Page 50 of The Bratva's Innocent Bride

Chapter 22 - Fiona

A loud noise makes me jump, and I turn to see Anya popping a champagne bottle, the liquid fizzing over into the eager cups beneath her.

“Congrats!” she says before pressing a cup into my hand and taking a long drink. She hooks an arm around my neck and hands from me, grinning ear to ear. “Our little graduate!”

We’re at one of the Milov properties, where Anya insisted we get the whole Family together to celebrate my graduation. The hall is decorated beautifully, and the menu for dinner later is full of the Russian delicacies I’ve come to love since trying Anton’s cooking. When we were setting up, I heard him mutter something like, Grandma would have loved this.

It made me sad for him that his grandma wasn’t here any longer and also sad for me that I didn’t have the grief of a family to hang onto. It’s a specific kind of missing out to be jealous of how someone else can miss their family member like that.

But that feeling—of being marooned on my own—is starting to recede with the more time I spend around Boris’s family. They’ve all started to accept me as one of them, even the cousins everyone else seems to be afraid of for some reason.

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell us you were graduating early,” Anton mutters. “One semester sooner, and you would have taken less time than me.”

“I think you’re forgetting the part where my GPA is higher than yours, Ant-y,” I tease, leaning forward and booping the tip of his nose. He jerks back, his gaze swinging to Boris, and when I look at him, I catch him gazing at me with a look of adoration.

He quickly wipes it from his face, but it doesn’t stop me from thinking about how he still hasn’t said it to me—he still hasn’t told me he loves me.

It’s obvious—evident in how he acts, always protects me, defends me to his brothers, and has started involving me more and more in the family business.

“Dude,” Anton says, pointing to me. “Tell her to stop calling me that.”

“Tell her yourself,” Boris says, grinning and taking his own glass of champagne. “Unless you’re scared.”

“I am not scared,” Anton grumbles, crossing his arms like a little kid. “And the GPA thing is a technicality.”

Anya and I continue giggling, and Penelope and Hannah join us, laughing as they accept their own glasses of champagne. Across the room, their kids are running around, playing tag through the tables and chairs.

It’s everything I’ve wanted from a family. To feel fully celebrated. When I glance at Boris, I can see what our future might look like.

“Congratulations, girl.” Hannah asks,” What’s next for you after this? Do you have anything lined up?”

I glance at Boris. Job searching hasn’t been my top priority lately, and part of that is because we don’t know if Allard is still looking for me or if he might try to come after me if I was out and about interviewing and eventually taking a job in the city.

It’s not just that—it’s also the fact that returning to an office job, now that I’ve had a taste of the adventure this life could offer me—sounds endlessly boring.

Part of me finds it hard to believe that just a few months ago, I was spending every night and every weekend in Allard’s office, sacrificing my time to complete banal office jobs just for the chance at a decent job in the future. Boris wondered if Allard was thinking of bringing me into the fold—I don’t know how I would have reacted to that offer. But I know how I would have reacted to the trafficking and other less savory elements of Allard’s business model.

Some of my classmates already have jobs lined up after graduation in May, but I didn’t do anything to secure one. Now, it’s December, and my diploma is coming in the mail, and I don’t know what the next step is. But with a business degree, it probably involves an office somewhere.

Thinking about returning to that life is depressing, and I slip out onto the balcony to get a breath of fresh air. A moment later, the door slides open, and someone follows me. From the footsteps and the breathing, I think I know who it is.

“Kervyn,” I say, and he stops, pausing for a moment behind me, just out of sight.

“Okay,” he says, standing beside me at the railing. I hear the click of a lighter. “That was impressive.”

“Thank you,” I say, glancing over at him. He’s lighting a cigar. “You got another of those?”

He raises an eyebrow at me like he can’t believe I’m asking for one.

“You want…a cigar?”

“Never had one,” I say, “and if you’re smoking to celebrate my graduation, it only makes sense that you treat me to one as well.”

He stares at me for a long moment before breaking out into laughter.

“Holy shit,” he says, “Boris sure knows how to pick them,”

“What does that mean?” I ask, accepting the cigar from him.

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