Page 81 of Unhinged

“Is there a reason you two are acting like spoiled brats?” His voice is cold and cutting.

Is it too soon to say he’s my hero? I’m still sore from where he…

His mother straightens. “How dare you speak to us like that?” She turns to Rafail. “Aren’t you going to make him be respectful?”

Rafail’s voice is calm but firm. “I make everyone here behave respectfully toward those who deserve it. We have a truce with Anissa. She’s paid the consequences for what she did to my family. As she’s done nothing to you, so I don’t understand the open hostility either.”

I stare in surprise. Maybe there’s a reason Matvei respects him.

I can’t help but stare at his mother. Her lips press into a thin line. Today, instead of her usual ruby red, she’s wearing an offensive shade of pink that makes my eyes hurt. “We have every right to be concerned about?—”

“You don’t,” Matvei interrupts, his voice hard and flat. The dismissal in his tone sends a chill through the room. Then, without a word, he places his hand on my thigh and gives me a gentle squeeze. Something in me melts a little.

Matvei’s eyes cut to Rafail, who nods, barely perceptible. It’s all it takes.

“You two sit here. By me.” His voice carries the weight of authority, just as I suspected. The family patriarch, despite his younger years. I know from my recent research—and what I was told—that he became the head of the family at eighteen, after his parents’ untimely death. And though he’s barely in his early thirties, he carries the responsibility of a much older man.

I watch as Matvei’s parents hesitate before quietly moving. His mother’s glare still burns into me, but I just smile—sweet and cutting—my fingers deliberately grazing Matvei’s bicep possessively. Her lips press even tighter. Perfect.

Matvei smirks, ever perceptive, and drapes an arm around my shoulders, pulling me closer. I don’t resist. His mother practically vibrates with fury.

It’s not personal, a little voice in the back of my mind whispers.

Matvei doesn’t care about me…

Does he?

He’s loyal. Loyal to the Bratva, to Rafail, to whatever code he’s built his life around. I’m just a puzzle piece in a larger scheme.

The grandfather, thankfully, is much nicer. Unlike some of the others, there’s no tension or unspoken threats laced in his words. He and Zoya are warm, even charming, a contrast to the cold brutality of Matvei’s parents. Grandfather asks polite questions, engaging in small talk as if we’re at afternoon tea instead of sitting in the heart of a criminal empire. His eyes, however, miss nothing.

“I’m told you’re quite skilled with disguises,” he says, his gaze mildly amused. With a wink, he adds, “A gift like that can be a blessing and a curse, eh?”

My cheeks heat, but he’s so friendly I can’t take it personally. “I am. Do you need one?”

“Can you make me pass for thirty?” he asks, eyes twinkling.

Everyone laughs, and Zoya looks at me, thoughtful. “What does that mean you’re good with disguises? What can you do?”

My voice drops, aware of everyone in the room watching me. Zoya’s cheeks flush pink, like she wishes she could take the question back—or at least ask it in private.

Interesting.

Does little Zoya wish to disappear too?

I can imagine it—being under the weight of everyone in this room. Her older, overbearing brothers. Her cousin. Aunt. Uncle. Grandfather.

“I can do anything from subtle changes to a full transformation,” I say smoothly. “Hair color, eye color, facial features—anything easily recognizable. I can manipulate all of that.” I lean over to her, grateful when others start talking among themselves, and we can talk a bit more freely.

The wine flows, and food is passed on large platters as I talk to her about different disguises. I wonder why I was so nervous. I like being here now that his parents are sitting beside Rafail like they’re in the naughty spot.

Vadka excuses himself with a call from home, rising smoothly from the table. At first, I wishIhad a phone call that could excuse me from the room, but I’m planted right here, glued to Matvei’s side.

Then I see the way Vadka looks at his phone, with a shy, unguarded smile. “It’s Mariah calling. Be right back.”

Now I’m wishing someone would look at their phone like that whenIcalled.

He comes back in a few seconds later. “Oh, hey, she’s here. I’ll let her in.”

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