Boris leans back in his chair, finally looking less like a guard dog and more like someone who just ate well.
“This is good,” he says simply.
I manage a small smile, not sure if I’m supposed to thank him. I chew another bite slowly, just to buy time, watching both of them over the rim of my plate.
“Better than some mornings,” Boris adds.
Curiosity tugs before I can stop it. “Like when?”
He smirks. “Like the time we were eating gas station jerky in a car trunk on the way to bury someone in the desert.”
My fork freezes halfway to my mouth. “You’re joking?”
Dima, without looking up: “No.”
I glance between them, unsure if I’m supposed to laugh or stop eating. “So… what made you… become…” I trail off, fumbling for the right word.
Dima supplies it without hesitation. “Mafia?”
My shoulders tighten, but I nod.
Boris sets his fork down. “It’s not something youbecome. It’s where you end up when you’ve got nothing else, and someone shows you how to survive. For us? That was Anton.” The way he says his name is different; not casual, not light. Like there’s weight on it.
“You only trust him?” I ask. Boris nods once.
“Him alone. He pulled us out when we were worth nothing, kept us alive when nobody else gave a shit. Men like that… you don’t betray. You don’t question.”
I take a sip of water, swallowing before I ask, “Is Anton… the boss?”
Boris shakes his head. “No. We work for the Vetrov family. Always have. Goes back to his grandfather’s days, when this lifestyle was the only way to survive. His father followed in his footsteps, and now Anton too. The Bratva is in his genes.”
I set my glass down carefully. “So… he’s not in charge, but he still…”
“Controls more than most who are,” Dima finishes for me. His tone is even, but the implication makes the back of my neck prickle. “He’s the one they call when bodies need disappearing or empires need dismantling. Doesn’t need a throne. He has everyone’s secrets.”
Boris smirks faintly. “And he doesn’t like chaos. Ever. Which…” He gestures slightly toward me with his fork. “Might be a problem.”
I blink. “Me?”
Neither of them answers, but they don’t have to. I’m not the kind of chaos you sweep off the floor or put back in a pot. I’m the kind that shows up in the middle of whatever plan he thought he had and rewrites the whole thing without asking.
The silence after is heavy enough to press on my chest. I don’t know what to say, so I glance down at my plate and focus on eating.
That’s when I hear the click of the front door.
Footsteps. Two pairs.
Boris and Dima don’t even look toward the sound… which somehow makes me ten times more nervous.
Anton walks in first. Tall, deliberate, the kind of presence that swallows the room before he says a word. Lev is right behind him, grinning like he just walked into the best kind of trouble.
Lev’s eyes land on me, then the plates on the table, then Gordo licking his paw in the corner.
“Well, well,” Lev says, his voice full of mock admiration. “Lunch with the boys. Getting comfortable, huh?”
I grip the edge of my chair. “I was just—”
“You know too much about us now,” Lev interrupts, still smiling, but his eyes are sharp. “Guess that means you’re stuck with us.”
