Page 51 of The Bratva's Innocent Bride

“Just that I’ve never met anyone like you before,” he says, shaking his head. “My Penelope, she grew into her role. It took her a little while to find that—that special little spark of insanity that was already inside her. But you, it’s like you’ve had it by the horns this whole time.”

“Thank you,” I say, fitting the cigar in my mouth and accepting his light. I inhale the smoke—it’s ten times worse than I ever imagined, but I can’t let Kervyn know I think that. He stares at me appraisingly as I don’t so much as cough at the black tar that’s now coating my lungs.

“Pen doesn’t like me to smoke,” he says, “so it’s a special occasions kind of thing.”

“I’ve never seen Boris smoke,” I say, turning the cigar over and looking at it. “I’ve never seen any of them smoke, actually. Isn’t that kind of a requirement for being a mob boss?”

“First of all,” he says, grinning at me, “I’m the only mob boss. The rest of them are like mob assistants. And secondly, our cousins don’t smoke because Alec died of lung cancer. Or, that’s always been my assumption.”

I pull the cigar away from my mouth.

“Alec was Boris’s father,” I say, more statement than a question.

“I know Boris doesn’t like to talk about him,” Kervyn says, taking another pull of his cigar and then letting out a long stream of smoke. “But I figured his wife would be privy to such things.”

“It’s a process,” I mutter, part of me wanting to tell this man the truth—that Boris and I aren’t married, that he’s never even told me he loved me. I don’t know why, but for some reason, I feel like he might understand.

But before I can say anything, the door behind us slides open, and Anya pokes her head out.

“Oh—it stinks out here,” she says, waving her hand in front of her face. “Get in here, Fiona, they’re about to do a toast,” then, when she notices Kervyn, her gaze drops to the ground. “Oh, hey, cousin. There will be a toast inside if you’re interested.”

I raise an eyebrow, glancing at Kervyn, who nods his head at Anya as if to say See? That’s how you should be addressing me.

“Here,” I say, pushing the cigar into his hand. “I’m sure you can handle two. All that talk of lung cancer kind of ruined it for me.”

“Fair enough,” he says, “I’ll be in after a moment.”

Anya drags me inside and pulls me along to the front of the room.

“Okay, you’re going to have to tell me all about that interaction—I don’t think I’ve ever spoken more than five words to that man at only one time. I am so afraid of him.”

She takes a deep breath of air as we come to the head of the table.

“I don’t see why you would be afraid of him,” I say, “he’s clearly a big softie.”

“Who’s a big softie?” Roman asks.

“Kervyn, apparently,” Anya says with a laugh as Roman pulls his head back, a disgusted look on his face.

“Kervyn is the leader of the Bratva, he is not a softie—have you lost your mind?”

“That’s what Fiona said.”

“Quiet, everyone,” Boris says, coming to stand next to me. He taps his fork against his glass and gestures for everyone to raise their drinks with him. “Thank you, everyone, for coming to this celebration of Fiona’s graduation. She’s an amazing student—she graduated at the top of her class. We are so grateful to you all for accepting her into his family.”

Boris turns, settling his gaze on me, and despite myself, I feel tears welling in my eyes. It’s an unfamiliar feeling to have someone so visibly proud of me.

When I did something I thought my dad would be proud of, he would just move on to the next goal, expecting endless perfection. And then he died before I graduated high school, so I celebrated by myself with a pie from the gas station.

“We are all so proud of you, Fiona,” Boris says, his eyes shining as he gazes at me.

He still hasn’t said it, but it must be true. How could you look at someone like that if you didn’t love them?

“After much deliberation with the family,” Boris says, pausing to swallow and glance around the room, “we would like you to manage the operations at the airfield.”

“The airfield,” I repeat, hearing how breathy I sound. If Boris is offering me a job with the family—and one as big as the airfield—it means he trusts me. It means they all trust me. It means Boris expects me to stay. Wants me to stay.

A couple of people laugh quietly at my reaction.

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