Page 11 of Dark Prince

“I'm Maura,” I reply, extending my hand. As we shake hands, I can't help but take note of Elena's presence. Despite her almost otherworldly beauty, she carries herself with a strength and confidence that's immediately apparent. It's no doubt a side effect of growing up with three brothers in a world as complex and demanding as the Bratva.

Elena's curiosity seems piqued as she asks, “So, what do you think of the place so far?”

I pause for a moment, looking around the kitchen before answering. “It's impressive, definitely. And a little overwhelming, to be honest.”

Elena laughs at my response, a sound that's both carefree and infectious. She reaches toward my salad, her fingers aiming for a cherry tomato. In a playful reflex, I quickly poke the tomato with my fork and pop it into my mouth just as Elena is about to grab it.

Her eyes widen in mock surprise before she bursts into laughter. “You're quick! I like that.”

Elena's delight is clear, and I can't help but join in the laughter. There's an ease to her demeanor that makes the interaction feel light and comfortable.

Without missing a beat, Elena announces, “Well, you better hurry up with that salad. I've been appointed as your official tour guide so it would seem. There's a lot more to see.”

Her offer surprises me, but the prospect of exploring the mansion with someone as down-to-earth as Elena is appealing. Finishing the last of my salad, I stand up, ready to follow her. “Lead the way, then,” I say with a smile.

Elena guides me through the expansive three-story mansion, which is nothing short of a labyrinth of luxury. Every room she shows me is beautifully and tastefully decorated with plush furnishings. The walls are decorated with tasteful art, and floor-to-ceiling windows bathe everything in natural light. The formal dining room is grand, with a long table made of rich, dark wood that could easily seat twenty people. An ornate chandelier hangs overhead.

As we move through the house, I find myself increasingly drawn to Elena's confidence and brazenness. Her candidness is refreshing, and her familiarity with the mansion makes the tour not just informative but genuinely enjoyable.

“My brother sends his apologies for not being able to greet you himself,” she says, our footsteps echoing through the vast halls. “It’s just that with the business last night, the assassin… well, there’s much work to be done.”

The attempt on my life last night flashes through my mind—the gun pointed at me, the man’s face twisted in anger, the way Luk intervened, protecting me with a savage ferocity that was unexpected. I had only survived the attack because of Luk.

“I understand.”

She nods. “He’ll get to the bottom of it; correction, we’ll get to the bottom of it. No one makes a move on an Ivanov like that without paying a steep price.”

“Have you learned anything so far?”

“Unfortunately, no. The assassin… let’s just say he’s not going to be telling his life story anytime soon.”

I understand her implication. A chill runs through me at the knowledge that he’s dead.

“Please know you’re safe here,” she quickly adds. “This place isn’t just for show; it’s built like a fortress.”

“That’s good to know.”

Finally, Elena leads me to a room she calls “your personal bedroom.” It's as beautifully decorated as the other rooms, with a large, comfortable-looking bed draped in fine linens at its center. The room features a cozy sitting area with a fireplace and some doors open to a balcony from which I can view the landscaped grounds.

“You and Luk will share the master bedroom, of course. But this is your own space should you need or want it.”

“It’s lovely.”

Eventually, she announces, “Now, it's time to show you the best part.” She leads me through a set of French doors on the first level, and we step into a stunning English garden. It's a picturesque oasis with raised flowerbeds and neatly trimmed hedges. Stone pathways meander through it, leading to various secluded niches with stone benches. A small fountain is the centerpiece of the garden, the gentle trickling of the water adding to the serene atmosphere.

As we walk through the garden, Elena points out various features with pride and affection. “That rose bush over there,” she gestures, “is older than I am. It's always the first one to bloom.”

Just then, one of the doors across the garden swings open, and three men step out. I recognize two of them from the wedding.

“Are those your brothers?” I ask, nodding in their direction.

Elena follows my gaze and nods. “Yes, that's Lev and Yuri. And the guy who looks like he's stepped out of a mafia movie poster? That's Grigori, Luk's right-hand man. He's an arms dealer, enforcer, and childhood friend. He's basically a jack-of-all-trades in our world.”

There's a certain admiration in her voice as she talks about Grigori, her gaze lingering on him a moment longer than her brothers. I sense there's more she wants to say about Grigori, but I decide not to pry.

Elena continues. “Don't let their tough exteriors fool you. They're big softies at heart. Well, except when they have to be tough, which is...actually, quite often.”

The way she casually navigates the complexities of her family's dynamics is both disarming and endearing. I can't help but chuckle at her description.

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