The four of us — Gustav, Micha, Dimitri, and me — move through a city in a bulletproof SUV, then through a private airfield, then into a small rattling prop plane that fights every gust of winter wind. I sit by the window clutching my seat, the world blurring into a sheet of gray and ice.
Gustav doesn’t speak to me.
Not once.
He sits across the aisle, broad shoulders tense, gaze fixed somewhere in the middle distance. The cold coming off him is worse than the Russian winter outside.
I don’t know how to feel about him after what I saw at the castle. My father tortured people too. I grew up around whispersand warnings. But I never saw it. I never smelled a torture room or watched a man die because I lit a bomb.
Was that normal or too far? Gustav might be something worse than I imagined.
I don’t know.
And the silence doesn’t help.
Finally, we descend toward a valley where St. Andrews waits.
From above, it looks like a monastery carved out of stone. Beautiful arches, towers, snow-dusted rooftops. It looks peaceful.
Gosh, this feels weird. So much has changed in just a day. I’m living in a fever dream or a dark fairytale.
When we land, the cold hits like a slap. We walk through the gates into a courtyard where Keira stands.
It’s a surprise to see her and instantly lessens tension in my shoulders. Her smile is warm, soft, exactly what I need after hours of Gustav’s icy indifference.
“You made it,” she says, looping an arm through mine. She smells like tea and roses.
Behind her, Petyr, her husband, greets the men. They immediately begin speaking Russian. I only pick up on the words Morozovs, killing, and Vlad. Gustav doesn’t want to talk about it. I see the tightness in his jaw, the twitch of his fingers.
But he goes with them anyway without a word for me. No goodbye. No see you later. Not even a glance. Much colder than last time.
Just walks away.
I stare after him, stunned.
Keira laughs under her breath. “He isreallyangry with you.”
“How do you know that?”
“It’s the way he walked off. Shoulders stiff. His arms tense. He only does that when he is trying to avoid an emotion. Very Russian.”
“Oh, he’s emotional.” I assure. “Gustav is a volcano of emotion.”
She chuckles. “Wonderful. You are already learning him. Be sure to only tell a select few. Like me. Everyone will want to know about him. Being a boss’ wife is difficult. You can never trust people. They’ll use you to get close to him.”
I nod, but my instincts twist my stomach. She’s been watching Gustav closely if she knows when he’s upset. Her husband is next in line to be boss since the Sokolov’s have no other heirs. Maybe she is trying to get closer to my husband through me.
I don’t need another problem at the moment, so I shelf my doubts for now.
Luckily, lunch with Keira makes things easier.
She explains traditions. History. What St. Andrews is, a place where bratva men and women learn rules, conflict management, and the politics of a world behind locked doors. College for mobsters.
To my surprise, she even tells me about Gustav’s past flings in a gentle, neutral way. They never lasted. He scared some. He confused others. Some left without asking, but he didn’t stop them.
Jealousy gnaws in my gut, but I don’t show it. I can’t help it. I figured he wasn’t a virgin, but I guess I don’t want to know about past women.
“He is unpredictable,” Keira says softly. “Not cruel for cruelty’s sake, but... untamed. A typical Russian mobster but with extra edges. As I advised earlier, you must learn when to approach and when to give him space.”
