Chapter 3: Sienna

Is it always this cold in Russia? I wondered, gritting my teeth so they'd stop gnashing.

Even with my thick coat on, I could still feel the harshness of the winter cold seeping into my bones. The car windows were wound up, and I was seated in the backseat, eyes fixed on the snow-covered horizon as I pulled up the collar of my coat to shield my neck from the chills.

Dad stole a glance at me from the driver's seat. Our eyes met in the rearview mirror, and I saw the smile playing on his lips.

He thought it was funny, watching me shiver. Classic! My brows furrowed, but I remained silent, too numb to speak. The cold was seriously doing a number on me.

"You okay back there?" he asked, gently steering the car down a slope.

I managed to nod.

Mom turned around from the front passenger seat and looked at me. "You big baby," she teased. "You'll be fine."

I exhaled sharply, and I could almost imagine my breath misting in the air like a wispy cloud.

Russia wasn't bad at all, except for the biting cold that seemed to pierce through my bones, threatening to inflict me with pneumonia or hypothermia.

It was a beautiful place, much better than I had expected. The frosty landscape, dotted with snow-covered trees and ancient architecture, was fascinating.

A hearty chuckle escaped my lips as I spotted a snowman that looked exactly like Olaf, the adorable cartoon character from Frozen. Its charcoal eyes and carrot nose were placed with perfection, and its rounded body was incredibly accurate. It was as if Olaf had somehow sprung to life in this part of St. Petersburg.

I smiled, admiring the skills of whoever had molded that figure. I was impressed.

"We're here," Dad said as he turned into the driveway, bringing the car to a stop beside a wooden fence.

He killed the engine, and we all stepped out of the vehicle. The neighborhood was calm and quiet yet also beautiful with its serene atmosphere.

I immediately buried my gloved hands into my coat pockets as the wind whistled in my ears, forcing me to squint against the icy blast that seemed to target my eyes.

Mom and I rushed to the front door while Dad was busy with the luggage, and I tightened my shoulders against the chill, anticipating the warmth inside the house.

"A little help here, please," he said, shutting the trunk of the car.

I was already taking cover by the porch, and there was no way in hell I would be going back out there.

Mom, being the loving wife that she was, rushed back to help.

Aww. How adorable!

That was sarcastic, by the way.

The door squeaked open, and I turned in its direction.

A beautiful girl was standing at the entrance. She was tall and lanky, with an amazing pair of blue eyes. Her hair was dyed purple, which complemented the color of her coat.

She smiled at me and gestured back into the house. "They're here!" she announced and walked up to me. "Hi, I'm Sasha." She hugged me.

Her embrace caught me off guard, but damn, she was so warm, and I needed that.

"Hi, Sasha, I'm—"

"Sienna." She let go, grinning widely. "I know who you are."

Sadly, I couldn't say the same; she was a total stranger to me.

"Finally, they come home," a masculine voice spoke, and I jerked my head at the young man approaching from inside.

The warmth that seeped out as he opened that door was so comforting, and I couldn't wait to get inside.

These people didn't know that I was freezing out here. Could they not see that?

"Isn't she more beautiful in person?" Sasha asked him as he stood beside her, his height making her look small. She was taller than me— way taller than me. Now imagine how I looked before him.

Yep. I was like a freaking grasshopper. But that wasn't my concern at the moment. What the hell did Sasha mean?

"In person?" The words came out reflexively, mirroring my shock.

"Yes, your dad sent pictures," she replied, giggling. "He wanted us to have an image of you in our minds before you arrived."

"Oh. Did he now?" I asked through gritted teeth, feeling a little upset.

He should have asked my permission before sending my pictures to people I didn't know. Was I right to feel this way? Anyway, moving on.

"Dmitry, Sasha," my dad called as he climbed up the steps with the luggage in his hand.

"Uncle," Dmitry left us to help my dad, and Sasha soon followed to help my mom.

In case you're wondering, Dmitry was the super tall guy. Just thought that I should get that clarified.

I watched them exchange pleasantries with genuine smiles on their faces, so genuine that I didn't realize I was smiling as well.

"Sienna, you've met your cousins?" Dad asked.

I nodded, itching to get inside. They might be used to the Russian cold, but I wasn't, and it sucked that they couldn't see that I was fucking freezing out here.

"Don't be shy. We're family." Sasha wrapped her hand around mine, leading the way into the house.

I wasn't shy; I was just busy masking the cold that sent shivers down my spine—literally.

It was cozy inside, warm and safe from the winter chill. The interior decor reflected the Christmas season, and it was beautiful. Simple but classy.

I let out a sigh, enjoying the warmth that filled the air. Finally, some heat.

"Grandma, they're here!" Sasha announced, tossing herself onto a couch.

My cousins spoke English more fluently than I would've thought, although they still had the accent. But I found it rather interesting.

"Ahh. There they are."

I looked at the woman walking up to us—my babushka.

She was still gorgeous for an old woman; her gray hair was piled up high on her head, and her eyes shimmered behind her glasses. There were wrinkles on her face, and her back was slightly hunched.

"Sienna, moya lyubov ! It's so nice to finally meet you." Her voice was a bit shaky from old age, but she sounded just fine to me.

Dad leaned forward and whispered in my ear, "She just called you her love."

"Babushka." I smiled as she embraced me so tightly, her perfume flooding my senses.

"Look at you!" she said, her eyes darting across my body in wonder. "So beautiful!"

For some reason, my cheeks flushed, and I found myself blushing at her remark.

"Last time I saw you, you were a baby," she added emphatically.

I heard her say something else in Russian, and although I didn't understand it, I recognized flattery when I heard it.

Dad cleared his throat to get her attention. "What about me? I've been standing here all this while."

"Jealous much?" she teased and turned to him.

"Mama," he called softly with wide open arms, and she slipped into them. "Oh, I didn't realize how much I'd missed you."

"You miss me, but you never come home!" She struck his arm with a playful punch.

"Look who finally decided to visit," a feminine voice joined in.

"Natasha!" Dad said, smiling at the slender, hot woman approaching him.

"It's good to see you, brother," she replied. "You too, Natalie." She hugged Mom and then fixed her gaze on me.

"Sienna, this is your aunt, Natasha, my sister," Dad introduced us.

" Older sister," she emphasized. "The one in charge of taking care of dear old mom."

"That part was highly unnecessary," Babushka chipped in. "Besides, I can still take care of myself."

"Nice to meet you, Aunt…" I said amidst chuckles.

"Oh, come on—quit the formalities. I'm not that old. Please, call me Natasha," she said. "And my God! You're gorgeous!"

I blushed again. Twice now. Did flattery run in this family?

"Indeed." I heard another voice, a thick one this time. "Paul just decided to keep her from us," a man, almost as old as my dad, said, walking down the steps.

Mom leaned in and whispered to me, "That's your Uncle Ivan."

He did look like Dad, only a little bigger. The two greeted, and he faced my mom, dramatically kissing the back of her palm with a slight bow.

Then, he turned to me. "Welcome, Sienna."

"Thank you," I replied.

Uncle Ivan looked like someone who would have been a boxer a couple of years ago. He had the same build and stance. Maybe I'd ask Mom later what career choice he'd made in his life.

Aunt Natasha, on the other hand, was too sexy to be Dad's older sister. If she hadn't been a model when she was my age, then it would've been a waste of that gorgeous body.

"It's your first time in Russia, ehh? What do you think of the place?" Dmitry asked me.

"Hey, let her settle down first. Questions can come later!" Babushka warned him, her voice stern.

"But—" he started, trying to object.

"No buts . She's tired and exhausted. Aren't you, honey?"

"Yes, I am," I replied. And indeed, I was.

"Come on. I'll show you to your room." Sasha sprang to her feet and grabbed my hand. "Trust me, you'll love it. I cleaned it up myself." She dragged me up the stairs.

"Careful, I don't want her hurting herself," Babushka said to Sasha.

"Mama, she's not a child, you know," Dad said, his tone low and soft.

"She is to me. You all are," she replied.

"Oh, here we go again!" Uncle Ivan grumbled aloud.

Babushka switched to Russian, her voice rising and falling as she spoke quickly, demonstrating with her hands. I couldn't understand a thing she was saying, but she sure seemed determined to make her point, and it was really funny.

The belly laughs of the entire family bonding in the living room prompted a smile on my lips as I went up the stairs with my cousin. I was wrong to think this would be the most boring winter break ever. It wasn't. In fact, I knew that instant that my stay would be fun and blissful.

"So, what do you think?" Sasha asked as we stepped into the neatly arranged room, which had a banner hanging over the bed posts.

Welcome, Sienna was the content written boldly on the banner. It was cute but weird.

"Too much right?" She followed my gaze to the banner. "I knew it." She rushed over and yanked it down. "Sorry, it looked cool when I was hanging it, I promise."

I laughed. "It's okay, Sasha."

The interior decor was elegant and cozy, and the room itself seemed very comfortable—especially the neatly made bed.

"This is amazing, Sasha." I admired the space. "It feels like home."

"That was the point." She smiled. "And I'm glad you feel that way." She paused and continued, "Alright, uh…shower's that way—and don't worry, the heater's working." Sasha pointed in the direction of the bathroom. "There are some dry-cleaned clothes in the closet. I hope they're your size."

Did she think I wouldn't come around with my own clothes? Anyway, that was quite thoughtful of her.

"Every other thing you need is in the appropriate place. All you have to do is check," she said.

"Thank you, Sasha."

She flashed a wide grin. "You're welcome. I'll leave you to yourself now. We'll all be downstairs."

With that, she left the room and shut the door behind her.

I sat on the comfy mattress and exhaled sharply, unable to hide my grin. It was official; my stay here would be quite memorable.

I got up and settled in properly, then changed into something more casual—a winter combo, though. I couldn't risk the cold.

A couple of minutes later, I ran downstairs to continue with the fun. While my cousins were setting up the Christmas tree and arguing about something I couldn't follow, I sat with my grandmother.

"Pay no attention to them," she said to me. "They never agree on anything."

I chuckled and took my eyes off Dmitry and Sasha. Dad was sitting on a sofa close to the front door while Mom and Aunt Natasha were in the kitchen making a local dish, the aroma of which had filled the air. Uncle Ivan was taking a nap on a couch next to Dad, who seemed engrossed in the book he was reading.

The wood in the fireplace crackled and spat out embers as Babushka and I sat on the plush sofa beside it. The flames cast a soft glow in the room, radiating warmth through my chilled bones. I needed the heat anyway.

I was going through the family photo album, flipping through the pages and feeding my eyes with the black and white images of unfamiliar faces. On every page, Babushka would take some time to explain the events that happened the day the photo was taken and the events that led to it. She'd point at each person in the photo and tell me about them—where they were now and what had become of them.

It was fun listening to her stories and learning about my dad's family, my roots.

From what I could tell, growing up hadn't exactly been bad for my father; in fact, the man had lived a fun-filled life before I was born. One of the photos in the album was a picture of Dad and Mom from way before I was born. They looked so young and naive but clearly in love, judging by the dopey smiles on their faces and the way Dad was tenderly holding Mom's waist from behind.

"They'd just graduated high school," Babushka said, her eyes flicking toward me.

"They've been in love since high school?" My brows rose in surprise.

"Oh, dear, your parents have been in love long before high school."

"Wow!" I exclaimed softly, impressed. "I didn't expect that at all."

"If you ever doubt the existence of true love, take a look at your parents." She smiled. "Those two have endured a lot, and their love has stood the test of time. Their bond is strong and quite unbreakable."

I stole a glance at Dad and smiled, watching as he laughed with some other family members, his fingers curled tightly around Mom's despite sitting in separate chairs. "Yeah…yeah, you're right."

I continued to shuffle through the pages until I stumbled on a photo of three young men, one of which I knew was my dad. The picture was older than most of the others, but I still recognized him.

"That's Dad," I said, placing a finger on the man in the middle.

"Yes," she replied.

The other two men beside him were complete strangers to me.

"Who's this?" I asked, pointing at one of the men.

"That?" she began, drawing the word out. She seemed hesitant, but she eventually added, "His name was Joshua."

"Past tense noticed," I said, turning to look at her. "What happened?"

"The poor boy was a friend of your Dad's who, unfortunately, died young," she muttered, shaking her head.

I frowned at her tone—how biting and cold it was.

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that," I said, clearing my throat.

I knew there was more to the story, but I couldn't pry because she was already getting upset.

"That was a long time ago," Babushka said dismissively.

"And this one?" I asked, looking at the other young man in the picture.

He was very attractive, and, above all else, his eyes caught my attention. That piercing shade of hazel-brown was so charming, seeming to gaze right through me. His dress sense was unique, as he donned an overcoat and a pair of matching pants, a hat balanced on his head.

Babushka was silent for a moment. Then, she said, "Wouldn't you like to see a photo of your mother when she was pregnant with you?"

It was almost like Babushka had intentionally changed the subject. But why? She'd answered me when I asked her about Dad and that Joshua guy. Why didn't she answer me now that I'd asked about this attractive young man?

Babushka flipped to the next page.

"Ahh. There it is," she said, tapping a photo of Mom and Dad cuddled up together, Mom's stomach protruding.

I blushed at the pure love and affection shown there. "Aww. They look so cute."

"This was taken a month before you were born."

I smiled, my gaze fixed on the photo; I couldn't possibly adore this couple who had brought me into this world more.

Just then, there was a knock on the door. Dad glanced at Babushka and me and then at Dmitry and Sasha, but we all had stuff we were doing, so he was forced to answer it himself.

I watched him grouch as he headed to the door and opened it.

That instant, I heard Babushka inhale sharply, like she was terrified. She rose to her feet, her attention focused on the door, and her brows furrowed. Her lips tightened, and the disdain on her face was glaring.

The visitor was clearly not welcome, at least not by her.

Surprised by her reaction, I turned to the door where my dad was standing face to face with one of the most handsome men I'd ever seen, though he was eyeing my dad quite sternly. The man's aura was terrifying, practically filling the room with its presence. No wonder Babushka was seething silently while looking at him.

As I gazed at this man, I couldn't help but be struck by his commanding presence, which exuded an air of confidence and power. He stood tall with an imposing frame that drew my attention like a magnet.

His dirty blond hair was perfectly styled, adding a hint of ruggedness to his chiseled features and strong jawline.

He was dressed in a long fur coat, an impeccably tailored suit underneath. A stick of cigar was clutched between his fingers.

The two men faced off against each other, and the atmosphere was so tense that everybody was silent while watching them. They looked like two wrestlers in a ring, about to start throwing punches.

I glanced outside the window and saw multiple black cars. Then, I spotted some men in black trench coats, all heavily armed, as they circled the house.

Okay, what exactly is going on here? Who are these guys, and why's this incredibly attractive man looking like he's about to hit my dad?

"Who are these men outside the house?" I asked my grandma, keeping my voice low as I rose to my feet.

She gripped my hand and whispered, "It's the Bratva."

Babushka said it like I was supposed to know what it meant, but I didn't.

She looked up at me, and, seeing my confusion, added in simpler terms, "They are mafia."

Mafia. That can't be good.

And what in the world was my dad doing facing off against a man who seemed to be a mafia boss?

What the hell was really happening here?

The air was thick with tension until the man finally broke the silence and snickered. Dad did the same, and they both shook hands and then hugged like they were old buddies.

What the hell?

Well, it turned out that they were buddies, indeed. But why be so dramatic about it? They almost gave me a fucking heart attack.

I exhaled slowly.

At least there was nothing to worry about here.

"Wh—what're you doing here?" Dad stuttered, surprise coloring his eyes.

"I was passing by the neighborhood, and I decided to say hello to my old friend," the man said.

My dad squinted, and I could tell he was confused. "How did you know I was back in town?"

The man chuckled. "You know me, Paul. I have eyes everywhere," he replied with a faint grin.

Those eyes…I recognized them. Those hazel brown eyes.

Fuck! It was him. It was really him. He was the same young man from the album, the one Babushka refused to tell me about, only this time, he was more mature…more handsome.

"Vlad, hi," my mom greeted him with a warm smile.

It was fake, though. She was so good at pretending sometimes, but I knew her better than anyone else in this room—except for my dad, of course. Mom was faking her gladness to see this man, and was it just me, or did she seem rather worried at the sight of him?

"Natalie," he muttered. "It's good to see you again."

She flashed that plastic grin again.

He walked over to me and my grandmother and then faced her, his head bowed in respect. " Privyet , Babushka," he said, his voice low and calm.

Dang it! His voice was so sexy.

Focus, Sienna. Focus.

I didn't understand what it meant, but I knew it was some kind of greeting.

Instead of returning it, my grandma rolled her eyes and turned away from him without a response.

Okay, what's really going on here?

Babushka clearly hated this man, and Mom was acting so weird now that he was around.

I shifted my gaze to everyone else in the room, and they all looked terrified—pale and practically trembling where they stood. It was like the devil himself had walked into our living room. It appeared that I was the only one in the room with no problem with this man. My only issue with him was that he was way too hot.

Were they afraid of him because he was in the mafia? Or was there something else that I was in the dark about?

I was standing next to my grandma, meaning that my parents were supposed to introduce me to this man who was clearly known to everyone else but a complete stranger to me. However, they seemed hesitant.

Mom looked at Dad as if unsure of whether or not to introduce us. Her breathing was heavy; she was nervous, and I could tell, even though she was doing a pretty good job at masking it.

Finally, my dad cleared his throat and said, "This is our daughter, Sienna. You remember her?"

Vlad looked at me, and I felt a flutter in my chest. My knees turned to jelly that instant. He had those charming eyes fixed on me for a while, and his expression was unreadable. I tried to read him, but I couldn't.

What is he thinking? Why's he looking at me like that?

He really was observing me heavily. Nothing creepy, just a good old stare. But why? I couldn't tell.

I finally mustered the courage to speak, saying, "Hello."

He was quiet at first but eventually gave a faint grin, nodded, and turned back to my dad. "It was good seeing you people again. Let's meet some other time, shall we?"

My dad nodded and saw him off to the door.

Wow! My God, he's handsome!

As he left, the tension his presence had created left with him, and everyone else returned to what they'd been doing before, almost as if he'd never come.

By the way, Uncle Ivan was still in a deep sleep, somehow missing everything.

I sat back beside Babushka, my eyes fixed on the very attractive man who had captivated me as he headed out of the house.

"Who is Vlad to Dad? And how come I didn't know about him?" I asked her.

Her brows furrowed. "Vlad is trouble, my dear. He is a man that leaves a trail of blood and chaos wherever he goes," she replied. "He is an embodiment of evil." The bitterness in her tone was glaring, and so was the frown on her face.

Not exactly the response I was hoping for, but alright.

"Okay, but who is he exactly?" I persisted.

"He was Paul's best friend when they were young—always getting my boy into trouble," she continued with a scowl. "Paul even got involved with the Russian mafia because of him." She clicked her tongue in disdain.

I raised my brows in surprise, astonished by her story, which, for some reason, I found rather intriguing.

This certainly wasn't the effect Babushka expected her story to have on me, but I couldn't help being fascinated by it…by him.

I leaned close to her and mumbled, "I didn't see a ring on his finger."

I smirked as she playfully hit my elbow, though it managed to hurt. "Snap out of it!" she squawked.

"Ow!" I laughed lightly.

She sighed, massaging her temples. "What part of what I said did you not understand?"

I chuckled and drew closer. "But seriously, Babushka, why did Dad drift away from Vlad? I mean, I know most of his friends, and he'd mentioned a couple of his old folks, as well, but not Vlad. Why is that?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?" Mom interrupted us, arms folded across her chest. "Go help your cousins and stop asking questions about Vlad."

From her tone, I knew that she also wasn't comfortable with me discussing this man.

Who was Vlad, and why did his presence stir up so much tension?

I was determined to find out whether my family wanted me to or not.