“You sound just like your papa when you do that. Same scowl, same growl.” Her eyes soften. “But you have your mama’s heart. She would be proud—”
“Enough, Tyo-tyaGalina!” Leonid drops his head into his hands, and holy shit, is that a blush creeping up his neck?
The word cracks like a whip. I flinch, but Galina doesn’t even blink. She just gives him a look that somehow manages to be both loving and deeply unimpressed.
WHACK.
My jaw drops as Galina’s hand connects with the back of Leonid’s head.
“You use that Bratva tone with me, I tell everyone about the time you cried because Ivan’s cat wouldn’t let you pet her.”
Leonid’s eyes go wide. Actually wide. I press my lips together so hard they might bruise, but a snort escapes anyway. His head snaps toward me, those dark brown eyes promising delicious murder, but Galina’s already running her fingers through his hair, smoothing down the spot she just smacked.
“Sorry, Tyo-tya,” he mutters. I clamp my hand over my mouth, fingernails digging into my cheek.
Stop finding this endearing,Clara.Adorable mob bosses are definitely NOT a thing.
“Now, sit!”
The wooden chair scrapes against the floor as Leonid pulls it out. He exhales—long and heavy—before lowering himself beside me. His fingers rake through his hair, and he won’t look at me. The chess players have completely given up pretending to play their game.
“Stop it,” he mutters.
“Stop what?”
He turns his head slowly, his eyes meeting mine. His jaw clenches, unclenches. I press my lips together, fighting the laugh bubbling up my throat. My shoulders shake with the effort to keep it in as I blink at him, all innocence.
Sudden movement makes me stiffen—Galina’s behind me, her fingers working through my tangled mess of hair.
“And what is your name,dorogaya?”
I tilt my head back, meeting Galina’s eyes. Even upside down, I can see traces of what must have been a remarkable beauty in her younger days—those high cheekbones, the graceful arch of her brows, the way she carries herself like a queen, even in a simple apron.
“Clara.”
Her hands pause. Something flickers in her expression before she turns my face toward hers, studying me like I’m a puzzle she’s trying to solve.
“Clara,” she repeats, her fingers still in my hair. “Such a pretty name. Now tell me, what’s a nice girl like you doing with this troublemaker?”
I lean back in my chair, flicking a loose thread on Leonid’s oversized hoodie. “Oh, he kidnapped me and my son.”
The restaurant freezes. A woman’s spoon hovers halfway to her mouth, soup dripping back into her bowl. The chess players’ heads swivel toward our table in sync, like they’re watching a tennis match.
“She tried to poison me first,” Leonid cuts in, both hands now flat on the table. The muscle in his jaw ticks.
The woman’s soup spoon finally drops with a splash. The chess players lean forward so far they’re practically lying on their table. Even the steam from the samovar seems to pause, hanging in the air.
Well,” I fold my arms across my chest, “I thought hekilledmy brother.”
A fork hits a plate with a sharp ping, spinning once, twice, before rolling off the edge. It hits the floor in the dead silence, the clatter echoing off the walls. One of the chess players reaches for his water glass, misses completely, and knocks over his king instead.
The silence stretches for exactly three seconds before Galina throws her head back and laughs. Not a polite chuckle—a full-bodied, shoulder-shaking laugh that makes the chess pieces rattle.
When she finally stops, wiping her eyes, her gaze lands back on me, sharper now, cutting through the humor.
“And where is your husband, Clara? Do you have a—husband?”
“No…” I say with a shrug, my eyes drifting to the side. “He’s…dead.”
