Page 5 of Silent Ties

Uncle Dima is often mistaken for my father’s driver. And he’s technically the older brother.

He’s never cared about Dad taking the lead. He loves his family, loves his job, and is the most loyal motherfucker you’ll meet.

His style, though. . . maybe he should take after Elijah in that regard because he showed up to my wedding in a pair of dark jeans, a zip-up jacket, and a hat covering his eyes. When he lifts it, running a hand over thick hair, he appears slightly younger, but my uncle is forever the type to appear exhausted.

He drops into a seat, clapping Roma on the shoulder. Mybrother takes it as his cue to go. Not that he doesn’t love Dima—everyone has a giant soft spot for the man—but because he knows this conversation has gone from consoling his twin to talking business. And Roma never wants to talk business anymore.

He claps my shoulder. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep your new wife company while you deal with whatever this is.”

I push him off me, but the asshole slaps the back of my head.

Elijah’s chair scrapes against the floor. “You know, that’s not a bad idea.”

“Sit down,” our father orders.

He plunks down, sighs, and pours yet another whiskey.

“Steady there.” Dad is hardly the type to worry about overindulging in alcohol, but Elijah’s jovial mood feels different than normal. I found him here, drinking by himself when I arrived. Like he wanted to avoid the crowd outside.

Or perhaps someone who came to celebrate the wedding.

“You keep drinking like that, you’re gonna make an idiot of yourself on the dancefloor,” Dima says mildly.

Elijah pauses, blue eyes twinkling.

Dad takes the bottle out of his hand, sliding it over to Dima.

“May I congratulate you,” he says, lifting the bottle.

I raise my glass, but I’d rather talk business.

Not that Elijah notices. “Are you sure you want to be cooped up here when you could be with your new wife?”

“Are we preparing anything regarding Marissa?” I ask Dad.

He pauses mid-drink. “Like what?”

Of course. He’s not bothered by Marissa’s shenanigans in the lightest. Before she left the church, we only got a gleeful look and a flash of a sharp smile from her. What she thinks she accomplished by sabotaging her chances of marrying into the Zimin family is beyond me. But then again she’s Marissa. She'sgotten to where she is by doing what everyone else thought was just head-scratching foolery.

If she thinks she placed a spy in our place, she’s sorely wrong. My new wife will be loyal or it won’t be divorce. It’ll be death.

I have no qualms about getting rid of problems that hurt my family.

“Let it play out, nephew,” Dima advises. He’s a strategist, but by his own admission, he’s shit with relationships. “Marissa thinks she’s pulled something clever. Let her weave her own web.”

“And in the meantime?” Elijah leans forward, tapping his nails to the table.

Uncle Dima shrugs. “Fuck your new wife.”

I don’t know what’s worse. The smug smirk on my brother’s face or my father's.

“What’s going on?” I ask, not interested in discussing my sex life with my family.

Dima understands. “An hour ago Marcs’ head got blown off.”

“What the fuck?” This time my brother is devoid of his normal pageantry. His surprise is as genuine as mine.

My father tightens his knuckles around his glass. He’s known Marcs since they were kids. One of his most loyal associates. He runs—or ran—a diner known for serving the best fucking burger in town. And it laundered plenty of dirty money.

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