Page 30 of Hostage of the Russian
“And what about the time you convinced that ambassador’s daughter that you were a Russian prince?” Viktor added.
Kostya had the grace to look slightly embarrassed. “I may have embellished a few details.”
“You wore a fake crown to dinner,” Irina said, dissolving into giggles.
“It was a very convincing crown,” Kostya defended, and Azriel found herself staring at him in wonder. This playful, charming man was so different from the dangerous stranger who had stormed into her apartment. Yet she could see threads of both versions in his expressions, the way his eyes danced with mischief one moment and held lethal promise the next.
As the afternoon wore on, Azriel found herself relaxing despite her initial nerves. Irina drew her into conversations about books and travel, while the brothers continued their good-natured ribbing of each other. She watched Kostya defend his honor against increasingly ridiculous accusations, his quick wit and easy laughter making her chest tight with an emotion she didn’t want to examine too closely.
When Kostya excused himself to take a business call, Irina moved closer to Azriel on the sofa.
“He’s different with you,” she said quietly, her gaze following her brother as he stepped out onto the terrace.
“Different how?”
“Gentler. More... settled.” Irina smiled. “Kostya has always been the most restless of us, always looking for the next thrill or challenge. But with you, he seems content to just... be.”
Azriel’s heart did something complicated in her chest. “We haven’t known each other very long.”
“Sometimes that doesn’t matter,” Irina said with the kind of wisdom that seemed beyond her years. “Sometimes you just know.”
When Kostya returned, sliding back into his seat beside her like he belonged there, Azriel found herself hyper-awareof every casual touch, every shared glance. The easy intimacy between them felt both natural and terrifying.
“What are you ladies conspiring about?” he asked, that teasing note back in his voice.
“Just getting to know your wife,” Irina said innocently. “She’s much too good for you, by the way.”
“I’m aware,” Kostya replied, his hand finding Azriel’s and threading their fingers together. The simple gesture sent warmth spiraling through her, and she had to resist the urge to pull away from the intensity of her own reaction.
Dinner was a revelation. The formal dining room could have seated twenty, but the family clustered around one end of the massive table, conversation flowing as easily as the expensive wine. Azriel watched Kostya charm his siblings with outrageous stories, his hands gesturing animatedly as he described some adventure in Prague that may or may not have involved a stolen Lamborghini and a very angry Czech mobster.
“You’re making that up,” Viktor accused, but he was fighting a smile.
“I swear on Mama’s grave,” Kostya said solemnly, then immediately crossed himself.
“Mama’s not dead,” Fedya pointed out dryly.
“Details,” Kostya waved dismissively, and even Fedya cracked a smile.
Azriel found herself entranced by this version of her husband. The way he could command a room, not through fear or intimidation, but through pure charisma. She’d seen glimpses of it before, but here, surrounded by people who loved him unconditionally, he shone.
“Azriel looks like she’s seeing a ghost,” Irina observed with amusement.
“Just... getting used to this side of him,” Azriel admitted, not bothering to deny it.
“Ah, you’ve only seen scary Kostya,” Viktor said with understanding. “Wait until you see him trying to cook. That’s when he’s truly terrifying.”
“I can cook,” Kostya protested.
“Burning water doesn’t count as cooking,” Irina said sweetly.
The gentle teasing continued throughout the meal, and Azriel found herself contributing more as the evening wore on. These people made it easy to forget that she was supposed to be playing the role of a loving wife. Their acceptance of her felt genuine, uncomplicated by the web of lies and circumstances that had brought her here.
But beneath her growing comfort with the family, a different kind of tension was building. Every time Kostya laughed, every casual touch, every moment his dark eyes caught hers across the table, she felt something tighten low in her belly. The attraction she’d been fighting since that almost-kiss in the alley was becoming impossible to ignore.
When they finally said their goodbyes, Azriel felt genuinely sad to leave. Irina hugged her tightly, making her promise to visit again soon. Even Viktor nodded his approval, which she suspected was high praise from the stoic man.
“They love you,” Kostya said quietly as they drove home through the darkened streets.
