Page 24 of Silent Ties

His smile is friendly, but he radiates power. I can’t let them get me any more off-kilter. He might appear to be a dad snacking away in the kitchen, slipping away from guests who’ve invaded his house, but I know who he is.

A man who will put a bullet in my head whenever he wants.

He hugs me, kissing my cheek. The kitchen is hot and my skin pricks as I back away quickly, paranoid my dress doesn't cover the incriminating evidence of his son’s punishment.

His smile never falters. “This is long overdue and I apologize. We invited Maxim several times over for dinner. Small affairs you know, but he kept pushing us off.”

I shoot him a look. We could have done this without an audience.

“Has poor Maxie been good to you?” Elijah asks, twirling a glass of liquor.

Maxim sighs again but doesn’t move away, heat radiating from him, he stands so close.

I clear my throat. “Maxim’s been great.”

Elijah’s brows shoot up. “Maxim? My that’s a tad formal don’t you think?”

“Maks.” Lev pinches his son’s cheek, smiling brightly.

He sways out of his father’s reach.

And right into Elijah who sneaks up on him to take over the cheek-pinching. “Maxie. Are you not treating your wife right?”

“Brother.” Maxim strikes his hand away.

“Brother,” Elijah chirps back.

Lev motions for me to follow. “They’ll be at it awhile. Would you like a refill?” He pours himself a new glass, but mine is still full. “My wife is not so patiently waiting upstairs, but I figured Max would park in the garage.”

We exit the kitchen and I do everything not to appear star-struck by the interior design of the mansion. It’s better than anything I’ve ever watched on TV. Seriously, Martha Stewart eat your heart out.

And the people. They’re dressed up. I’m underdressed in my plain black dress and heels. Diamonds drip around the necks of women. Rolexes hang around every man’s wrist. People drink from glassware, servers weaving in and out of the larger foyer and living room that’s spacious enough to host a party like this.

It’s nothing like the movie nights I put on for Daisy. Where I splurged on extra butter popcorn and a bag of chewy candy.

In the center of the foyer, where she greets guests newly arrived, is a wisp of a lady. Tall, bitterly thin, and blonde, she barely inclines her head to acknowledge her husband.

“Yelena.” Lev holds out his arms in celebration. “Meet your daughter-in-law.”

Could it get any more awkward? Guests not so discreetly watch the encounter, at least the women. The men could care less, a large group speaking in Russian.

“Hello,” I breathe.

She wears a metallic silver dress, long and stunning. Her hair is swept up and her makeup is exactly what I tried and failed to achieve.

Her words are heavily accented, a distinction from her husband who grew up in the United States. “Welcome.” She holds out an arm.

Am I supposed to kiss it? Shake it? What is this?

Luckily a commotion occurs, a server tripping over the rug. A hush falls, and someone rolls their eyes, but luckily no one openly mocks the person trying to clean everything up.

“Excuse me,” Yelena says, her hips swaying as she walks away.

A man, speaking in Russian, pulls Lev away. I’m grateful for the reprieve but I’m trapped in a sea of strangers.

I must remain calm. This isn’t the first time my awkward ass found itself alone at a party. Armed with my glass of whiskey, I mill around, heading down a hall in the hopes it might lead to a bathroom.

Taking my time, I study framed photos on the wall. They’re not the typical family photos which I’m curious to see. Instead, it’s like looking through a history book. Most are black and white, candid shots of men mid-discussion in various groups.

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