His brothers don’t even need him to finish the story.
Leonid chimes in, “So you won and brought her home,” like it makes all the sense in the world.
Iosif sighs with relief. He’s quick to add, “Driscoll’s nothing to worry about for us. He’s a small fish. And no big fish would go near him, because he’s fucking wasted most of the time. I threw a couple of grand at the fucker, and he was thrilled to let her go.”
Great. So, they’re all nuts. Wonderful.
“Huh,” Leonid says. His gaze homes in on me. I can’t move, frozen. “Congratulations. She’s beautiful. Why don’t you come home for dinner? Everyone misses you.” His smile sprawlsslowly, dangerously. “And I know they’ll be delighted to meetyou.”
***
This time, I do change before being whisked off to dinner. Miron may be rocking a pair of jeans and a beat-up leather jacket, but both Iosif and Leonid are wearing suits. It’s a shot in the dark, but I’m guessing the emerald green dress from the other night will not be out of place at this impromptu dinner.
Besides, where else would I wear something that fancy? It would be a damn shame to waste it lying about in a golden cage.
And if a part of me—deep, deep down inside—enjoys how floored Iosif looks when I step out of my bedroom? Well, then that’s nobody’s business but my own.
My upper hand is short-lived.
All it takes is the span of a single drive. The sight of the Yuri mansion alone stuns me breathless. The hulking Georgian revival estate is a sight to behold. The mansion itself is enormous. But the real star of the show is the sprawling garden that surrounds it. I’ve never seen anything so grand in person.
“You grew up here?” I choke out.
“I did,” he says with a strained smile. “So did Leo, Miron, and my sisters, Nadya and Darya. Trifon and Val were born and raised, for the most part, in Moscow. Both of their wives are very American, though.”
It’s more information than I explicitly asked for. I don’t know why it catches me off guard, how forthcoming he can be, even if it is with his brothers in the SUV’s front seats. I should’ve known from how openly he explained our situation to his brothers that he’s close to his family.
“Are you nervous?”
“Never.”
I bump my shoulder into Iosif’s. “You may want to tell your face that.”
The look he shoots me feels significant. “I’m not nervous for myself,” he amends.
His words don’t exactly inspire self-confidence. I gulp, fingers knotting in my lap as the car comes to a standstill.
“I’m guessing you didn’t marry her because she can’t handle our world,” Leonid tosses over his shoulder, before he throws open the door and hops out of the car.
Miron turns around in the passenger seat and offers me a sweet, crooked grin. “You’ll be fine. We’re not all that bad. Just a lot in numbers.”
“Understatement,” Iosif quips. “There’s saying seven people at the table, and then there’s hearing them all talk at the same time.”
The idea of seven people at a dinner table doesn’t frighten me. My father has hosted too many poker games in our house. No matter my discomfort, I do know how to conduct myself around a room full of characters, no matter how unsavory. Iosif can’t have forgotten how we met.
I don’t say any of that.
Instead, I force a smile back at the youngest Yuri man and say, “Thank you. I’ll keep that in mind, Miron.”
Leonid is the one who opens my door for me. Iosif exhales and throws open his own door and gets out of the car, reaching over my lap and squeezing my bundled hands before he does. It’s a reassurance I don’t know how to process.
I don’t know how to process any of this.
Not how Leonid so gallantly offers me an arm, giving me respect no man ever has. How Iosif flanks me on the other side, his palm finding the small of my back when he walks me through the front door in Miron’s quick-footed wake.
And definitely not what awaits me inside.
The outer grandeur of the Yuri estate pales in comparison with the ornate trappings inside it. I don’t realize I was expecting a suit of armor displayed in the corner until we’re inside—and the décor is luxurious, yes, but also very classic. The walls aren’t lined with portraits of ancestors. There are different eras of art in cohesive palettes. There are fresh-cut flowers in vases.
