“The fuck?” one of the men says.
He’s considerably younger than the other one. He has the same hair as Iosif, thick and black as night. The other one has his hair buzzed short and surprisingly dainty features. He has the same volatile gray eyes that were holding me in place a moment prior.
Pressed close to him, I feel Iosif suck in a harsh breath. Then, all at once, he pivots. “Seriously?” is all he says, flat and wry.
“You weren’t answering the phone,” Buzzcut says, just as matter-of-fact.
His voice sounds inexplicably familiar.
“Yeah, bro,” the young one chimes in. “Zakharov could’ve bust a cap in your ass!”
Seemingly against his will, Iosif barks a laugh. Any presence of tension seeps out of his body all at once. “Clearly not, Miron—” He rolls his eyes. “—I was just otherwise occupied.”
Buzzcut stares at us frankly, shamelessly amused. “We can see that. I guess I’d better take back all my previous concerns. Looks like you’re doing just fine.”
“Told you,” Iosif says, puffing his chest out proudly.
Peeved at the sight of his smugness, I stomp on his foot. Forgetting I’m barefoot until he is grinning down at me. It makes my stomach flip. I can’t decide which one of us I’m more annoyed at.
It’s more a stage whisper than anything when Miron nudges Buzzcut and hisses, “But he never brings themhomewith him!”
Whatever Buzzcut says back, I can’t hear. Or decide whether it is a fortunate thing, or not, that he can be subtle.
I pray for the ground to open up and swallow me whole.
No such luck.
Miron clears his throat theatrically. “Wanna introduce us to the lady?”
Iosif looks down at me, pensive and bright-eyed. I see the moment he decides. I don’t, however, know what that decision is.
At least not until he announces, “Janella, this is Leonid and Miron. My brothers.” His arm ensnares my waist, turning me with him when he turns back to them. “Leo. Mir. This is Janella. My wife.”
Everyone except Iosif himself does a double-take.
What the hell iswrongwith him?!
“Your what now?” Leonid sputters. “That’s an awful joke.”
Miron’s eyes have gone very, very wide.
“My. Wife,” Iosif enunciates. “I told you it was complicated.”
I think I might start hyperventilating.
Iosif is unfazed, unwilling to blink twice. It’s as if he’s daring his brothers to question it.
Leonid’s eyes narrow the same way I’ve seen Iosif’s do.
He asks, “Why?”
“To protect her,” Iosif answers without missing a beat. “You know Driscoll?”
Miron nods gamely. “Dude with the fight club, yeah.”
My lips part, instinctively about to argue that it isn’t technically what it is. But I shut my mouth as fast as it had opened. What’s the point? It doesn’t matter.
“The Pit. Yeah, well, his daughter was getting used for target practice. For a fee. Then offered as a prize to the winner.” Iosif sums up one of the worst nights of my life succinctly, coldly.
