Chapter 17 - Boris

"Cousin!" of course, Kervyn is the first person I see when Fiona and I walk inside the grand building. Kervyn's eyes dart between me and the woman on my arm, his eyebrows rising in question.

"Kervyn," I say, clearing my throat. "Meet Fiona. My wife."

Fiona glances at me sharply—this isn't strictly the truth, but I can't help but want Kervyn and the rest of them to respect me. This is how they went about acquiring their wives, and it would be endlessly embarrassing for them to know that I messed up even the simplest of tasks, like forcing a woman to marry me.

"Your wife? " someone says, appearing beside Kervyn.

"Fiona," I say, "this is Penelope, Kervyn's wife. Pen, this is Fiona, my wife."

"Oh my god , Boris, you got married ? And you didn't tell anyone?" Pen moves forward, pushing right past Fiona's outstretched hand and locking her into a big, Family hug. "Welcome to the family! Congratulations on being a Milov," and then, quieter, but not quiet enough that Kervyn and I can't hear it, "It's a life sentence, you are aware?"

"Oh, shush," Kervyn says, pulling Pen back. "Don't scare her."

"Trust me," I cough, glancing at Fiona quickly and catching the little smile on her face. "There is not much that scares my girl."

Still looking at Fiona, I catch the pleased flush that spreads over her face when I call her that. I file it away for later, reminding myself to say it more often if she's going to have a reaction like that.

"Someone said you got married?" another voice adds to the commotion, and I look up to see Danil and his wife, Asher, joining the group. Asher squeals and wraps Fiona in a hug, in what I'm starting to suspect is just the first of many. Danil shakes my hand, congratulating me, before turning sharply.

"Jade!" he calls, "I told you to stay away from that cake!"

I expected it to be too much for her, but Fiona stayed gracious and calm through every single introduction, including Kervyn's siblings, their partners, their children, and other ancillary family members who all migrated over to congratulate us on the union.

When Arina and the other women pull Fiona away, insisting they need time to gossip, I feel my entire body stiffen.

"Calm down, cousin," Kervyn says, turning so we can watch them go as he takes a sip of whiskey. "I have men all over this place. I'm not risking any security breach tonight."

My skin prickles. Is he poking fun at the security breach that took place at Noch? Trying to get under my skin about it? My eyes dart around the room, identifying the security and trying to determine if any of them look like they might be about to take me out.

If Kervyn killed me, my brothers would refuse to take over my role. But that doesn't mean there isn't someone else in the family who wouldn't gladly take the spot, grasping at any chance to rise in the ranks.

"Seriously, Boris," Kervyn says, shifting his eyes to me. "Take a deep breath. What's the matter with you?"

"I only ask that if you dress me down, you do it in private," I mutter, the words practically falling into my glass.

"Dress you—" Kervyn starts, then stops, laughing a bit before his face goes serious. "You know what? Sure. Why don't you come with me."

My heart rate increases to a brisk gallop as I follow him away from the festivities and into a long hallway far from the party. If he were to shoot me—especially with a silencer—nobody would be the wiser. I take a breath and a shot of my drink, but neither helps to calm me.

"Well," Kervyn says, coming to a stop. "What do you think?"

When I look up, I realize he's gesturing to a large painting on the wall.

"What?"

"I thought it was too…mundane for the space. But Pen convinced me that buying from local artists was a good way to stimulate our local economy. If that truly means anything."

"What are you saying? Aren't you going to address my failures against Allard?"

Kervyn lets out a little chuckle before finishing the whiskey in his glass.

"I have no clue what's going on in your neck of the woods, cousin. I trust you to handle your business—and whatever rivals appear in your way—just as I handle mine. According to your weekly reports, the books look good, the fuzz is staying out of your way, and operations are running smoothly. Unless you're not being truthful in the reports?"

"No—I mean, I would never lie," I say, clearing my throat. "But you must have read the part about the attack on the community. The little boy?"

"Yes," Kervyn says, his throat moving in his neck as he glances away from me and back to the painting. "Casualties are part of this world, cousin, and doubly tragic when they come to the youngest of us, but that's a risk our Family takes on to enjoy the specific comforts of our position." He takes a breath, turning and gesturing for us to move down the hallway again. "I trust that you'll take care of that."

"I just feel like I haven't been living up to the expectations of the role," I say.

"Cousin!" Kervyn laughs. "Not everyone can be as great a leader as me. I was primed for the role my entire life, and I've had quite a long time to get used to it. You've been in your role for—what? Nearly a year now? You have some time to come into yourself."

For the first time this evening, I finally relax. So, this isn't all an elaborate ploy for Kervyn to replace me and my entire family. It truly is just a Family reunion.

When Kervyn and I emerge into the main room again, Roman and Anton spot me across the room immediately, their postures relaxing immediately. Kervyn excuses himself to chat with someone else, and my brothers hurry across the ballroom toward me.

"We thought you were a fucking goner, man," Roman says, breathing hard. "Got here a little while ago, Fiona told us you disappeared somewhere with Kervyn."

"Yeah," Anton says.

"Speaking of Fiona," Roman says, pulling out his phone. "I just over the stuff I was able to find on her—mostly just tragic. Her dad died of an overdose after a decade of misdemeanors associated with his PTSD. Her mother took her own life, the medical records attribute it to postpartum depression."

Everything I already knew about her. So, she hasn't lied.

"Anyway," Roman says, tucking his phone back into his pocket. "When we heard you'd gone back there with Kervyn, we thought we were gonna have to find a new brother."

"Not that we don't think you can take him," Anton says, his eyes tracking across the room before landing on me again. "But you probably couldn't take him. And you said that thing about tonight being like a performance review—we were thinking about getting our go bags and getting the fuck out of here before we were next."

"I think," I say, rubbing my hand over the back of my neck, "that Kervyn's reputation precedes him. He took me back there to look at a painting. He said I'm doing a fine job."

"Maybe he isn't as ruthless as everyone thinks," Anton muses, looking around as though he thinks the words might summon the man back to our side.

"Or maybe he just saves that shit for the enemy," Roman says, "it would make sense to avoid antagonizing your Family—why breed contempt from the inside when you have enough of that coming from the external groups?"

"Whatever you say, man," I say, grabbing a flute of champagne from a passing server and scanning the room. I need to find my girl and make sure she's not being overwhelmed by the well-meaning Milov women.

I see her sitting at a table in the corner of the room, laughing so hard that little splotches of red show through her makeup. She smacks the table, and I watch Elena, Arseny's wife, and previous mafia princess, give her an approving glance.

It takes me the next thirty minutes to make my way across the room, pushing through the crowds and trying my best to avoid polite conversation with well-meaning relatives I haven't seen in decades. Old women still try to pinch my cheeks despite the fact that I'm nearing forty and have killed men with my bare hands.

When I finally got near Fiona's table, she was the one telling the story, the other wives rapt with attention. I step to the side, standing behind a large plant to hear what she's saying.

"—then I said, Is that a promise ?"

Penelope gasps, bringing her hand to her mouth.

"Weren't you scared?" she asks. "For the first little while after meeting Kervyn—after he kidnapped me, I should say—I was fucking terrified. Couldn't sleep. Couldn't do anything except cry."

Fiona shrugs.

"I guess the thing is that I was raised by my father to believe that the worst thing was just around the corner. To prepare for it, to fight against it. Then I grew up, and it was like—the worst thing was that my internship didn't offer health insurance. The worst thing was running out of floss or getting a flat tire. I was trained in hand-to-hand combat and living the most mundane life. It was like a bait and switch. When Boris came into my life, it was like I finally had a purpose. Like, for the past five years, I'd been dropped into the wrong story."

She takes a breath, sipping from her champagne, then holding it up as she gestures around.

"All this? It's exciting. I only hope Boris will let me in more and be a part of the operations. Part of the fight."

"Well," Elena says, glancing up from the nail she's filing, "Arseny understands that I'm part of the executive team."

"According to Kervyn, I'm his queen," Pen says, "but just be warned—the second you get pregnant, they're going to act like you're made out of glass. Once, Kervyn pushed my hand away from a box of tissues , insisting that he pull it out for me."

The women burst into a bout of laughter.

"If anything," Hannah says, "a pregnant woman is more dangerous. All those hormones, pushing you to do things you wouldn't normally do."

"Like eating pickles and peanut butter," Penelope mutters, blushing bright red like she didn't think she was saying that out loud.

"It takes time," Arina says, reaching across the table and putting her hand on Fiona's. "These guys are trained not to trust anyone. We're all outsiders here—you just have to show up every day and show them that you're in it for the long run. Eventually, they start to trust you."

I back away from the table, leaving the women to their talks. So, Fiona wants me to trust her and let her in. I want that, too—but it's difficult, especially with my brothers reminding me she was with the Allards first. And I can see in her eyes when she talks about Olive that she still trusts the girl.

That could be dangerous. I think again of the little boy who died in the Corsica attack on the community. I may want that love with Fiona, may want to connect with her and let her into the family fully, but I can't risk the lives of my people just to reach for that with her.

As I walked to the bar, Viktor and Luka grabbed me by the arm, dragging me to a card table and demanding that I play a game with the men.

I give in, sending one more glance in Fiona's direction. Playing cards will be a good way to get my mind off everything, including the question of whether or not I can truly trust her.