals and fuck her in front of everyone. Show them who she belongs to.
Later. After the show. After she’s enjoyed her success.
I twist the band around my ring finger. What exactly did they put in that wedding cake?
We made love right before leaving the loft, yet I’d give my right testicle to find some empty room and immediately fuck her senseless. Three hours feels like three weeks.
As soon as we get home, I’ll peel that dress from her body. Mark every inch of her skin with my mouth, my hands, my cock.Remind her that she’s mine. Or maybe I’ll fuck her in the car after?—
“She’s doing well.” Roman materializes beside me, glass in hand, looking every inch the powerful Pakhan in his charcoal gray custom suit. I didn’t even hear him approach. A damning testament to my distraction level.
To casual observers, we might appear to be sharing a pleasant conversation. To me, the tight line of his jaw and cold fury in his eyes suggests otherwise.
He sips his drink while nonchalantly scanning the room. “Walk with me.”
Not a request.
I follow him to a quiet corner of the gallery, away from the crowds and noise. My uncle’s silence is more threatening than any shouted accusation.
No one comes near us.
When we stop, he pivots to face me, putting his back to the wall so he can retain a full view of the room. Always strategic, even in anger. “I’ll ask you this once, and I want a straight answer. Did you visit the Rezniks to ask about MJ?”
The question comes completely out of left field. I control my expression, but my mind spins. Who talked? I went alone and thought I covered my tracks.
“Yes.” No point in lying. Not to my uncle. The man watched me grow up and recognizes all my tells.
His eyes flash with rage. “You disobeyed a direct order. I told you to leave it alone. MJ’s death was ruled a suicide. End of fucking story.”
“It wasn’t a suicide.” The denial emerges before I can prevent it. “You know it wasn’t.”
“What I know,” Roman inches closer, “is that you’ve put everything at risk. The Rezniks are furious about your disrespect and might be planning a harsh rebuttal.”
My collar is suddenly a little too tight, the room too warm.
Der’mo.
Chapter 46
Aurora
My third piece sells while I’m explaining my process to an elderly couple wearing matching tweed. The gallery assistant catches my eye through the crowd and flashes three fingers with a smile.
Three sales. Three of my creations are heading to new homes.
