“My people are going to love you.” He looks back at his phone.
I sink back into my seat. Right, it’s not about what he likes. It’s not even about me.
This is about myuse.
The driver parks out front of a fancy place in West Hollywood. It’s Italian, lots of dark woods and glass. Daniel meets us out front wearing all black. He grins at me, greets Gabe respectfully, and takes my hand to help me up over the curb.
“You look fantastic, Nika,” he says happily.
“Easy.” Gabe shoves his phone into the pocket of his suit jacket. For the first time, he’s fully present. “Keep that to yourself.”
“I thought you wanted them to like me?” I pointedly turn away from Gabe and loop my hand through Daniel’s arm. “Thank you for the compliment. I appreciate it.”
He laughs and leads me into the entrance. “You’re going to get me killed,” he murmurs, his face never once betraying anything but amusement, and I wonder how much of that is a joke. I glance back at Gabe and he’s staring pure death and fire right back at me.
Inside is dark and loud. I don’t know how anyone can have a meal in this place. The tables are all packed though and everyone is wearing nice clothes. I thought I might be overdressed, but I blend right in with all the other rich ladies. Daniel takes us straight through the dining area and I feel more than a few eyesfollow me. I wonder what they’re thinking: trophy wife of a rich man? Or foolish moron married to a vicious gangster?
At the door to a private party room, Daniel steps aside and gestures for us to head inside. Gabe takes my arm, replacing him. Instantly, the tension and heat ratchets down my spine. I glance at my husband, a tremor running through me. I’m not sure why his touch does this to me. He glares straight ahead, jaw tight, and drags me into the back.
There are a dozen men around a massive table. Cigar smoke curls at the ceiling. More bottles of vodka than people litter every available space. Food is piled on small plates. The men are eating, drinking, and laughing loudly. Some of them are visibly armed, although I’m sure the gun laws in California are strict. The second Gabe enters the room, the chattering dies down. I’m partially aware of Daniel slipping in behind us, but mostly I’m caught by the intense scrutiny of a bunch of scary, hard-eyed men.
“Bratsy,” Gabe says, smiling easily now. The confidence in this man is stunning. He speaks in Russian, but I only understand half of what he’s saying. Something about an important day, the future of our group, the final piece to the war?—
And I realize he’s talking about me.
Heat flushes my cheeks. Gabe turns me toward the men, practically making me strut for them. He switches to English, probably for my benefit.
“This is my wife, Veronika Kiselyov, daughter of Vadim, and together she is going to help me drag what’s left of our glorious brotherhood into the future. The Dragon’s seat is mine now,brothers. Power will be ours. Blood will be ours. Glory and wealth unimaginable is within reach.Za bratvu i za volyu!”
To the brotherhood and to freedom.
“Za svoikh!” the men shout in reply.
To our own.
Vodka flows for a while. A drink gets shoved in my hand by several overly drunk men. I’m introduced to them all, one after the other, though I barely remember their names. Pavels, Olegs, others. They’re a swirl of laughter and menace. They remind me too much of the men that used to visit from my father, the men who guided my life, taught me how to be small, made me feel like I was a speck of filth not to be trusted with my own decisions. It’s possible theyarethose same men, though they all blur in my mind now. Always different, never friendly, never visible for long, but lurking in the background of all my failed relationships.
“This is the daughter.” An older man called Marat sneers at me from his seat. He’s haloed in a crown of smoke. His dark eyes burn like embers. Several of the other men treat him with utmost respect. Gabe waited until last to bring me to him over in the far corner of the room.
“It’s nice to meet you.” I say it meekly, keeping myself as tiny as I can. That’s working so far. The men glance at me but don’t see anything of note, which is exactly what I want. They’re happy if I’m athing, a symbol of their future. They don’t need an actual woman.
“Strange that a strong man like Vadim could have a girl like—“ Marat waves at me dismissively, watching Gabe’s reaction.
“He should have been more active in raising her then.” If Gabe’s insulted, he doesn’t show it.
“Pah, you’re right perhaps, but still, look at her.” Marat wrinkles his nose. “Pretty, yes, but pretty women are, how do you say it? Disposable? Cheap?”
“This one has the right last name.”
I bristle at the way they’re talking about me. I’m standing right here, listening to every word, feeling completely mortified. They’re talking like I’m a prized cow.
“Yes, a good last name, a man I believe in. Gone now, sadly, and here we are. You are married to this shadow of him.”
“The girl will be useful.”
“Yes, yes, you and youruseful. Tell me, how useful is she, truly? Good tits, yes, maybe hips for having babies, but what else? She is a girl, and meanwhile, we have problem to deal with. Turkish problem. Russian problem.Dragonproblem.”
“You think I’m wasting my time.”
