Page 52 of Carved in Ruin

“Do you speak English, Irina?” Mila asks, her tone polite.

Irina nods hesitantly.

“Good. Until I learn Russian fluently, I expect to be included in all conversations in my home, especially those involving the staff.” Mila places deliberate emphasis on the wordstaff.

Irina glances between Mila and me, as if expecting me to defend her or something.

“So,” Mila continues, “what exactly were you discussing with my husband just now?”

Irina’s lips part, but no sound comes out. I move to speak, but Mila cuts me off sharply.

“Pakhan, this is me setting boundaries with the staff of my home.”

The room falls silent, everyone’s eyes on her.

Irina squares her shoulders, her chest puffing out as she sneers in broken English, “I told him you’re too small to take him. What are you, five-two? He’s six-five. I should know. I offered myself to please the Pakhan whenever his wife can’t.”

The air in the room freezes.

I expect Mila to explode, to lash out, but instead, she places a finger on her chin, humming thoughtfully. “No need to worry about that,” she says, her voice light, almost amused. “I can take him just fine. That’s why his ring is on my finger while that apron is tied around your waist.”

Irina’s face flushes crimson, her fists clenched as she moves to leave.

“Did I say you could leave, Irina?” Mila taunts.

Irina stops dead, turning back with a sharp glare. “Pakhan?” she probes with frustration.

“My wife is speaking to you.”

Irina’s gaze snaps back to Mila, who is now smirking, pure satisfaction radiating from her.

“Change the bed sheets in our room,” Mila says, her tone sweet as poison. “They’re quite… filthy.”

Irina nods stiffly, her jaw clenched as she turns to leave.

“Oh, and Irina?” Mila adds, stopping her once more.

The maid pauses, turning slowly.

“After you change them, you’re fired.”

Irina’s eyes dart to me. “Ty sobirayesh’sya eto pozvolit’?” she hisses.

“Anything my wife wants.” I tell Irina.

The room remains silent as Irina storms out, and I glance at Mila, who’s still smiling. This woman—my wife—just declared war on anyone who disrespects her in the Bratva, and I’ve never been more proud.

“She has fire,” Viktor says, raising his glass.

“She’ll need it,” I respond.

“I like her,” Katya tells me with a smirk on her face.

“I’m sitting right here,” Mila says with an eye roll.

“So,” Sofiya intervenes, “you’re the new Pakhan’s wife. Quite a position for someone… untested.”

“I’ve been ‘untested’ in most areas of my life. It hasn’t stopped me from figuring things out.”

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