The food is traditional Russian, dishes Roman ordered specifically for Katya's arrival. Borscht, pelmeni, black bread with butter. But Katya barely touches her plate, her blue eyes fixed on her brother with barely concealed frustration.
"I didn't want to come here," she says suddenly, her accented English sharp with irritation. "You forced me to leave my home, my students, my life. Everything I've built in Moscow."
Roman's jaw tightens, but his voice remains patient. "I explained why it was necessary."
"So you uproot my entire existence?" Katya's voice rises slightly. "Roman, I had an exhibition scheduled next month. Childrendepending on me for their art classes. A life that was mine, not defined by your world."
"A life that would have gotten you killed." Lev's voice cuts through the tension, clinical and cold. "Abram Yakovlev doesn't make idle threats. He's brutal,sestrichka. He targets family members to gain leverage. If he'd taken you, used you against Roman…" He doesn't finish the sentence, but the implication hangs heavily in the air.
Katya's face pales slightly, but her frustration doesn't entirely fade. "I understand the danger. But I'm not a child, Roman. I deserved to be part of the decision about my own life."
"There was no decision to make." Roman's voice drops to that low register that makes most people step back. "Your safety isn't negotiable."
I watch this exchange, seeing the love beneath their argument, the fear driving Roman's control. Across the table, I catch Irina watching me with an expression that makes my skin prickle. When Roman and Lev are focused on Katya, Irina's beautiful face twists with something venomous, her green eyes boring into me with pure hatred. But the moment Roman glances her way, the mask snaps back into place—polished, perfect, revealing nothing.
It's the second time I've been alone with Irina, and her hostility is unmistakable. But I still can't understand its source. What have I done to earn such hatred?
Katya seems to sense the tension because she deliberately shifts the conversation. "At least I'm here in time for the wedding." Her face brightens with genuine happiness, the earlierfrustration melting away. "My brother is finally getting married. I never thought I'd see the day."
"Neither did I," Roman admits, his blue eyes finding mine across the table. The heat in his gaze makes my breath catch.
An idea forms, spontaneous and genuine. "Katya, would you be one of my bridesmaids? Megan is my maid of honor, but I'd love to have you stand with us tomorrow."
Katya's face transforms with delight. "Really? You want me in your wedding party?"
"Of course." I reach over and squeeze her hand. "You're going to be my sister. I can't imagine getting married without you there."
"Yes!" Katya's enthusiasm is infectious, her earlier anger completely forgotten. "Yes, I'd be honored.Bozhe moy, I need to see the dress, we need to coordinate?—"
But I don't miss Irina's expression. For just a moment, before she can mask it, fury flashes across her beautiful features. Her hands clench on her wine glass hard enough that her knuckles go white, and her green eyes fix on me with such hatred that my stomach clenches with unease.
Then the mask slides back into place, and she's smiling that tight, polished smile. "How lovely," she says, her voice perfectly modulated. "A family affair."
The rest of dinner passes in forced normalcy. Alexei and Katya bond over their shared love of creating things—his engineering, her art. Roman watches his sister with visible relief, the tension in his shoulders finally easing. But I can't shake the feeling of Irina's eyes on me, the weight of her hatred pressing against my skin.
Lev and Irina leave shortly after dinner, and Roman retreats to his study for calls with Moscow. The delegates are arriving soon to observe him, to judge whether he's fit to remain Pakhan. The pressure is crushing him, I can see it in the set of his jaw and the way his hands curl into fists when he thinks no one's watching.
I'm in the sitting room reviewing final wedding details when Katya finds me. She settles onto the couch beside me, tucking her legs beneath her in a gesture that reminds me of myself. For a moment, we sit in comfortable silence, and I feel the beginning of real friendship forming between us.
"Thank you," Katya says quietly. "For asking me to be in your wedding. It means more than you know."
"I meant it."
Katya's blue eyes study my face with uncomfortable intensity. "Can I ask you something? About Irina?"
My stomach tightens. "Of course."
"How long have you known her?"
"Not long. We've only really met twice. Why?"
Katya's expression becomes serious, almost worried. "Be careful with her, Eva. I've seen that look before—jealousy mixed with desperation. Women like that are dangerous when they feel threatened."
The words send ice through my veins. "Threatened by what? I barely know her. I haven't done anything?—"
"You don't have to do anything." Katya's hand covers mine, her touch gentle but urgent. "You exist. You're marrying Roman.You're carrying his heir. That's enough to make you a target for someone who wants what you have."
"But she's with Lev. She's been with him for years."
