Mafia King’s Bride

23. Ana

TWENTY-THREE

ANA

Picture this: me, standing in the airport like a human billboard, holding a sign over my head that says “Welcome back, favorite brother!” Because nothing says, “I missed you” more than potential shoulder strain, right?

I spot Viktor emerging from behind what looks like the entire inventory of a luggage store. He sees my sign and starts laughing.

I drop the sign and run toward him, nearly taking out a few innocent bystanders in the process. We collide in a hug that’s part bear, part octopus, and all awkward public display of affection.

“Viktor!” I squeak, probably sounding more like an excited chipmunk than a dignified adult. “Welcome back to the land of the free and home of the Bratva!”

He kisses the top of my head, which is sweet but also reminds me that I’ll always be the baby sister. “Your face makes it worth returning to this country,” he says, ever the charmer.

As we pull apart, he looks me up and down. “You’ve grown! What are you now, eighteen?”

I roll my eyes so hard, I’m surprised they don’t fall out of my head. “Ha ha, very funny. You know, some of us actually age. We can’t all be time-traveling vampires like you.”

He pinches my cheek like I’m still four. “Aw, where’s my little sister?”

“She grew up and got a life,” I quip. “Also, therapy. Lots and lots of therapy.”

We head to the parking lot, where Viktor predictably calls dibs on driving. I toss him the keys, silently praying he remembers which side of the road we drive on here.

As we merge into traffic, miraculously without incident, Viktor asks about my job. “Still keeping the scum of the earth out of prison?”

I give him a look that could curdle milk. “Hey, someone’s got to keep Papa’s friends in business, right?”

Two hours later, we’re sitting in a West Village restaurant. Viktor’s inhaling his sandwich like he’s afraid it might run away.

Then he drops the bomb. “So, how’s the old man?”

And just like that, my mood plummets faster than my college GPA. “I don’t know,” I mutter, suddenly finding my napkin fascinating.

Viktor’s eyebrows shoot up so fast, I’m worried they might achieve orbit. “You don’t know? Is he okay? Is he, you know, still breathing?”

I nod, feeling like I’ve swallowed a bowling ball. “Oh, he’s alive. Probably plotting world domination or perfecting his disappearing act. You know, the usual Papa stuff.”

And just like that, our happy reunion takes a nosedive into the soap opera that is my life.

Welcome home, brother. Hope you brought popcorn.

Viktor drops his sandwich like it’s suddenly turned into a live grenade. “Okay, spill. What’s going on? Is he sick? Did he finally tick off the wrong person and end up in concrete shoes?”

I bite my lip, wishing I could just disappear into the upholstery. “No, nothing that dramatic. Though at this point, I’d almost prefer it. He’s just...gone MIA. Radio silence since I got hitched.”

Viktor’s face scrunches up like he’s just tasted something sour. “Wait, what? Is this Orlov’s doing? I knew that guy was bad news. I told Father he should’ve?—”

“Whoa, hold your horses there, cowboy,” I cut in. “It’s not Dmitri. Well, not entirely. I mean, sure, he started it, but since when has anything stopped the great Nikolai Petrov? I’ve been to his office, his house, I even considered skywriting ‘Papa, call me!’ But he’s refusing to see me. Apparently, he thinks he’s failed me so badly that we can never speak again.”

Viktor scoffs so hard, I’m worried he might pull something. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard. And I’ve heard some doozies in my line of work.”

“Tell me about it,” I groan, throwing my hands up. “I’ve been racking my brain trying to figure it out. Maybe you can talk some sense into him? Because I’m officially out of ideas and patience.”

“This is insane,” Viktor mutters, shaking his head like a wet dog. “Our father, abandoning his daughter? The man who once threatened to castrate a guy for looking at you funny? Are you absolutely sure Orlov isn’t behind this?”

“Trust me, if Dmitri was capable of keeping Nikolai Petrov away, he’d be ruling the world by now. No, this is pure, unadulterated Papa drama.”

Viktor reaches for his phone, but I grab his wrist faster than you can say “family dysfunction.”

“Don’t,” I plead. “I’ve already tried calling him more times than I can count. If he answers you now, I might actually lose it. Call him later and let’s just have a nice meal? Please?”

He sighs, dropping his phone like it’s suddenly become radioactive. “Okay, okay. You win. If he doesn’t reach out, it’s his loss. You’re the best thing in this family anyway.”

I blink back tears, suddenly feeling like I’m four years old again, looking up to my big brother. “Thanks, Viktor. I needed that.”

“Hey, what are emotionally stable siblings for?” He grins, trying to lighten the mood.

I manage a watery smile. “Right. Because we’re the poster children for well-adjusted adults.”

As we finish our meal, I can’t help but think about Papa. There was a time when he was my whole world. Now? Now I’m just hoping he might consider being a footnote in my life story.

Welcome to the Petrov family circus, folks. We put the fun in dysfunctional.

I pull into the garage around eleven p.m., feeling like Cinderella racing against the clock. Viktor declined my offer to stay with us. Apparently, the idea of sleeping under the same roof as Dmitri was too much for his delicate constitution. Can’t say I blame him. Living with Dmitri is like rooming with a grizzly bear. A very sexy, occasionally sweet grizzly bear, but still.

I grab my bag and head inside, plastering on a smile that hopefully says, I’m a responsible adult who didn’t just spend the evening gossiping and eating junk food.

Lo and behold, there’s Dmitri, lounging on the couch like he’s auditioning for a GQ spread. “Good evening, Mrs. Orlov.” He smirks. “You’re early.”

I can practically taste the sarcasm. “What can I say? I live for the thrill of beating curfew. Did you get my message, or should I have sent a carrier pigeon?”

He nods, crossing the room in two strides and pulling me into a hug. It’s warm and comforting, and I’m totally not melting into it.

Nope. Not at all.

“Yeah, I got it. Where’s your brother staying?”

“Downtown hotel,” I reply. “I offered him our guest room, but apparently, the idea of sleeping under the same roof as you was too much for his delicate sensibilities.”

Dmitri makes a noncommittal “Mm” sound, but he’s staring at my lips like they hold the secrets of the universe. I’m pretty sure I could tell him I’ve decided to join the circus, and he wouldn’t hear a word.

His thumb caresses my cheek, and suddenly, we’re in a rom-com. He kisses me like he’s a man starved and I’m a five-course meal. When his hand grabs my ass, I can’t help but grind against him.

“You missed me,” he says, smug as a cat with a canary.

“Yeah, well, don’t let it go to your head,” I reply. “Though it seems something already has.”

He pulls me closer, and I’m suddenly very aware of every inch of him. “Two options,” he purrs in my ear. “Dinner then bed, or bed then...more bed.”

I give him my best sultry look, which probably makes me look like I’m having an allergy attack. “Are you on the menu?”

His smile is pure sin. “Let’s find out.”

Before I can unleash my wit, I’m suddenly airborne, tossed over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. He spanks me with every step, and I’m torn between indignation and arousal. By the time we reach the bedroom, I’m a mess of hormones and anticipation.

He drops me on the bed and looms over me. “You’re what’s on the menu tonight, Mrs. Anastasia Orlov.”

I like the sound of that.