Mikhail
The melodic sounds of violins and cellos weave through the air, and my gaze takes in the priceless works of art adorning the gallery walls.
I’m captivated by the intense emotion on the faces of the figures portrayed by Delacroix. Each brushstroke is a testament to the passion and conviction of the period. I can practically hear the cries of revolution as Liberte leads the people through the streets of Paris.
But Zhanna’s soft words compete with the masterpiece. Her hand is on Maria’s thigh; her gentle touch is insistent. As are the words she says-just loud enough for me to hear.
Among the illustrious guests, I see several familiar faces-all influential members of the Bratva, their cold gazes continually assessing each other. I nod politely to Anatoli Popov, and he returns the gesture. Tonight, it’s pleasure before business.
That comes later.
Maria approaches me. Her gown accents her beautiful body, and her soft expression tempts me.
“Zhanna wants a moment with you,” she says.
I can’t say I’m surprised, so I make my way over while Maria takes my place before the painting. Zhanna greets me with an uncharacteristically warm smile. She’s draped in an elegant, beaded gown, looking every bit the powerful matriarch that she is.
I offer a polite nod as I sit down. “You’re stunning as ever, krestnaya.”
“Have you studied this painting closely while I speak with your lovely fiancee?” Zhanna says, gesturing to Eugene Delacroix’s masterpiece.
“I have,” I reply. “Idealism caught in a vicious world on the verge of falling into barbaric cruelty. A glimmer of hope just before the plunge.”
“Exactly,” Zhanna agrees. “Can you not see the similarities? Maria’s bloodline can lead you out of your troubles.”
“I have to protect her.” My gaze flickers between the painting and the woman. “I can’t?-”
“She’s not a fragile piece of art meant to be locked under glass in a climate control room,” Zhanna scoffs. “You men are all the same. Always presuming that we are weak creatures incapable of handling pain. If only you had to experience the pain of childbirth even once…”
“This is still new to Maria.” I nod, trying not to laugh out loud. “And the unknown can be dangerous. She has a difficult choice ahead of her. And even she does not know if she can make that choice.”
“Then you must trust her,” Zhanna whispers. “That’s all you can do. Trust. Trust her heart, her intentions, and above all, her love.”
I don’t answer as my thoughts fill my head. Can I honestly do that? Can I let go of my fears and also embrace the unknown, trusting that Maria won’t regret the decisions she’s making?
“You need to treat Maria not with suspicion but with trust,” Zhanna answers my unspoken thoughts. “And trust that she will lead you to a future you will be proud of.”
Trust her heart, her intentions, and her love. I repeat it to myself like a mantra, attempting to quiet my doubts and fears.
Suddenly, the cultured atmosphere is shattered as a commotion erupts from across the room. My attention snaps to the source, and I see Pavel grappling with a man in an ill-fitting suit-Luigi Bianchi. A murmur rises among the attendees, and their curious gazes lock on the escalating struggle.
In two strides, I’m standing beside them. “Enough!” I hiss, aware of the tense scrutiny. “Not here.”
Immediately, Pavel listens, and the manhandling stops, but he stands close and ready.
The cocky grin plastered on Bianchi’s face betrays his lack of fear in a public place, despite being surrounded by discreetly well-armed Bratva elites. I sneak a gaze at his fingers, still wrapped in bandages, and savage pride surges through me.
“Bianchi.” My teeth clench as I struggle to maintain composure in front of these influential figures. “I thought you would be wise enough to avoid meeting me again.”
“And I said the next time I saw you,” he smirks, “I’d gut you. But unfortunately, my boss wants me to deliver a message for you.”
“So much for you being nobody’s messenger boy.” It’s my turn to smirk.
“Careful, Ivanov. Your wedding is approaching.” Bianchi’s expression darkens and he points a bandaged finger at me. His shifty eyes dart to Maria, who maintains a stoic expression, and I step to block her from his view.
“What do you want?” I ask, my voice barely more than a growl.
“Such a shame not everyone has been invited,” Bianchi replies casually. “Vito Genovesi would like to see his niece. Did our invites get lost in the mail?”
“If it’s war he wants,” I choose my words carefully but clearly, “then he can come tell me himself.”
Bianchi slowly reaches into his pocket and pulls out a phone. “For you,” he says with a sinister grin. “You never know when you’ll need to make a call … or take one.”
I refuse to touch it, and I’m about to tell Pavel to throw him out, but Maria takes a step toward Bianchi. Her hand is outstretched as she waits for him to place the phone in her palm.
Luigi hands her the phone with a slight bow, showing her respect he would never show to me. “If you decide to invite your other family to your nuptials, Ms. Budanov.”
Maria keeps her gaze on Bianchi as she speaks. “Anton, please escort …”
“Luigi Bianchi,” he presses his hand to his chest as he answers her questioning gaze.
“Please escort Mr. Bianchi to the door.” Maria smiles. “You don’t have to leave, but I would prefer you not stand near us. Tonight, I’m spending time with my fiance’s family.”
“Of course, Ms. Budanov.” Bianchi doesn’t resist when Anton places a large hand on his shoulder. “And best of luck to you, Ivanov. You’re going to need it.”
I clench my fist, but Maria steps in front of me. On her tiptoe, she kisses my chin while slipping the phone into my pocket. I want to kiss her for what she’s done. A smug smile passes over my face as I take pride in how she so effortlessly handled this situation. As Bianchi is escorted away, Maria floats aside to admire another piece of art.
I return to Zhanna and sit down. “I need a meeting,” I say, leaning close to her ear. “One that I requested but never received after the first gallery bombing.”
“Of course, Kolya,” she responds, her eyes narrowing with interest. “With Popov? So, there’s no mistake?”
“Da.” I nod. “Sorokin and Chuikov too. There are things I have to discuss with them. And there’s already enough blood in the water.”
“I understand, Kolya.” Zhanna nods slowly. “I will make it happen. Before the wedding and the baby.”
“She told you.”
“Of course she did.” Zhanna nods. “Maria is a link to the past, not only hers but yours.”
“A riddle again,” I reply, my voice low and hard.
“Advice,” she corrects me. “Her past may give you answers. But it won’t do anything to solve the problems of your future.”