Dmitri
Mireille is humming softly beside me as I drive, her hands folded neatly in her lap. She’s nervous. I can tell by the way she keeps touching the moon-shaped necklace I gifted her two days ago when she came over for dinner, her fingertips tracing the tiny diamond like it’s a talisman.
If she knew who I really was, she wouldn’t be sitting here. If she knew why I’d sought her out in the first place, she’d hate me.
But she doesn’t. Not yet.
And God help me, I can’t seem to let her go long enough to make things right.
“This place is beautiful,” she says as the gates of Alexei’s estate come into view. The mansion is lit softly from within, the long driveway lined with lamps that throw golden light across the ground. “You said your brother lives here?”
“Alexei, yes.” My voice comes out quieter than I intended.
“And he’s…older?”
I smile faintly. “Older, intimidating, and hard to read.”
“Sounds like someone else I know,” she teases, glancing at me sideways.
I chuckle. “I’ve been told we’re similar.”
She studies me, searching my face the way she analyzes a chessboard, like she's looking for the pattern beneath the surface. “I want your brothers to like me,” she says after a moment.
“They will,” I say, and I mean it. “You don’t need to worry.”
She doesn’t realize that I’m the one who’s worried.
Because I want her to be accepted by my family, even though she’ll never truly belong to this world. Because she’s the one good thing in a life that’s built entirely on danger and secrecy.
When we pull up in front of the house, Sergei is waiting and opens the door before I can reach for the handle. His expression is neutral as always, his posture straight, the bratva tattoos along his neck disappearing beneath his collar.
“Boss is expecting you,” he says, stepping back. His gaze flicks to Mireille briefly, assessing but not interested. She shifts slightly closer to me, tensing uneasily.
“This is Sergei,” I tell her as we step inside. “He’s Alexei’s right hand. And sometimes assistant.”
She offers him a polite smile, but I feel the tension in her hand where it rests on my arm. “Nice to meet you.”
Sergei only nods before turning toward Alexei’s office. “Your brother’s in the parlor.”
I guide her through the hall, my palm resting lightly against her lower back. When we reach the parlor, Alexei rises from his chair.
“Brother,” he greets me, his voice even. He’s dressed in a charcoal suit, the same cold precision in his movements that’s always been there. When his gaze shifts to Mireille, something in his expression softens almost imperceptibly—a warmth he reserves for the people under his protection. “You must be Mireille.”
“Yes,” she says, smiling nervously. “It’s nice to meet you.”
Alexei's wife, Anya, steps forward with a warm smile. “Dmitri’s told us so much about you. You’re just as pretty as he said.”
Mireille flushes. “Thank you. Your home is lovely.”
“Please, sit,” Anya says, ushering her toward the sofa. “Viktor, stop staring and pour the wine.”
Viktor grins and does as he’s told, letting our petite sister-in-law order him around in a way he doesn’t even allow Alexei. It’s a testament to how much we’ve all come to adore her—she’s brought a lightness to this family that we didn’t know we were missing. His dark hair falls into his eyes as he bends over a set of wine glasses. “So this is the mysterious Mireille.” He hands her a glass and clinks his against mine. “Good to finally meet the woman who’s kept our resident chess master so busy.”
“Viktor,” I warn, half under my breath.
He smirks. “What? I’m being friendly.”
Mireille laughs nervously, glancing at me as if checking whether I’m annoyed. I’m not. Not exactly. But Viktor doesn’t know when to quit, and the last thing I want is for him to make her feel like an outsider.
