Page 29 of Hostage of the Russian
Before Azriel could respond, the massive front door swung open, revealing a woman who could only be Irina Nikolai. She was stunning in that effortless way that seemed to run in the family, with long dark hair and the same expressive eyes as her brother. But where Kostya often carried an air of dangerous intensity, Irina radiated warmth.
“Finally!” Irina exclaimed, pulling Azriel into an unexpected hug. “I was beginning to think Kostya had made you up.”
“Irina,” Kostya warned, but his tone held affection rather than real annoyance.
“What? I’m just saying, when has my brother ever brought a woman home to meet family?” Irina linked her arm through Azriel’s, already leading her inside. “Come on, everyone’s in the sitting room. Fair warning, though, the boys are in rare form today.”
As they entered the opulent sitting room with its cathedral ceilings and ornate furnishings, Azriel was struck by how the space managed to feel both grand and lived-in. Viktor sat in a leather armchair, and she recognized him immediately from the clinic. He was every bit as intimidating as she remembered, with his sharp features and calculating gaze. Across from him, a man she assumed was Fedya lounged on the sofa, his pale skin and black hair giving him an almost ethereal appearance despite the cold intelligence in his light blue eyes.
“So this is the famous Azriel,” Viktor said, rising to his feet with fluid grace. Up close, he was even more imposing, and she found herself taking an involuntary step closer to Kostya.
“Famous might be overstating it,” she replied, hoping her voice sounded steadier than she felt.
Viktor’s lips quirked in what might have been amusement. “Any woman who can survive being shot and still argue with Kostya deserves some recognition.”
“She wasn’t arguing with me,” Kostya protested. “She was being stubborn.”
“Same thing,” Fedya observed quietly, his voice carrying a hint of dry humor that surprised her.
What happened next completely shattered every assumption Azriel had made about these dangerous men. Viktorraised an eyebrow at Kostya and said, “Remember when you were twelve and insisted you could jump from the second-story balcony into the pool?”
“I made it,” Kostya defended, and Azriel watched in fascination as his entire demeanor shifted. The lethal edge softened, replaced by the kind of exasperated affection she’d only glimpsed before.
“You made it into the shallow end,” Irina corrected with a laugh. “And nearly gave Mama a heart attack.”
“The scar on my back would suggest it wasn’t your finest moment,” Viktor added.
Kostya rolled his eyes, settling onto the sofa and pulling Azriel down beside him. “Gang up on me in front of my wife, why don’t you?”
“Wife?” Fedya’s eyebrows rose slightly. “When exactly did this happen?”
“Recently,” Kostya said, his arm sliding around Azriel’s shoulders in a possessive gesture. “We kept it small.”
Azriel marveled at how easily the lie came to him, how natural he made it sound. But what captivated her more was watching him interact with his siblings. This was a side of Kostya she’d never seen, relaxed and playful, quick with comebacks and gentle teasing.
“Do you remember,” Irina said to Viktor, “when Kostya convinced us all that he could speak to horses?”
“I was eight!” Kostya protested, but he was grinning now, that killer smile that never failed to make Azriel’s pulse skip.
“You had us convinced for months,” Viktor continued, his own stern expression cracking. “Until we caught you hiding sugar cubes in your pockets.”
“The horses loved me,” Kostya insisted with mock dignity. “I was just... enhancing the conversation.”
Azriel found herself laughing despite her nerves, charmed by this glimpse into Kostya’s childhood. She’d never had siblings to tease or be teased by, never experienced the kind of easy affection that flowed between the Nikolai family like a living thing.
“What about you, Azriel?” Irina asked, turning those warm eyes her way. “Any embarrassing childhood stories to share?”
The laughter died in Azriel’s throat. Her childhood had been marked by fear and loneliness, not the kind of memories these siblings clearly treasured. “I... not really. I was pretty boring as a kid.”
Kostya’s arm tightened around her, and she wondered if he could sense her discomfort. Irina, bless her, seemed to understand immediately and smoothly changed the subject.
“Well, you’ll have plenty of opportunities to make new memories with this one,” she said, nodding toward Kostya. “He’s surprisingly good at getting into trouble.”
“Am not,” Kostya said, but his brothers’ expressions suggested otherwise.
“Didn’t you get arrested in Monaco for trying to race that prince’s yacht?” Fedya asked mildly.
“That was a misunderstanding.”
