Page 56 of Velvet Chains
Ser, mid-sip, does a full-on spit-take. Water sprays from her mouth like a malfunctioning fountain, drenching the fancy tablecloth. She’s coughing and hacking, her face turning an alarming shade of purple.
James, in a stunning display of solidarity, chokes on his own water. He’s pounding his chest, eyes bulging, looking like he’s about to hack up a lung.
And then there’s little Lucas.
The tiny traitor is cackling like a hyena, clapping his chubby hands in glee. He points at his parents, babbling something that sounds suspiciously like, “Mommy, Daddy funny! Again, again!”
Chapter 24
Laura
I’M TORN between horror and the urge to laugh. It’s like watching a comedy sketch unfold in real time, except the joke is my life.
Victor, to his credit, doesn’t even blink. He just calmly hands Ser a napkin as if he’s used to people spewing beverages at his dining table.
“I’m sorry, what?” Ser wheezes, dabbing at her streaming eyes. “Contracted? Married? Bratva? What the hell is a Bratva?”
“Bratva means… Russian mafi—”
“WAIT. Don’t tell me!” she hushes me when I try to explain.
I snap my mouth shut so fast that my teeth clack together.
“I know what Bratva means. It means Russian mafia,” she says slowly. Like she’s trying to process the words as they leave her mouth.
I mutter something unintelligible, suddenly fascinated by the intricate pattern of the tablecloth. Maybe if I stare at it hard enough, I can disappear into its weave and escape this whole situation.
“Oh, well, that clears everything right up!” Ser throws up her hands, her voice rising with each word. “Lu Lu, what the actual fuc-fish?” she corrects herself abruptly, her eyebrows shooting up as she catches a glimpse of Lucas.
“Honey! Don’t say the f-word in front of Lucas.” James quickly covers Lucas’s ears.
“So, sorry baby,” Ser reaches out to stroke Lucas’s cheek, but her hand is shaking so badly she nearly pokes him in the eye.
Lucas, blissfully unaware of the tension, just giggles and tries to grab her fingers.
“What happened?” James turns, looking from me to Victor.
“Well, to cut through the crap,” I start, “David—no, Dave—he, uh…”
Victor jumps in, “Let me break it down, kiska,” giving me a quick nod before turning back to James and Ser, who looks like she’s about to have a brain aneurysm. “Laura was basically sold to the Morozov Bratva by Dave, who stole two million from us.” He pauses, letting that sink in.
“David… He stole two million… from the mafia?” James gasps, looking like he’s just seen a ghost riding a bike.
“Which, by the way, isn’t even his real name. It’s Dave Jankowski,” Victor adds.
Ser’s face screws up like she’s trying to do mental math after five shots of vodka. It’s clear she’s about to go detective on us for the whole story.
“And I agreed to marry Victor for a year,” I say quickly, “so he could become Pakhan. In return, he sorts out the bookstore and my debts…”
I’m glossing over the nastier bits—no need to throw Ser into that mess.
“So let me get this straight,” Ser says, turning back to Victor. “You’re telling me that you, a Russian mobster, have basically bought my best friend? And if she doesn’t play along, what? You’ll kill her?”
Victor takes a slow sip of his wine, his expression unreadable. “In normal cases, we would start with threats. Maybe a little light torture. And if that doesn’t work…” He shrugs, setting down his glass. “Well, let’s just say I’m very good at making problems disappear.”
I laugh, the sound high and brittle in my ears. “Okay! So, Ser, how’s that new book of yours coming along? The one about the, uh, the thing with the stuff?”
Ser stares at me like I’ve grown a second head. “Are you seriously trying to change the subject right now? Lu, you can’t just drop a bomb like ‘Surprise, I married a mafia boss’ and then ask about my book!”
