Page 34 of Velvet Chains
I had one job: to be there for her. But what did I do? I played the petulant kid, whining and bitching over nothing. Pathetic, really.
Downing the whiskey, the memory of finding Laura in that supply closet, shaking and terrified, flashes through my mind. I’d wanted to rip that piece of shit ex-husband of hers apart with my bare hands, but the coward had slipped away like the snake he is.
“You think I don’t know that?” I snap, slamming my glass down harder than necessary. The sound echoes in the empty room, a harsh reminder of the late hour.“I’ve been busy, Ksenia. In case you forgot, we had to handle Papa’s surgery.”
It’s been a goddamn circus since the wedding reception. Between dealing with the fallout of that little incident and making sure Papa got the best care possible, I haven’t had a moment to breathe, let alone play therapist to my traumatized bride.
Thank fuck the surgery went well, at least.
The stubborn old bastard refused to go to a real hospital, insisting our private clinic was good enough. If it hadn’t been for Doc’s steady hands, I might be planning a funeral right now instead of a fucking dinner meeting.
Ksenia lifts her wineglass to her lips, taking a slow, deliberate sip. She swirls the crimson liquid around in the glass, her eyes never leaving mine as she savors the taste.
Setting the glass back down on the table with a precise clink, she leans back in her chair, crossing her long legs at the knee.
“Honestly, Victor,” she begins, her voice as smooth and cold as the surface of a frozen lake. “I don’t know what you expected. You marry a girl from outside the family, you’re bound to have problems. Especially one with a past as murky as hers.”
She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a sleek, silver cigarette case. With practiced ease, she plucks a cigarette from the case and places it between her lips. She doesn’t offer me one. She never does.
“But since you’re so determined to play house with your little charity case,” she continues, her words muffled slightly as she lights the cigarette with a matching silver lighter, “you need to get her to talk. Fast.”
I watch as she takes a long, slow drag, the end of the cigarette glowing a dull red in the dimly lit room. She exhales a stream of smoke, the acrid scent mingling with the rich aroma of the wine.
I feel my jaw clench, my fingers tightening around my glass until the crystal creaks in protest. It takes every ounce of my self-control not to slam it down on the table, to let the rage boiling inside me spill out in a torrent of bitter words and recriminations.
But I know better than to show weakness in front of Ksenia. She’s like a coiled viper, always ready to strike at the first sign of vulnerability. If I give her an opening, she’ll use it to assert her dominance, to remind me of my place in the hierarchy of our family.
So, instead, I take a deep breath, forcing my muscles to relax one by one. I meet her gaze head-on.
“She’s a Morozov now, Ksenia. Like it or not, that makes her our responsibility.”
She waves a dismissive hand. “She’s your fucking responsibility, little brother.”
Ksenia takes another drag of her cigarette, her eyes narrowing slightly as she studies me through the haze of smoke. She taps the ash into a crystal ashtray on the table.
“If you want to keep your little princess in line, you’ll need to start breaking her instead of being alovesick puppy. Find out what happened with Dave Jankowski and deal with it before it becomes a bigger problem for the family.”
I clench my fist, biting back the urge to snap at her again.
She’s right, damn it all. Laura’s my wife, and I need to deal with her on my own.
But every time I try to broach the subject with Laura, she clams up tighter than a virgin’s asshole.
Ksenia leans back in her chair, a smirk playing at the corners of her lips.
“What’s so funny?”I ask.
“Dave Jankowski. What an adorable little cockroach. I’m impressed that he could sneak into the wedding unnoticed,” Ksenia muses, her tone deceptively casual.
I slam my fist down on the table, the sudden violence of the gesture making the glasses jump. “I don’t give a flying fuck how impressed you are, sister. The fact that this piece of shit was able to get anywhere near Laura is unacceptable.”
Ksenia raises an eyebrow, unfazed by my outburst.
“Well, we’ll need to look into that, won’t we? If someone like Dave Jankowski can waltz into a Morozov wedding without being spotted, what does that say about our security?”
Fuck!
Come to think about it, that fucker has been lurking around since the goddamn wedding. I remember seeing a shadow slinking in the background at the church, but I was too preoccupied with the ceremony to give it much thought.
