The sound of measured footsteps interrupts our unexpected moment of solidarity. I turn to see two boys enter the kitchen—12-year-old twins with Konstantin’s sandy blond hair but strikingly different demeanors.
I recognize them from the wedding, of course—they stood stoically alongside their father during the ceremony, dressed in identical suits but wearing completely different expressions. We never actually spoke that day. Everything was such a blur, a whirlwind of legal documents and rushed vows. I’m not sure anyone properly introduced us.
Though identical in height and bone structure, everything about their presence is a study in contrasts. One walks with deliberate, measured steps, a thick book tucked under his arm, his gray-blue eyes observant and calculating. The other strides in with confident energy, his posture loose but alert, like an athlete ready to spring into action.
They both stop when they notice me, their expressions shifting from casual to guarded in perfect synchronicity.
“Nikolai. Lev.” Konstantin acknowledges them with a slight nod. “You remember Isabella.”
The quieter one—Nikolai—studies me with analytical precision, like he’s cataloging every detail for future reference. Lev’s assessment is more direct, a boldness in his gaze that reminds me instantly of his father.
“The new wife,” Lev says, not a question but a statement, crossing his arms.
Alya shoots him a warning look that would make corporate executives crumble.
I straighten my spine. “That’s right. You can call me Bella.” I add, “We didn’t really get a chance to talk at the wedding.”
“Not surprising,” Lev remarks with a shrug. “The whole thing lasted what, twenty minutes? Shortest wedding I’ve ever been to.”
“Lev.” Konstantin’s voice carries quiet warning.
Nikolai steps forward slightly, his movements careful and measured.
“Ignore him. He’s just being Lev.” His voice is softer than his twin’s but no less confident. “It’s nice to officially meet you, Isabella.”
“You too, Nikolai,” I reply, grateful for the momentary diplomacy.
Lev rolls his eyes. “Always the diplomat,Kolya.”
“Someone has to be,” Nikolai mutters, moving toward the refrigerator. He pulls out a bottle of water with the ease of someone who knows exactly where everything belongs.
“Are you staying for dinner?” Lev asks me directly, ignoring his father’s narrowed gaze. “Or is this just a tour of your new prison?”
“Enough.” Konstantin’s voice is quiet but carries enough authority that all three children straighten slightly. “Get washed up. Both of you.”
The twins exchange a look that contains an entire conversation, then move toward the sink. Nikolai washes his hands methodically while Lev splashes through the motion casually.
I watch the twins settle in, still taken aback by how different they are despite their identical features. I’d seen them at the wedding, of course, but in the whirlwind of that day, I hadn’t had time to notice the nuances of their personalities.
“Is there anyone else I should know about who might appear? A teenage daughter? An elderly aunt? Maybe a pet tiger?”
Konstantin’s mouth quirks. “Just us.”
The twins take seats at the island, Nikolai beside Alya, who slides her tablet slightly to make room for his book. Lev chooses the stool farthest from his siblings, spinning it once before settling.
“Did you finish at the range?” Alya asks.
Lev smirks. “I hit center target ten times.”
“Nine,” Nikolai corrects quietly, not looking up from his book. “The last one was off-center.”
“By like a millimeter,” Lev protests.
“Still counts as a miss,” Nikolai replies.
I catch the flash of pride in Konstantin’s eyes before it disappears behind his mask of calm authority. He moves around the kitchen with surprising grace, his movements efficient and practiced. There’s a rhythm to him I hadn’t noticed before—a certainty that extends beyond boardrooms and criminal enterprises into this mundane, human act of feeding his children.
The dynamics between the siblings fascinate me. Alya maintains her composed presence while occasionally glancing at her brothers with what might be affection buried under layers of studied indifference. Nikolai reads but notices everything, offering quiet observations that reveal his attention never wavers. Lev can’t seem to sit still, tapping his fingers against the counter, his restless energy filling the space between words.
