Page 24 of The Bratva's Sextuplets
All three men turn to look at me with expressions ranging from surprise to irritation. Challenging the status quo yet again.
“Meaning that our enemies are reassessing their options after failing to disrupt our family celebration,” Tigran says carefully. “It’s nothing you need to be concerned about.”
“Nothing I need to be concerned about?” I repeat his patronizing words. “Despite the fact that I’m now part of this family and presumably a target for anyone who wants to hurt your organization?”
“You’re protected,” Dmitri says confidently, though he doesn’t quite know what he’s talking about. “The house has excellent security, and you’re never alone outside these grounds.”
“Protected and monitored.” I set down my wine glass with perhaps more force than necessary. “There’s a difference between safety and imprisonment.”
“There’s also a difference between reasonable precautions and unnecessary risks,” Tigran counters, his tone becoming more formal. “The world we live in is dangerous.”
“The worldyoulive in,” I correct. “The world you’ve brought me into without asking if I wanted to be part of it.”
“The world we both live in now,” Tigran’s voice carries a note of finality.
The conversation continues around topics I’m apparently not qualified to discuss, but I listen carefully to every word. There are details about shipping schedules, personnel changes, and financial arrangements that sound innocuous until you consider who’s making them and why. This is my education in how criminal organizations conduct business through euphemism and misdirection. In some ways, I might as well be invisible. I lean into that, settling into silence and paying attention while picking at the salmon and quinoa salad.
After lunch, I wander the mansion again with more deliberate curiosity. The library contains books in Russian, German, and English, including several volumes about Chicago history and politics that suggest my husband takes his local influence seriously. The ballroom has a grand piano that looks like it’s been recently tuned, and sheet music on the bench includes both classical compositions and what appear to be Russian folk songs.
Really, it’s the smaller details that reveal the most about my new home. After figuring out what to look for, I notice security cameras positioned to monitor all the main traffic areas. Thereare phones in every room that probably connect to some kind of central monitoring system, and more than a few have discreet buttons built into the wall that don’t seem to have speakers, so I don’t think they’re intercoms. More likely, they’re panic buttons.
“Mrs. Belsky?” Another security guard appears as I’m examining what looks like a temperature control panel that seems far too complex for basic climate management. “Is there something I can help you with?”
“I’m just trying to understand how the environmental systems work.” I close the panel and turn to face him with a smile I hope looks innocent. “The house is so beautifully maintained. I’m curious about the technology that makes it all possible.”
“Perhaps I could arrange for someone from our technical staff to give you a proper explanation?” His offer sounds helpful, but something in his tone suggests this is less about customer service and more about ensuring I don’t investigate things I shouldn’t see.
“That would be wonderful.” I continue walking toward the east wing, noting how he follows at the same discreet distance his colleague maintained earlier. “I’m particularly interested in the renovation work that’s apparently happening in the restricted areas.”
“I’m afraid that area isn’t safe for visitors right now.” He moves slightly to block my path without making the gesture obvious. “Construction work, you understand. Insurance liability concerns.”
“Of course, though I’m not likely to sue my husband.” I change direction toward the main staircase, filing away his reaction forfuture reference. “I wouldn’t want to interfere with important improvements.”
That evening,Tigran finds me in the library reading a biography of some Russian political figure whose name I can’t pronounce correctly. He settles into the leather chair across from mine with a glass of what looks like expensive vodka.
“How was your first full day as Mrs. Belsky?” he asks, and I catch something in his tone that might be genuine curiosity.
“Educational.” I close the book and study his face, noting tension that suggests he’s had a long day managing complex problems. “I’m learning a lot about the intersection of architecture and security.”
“What conclusions have you reached?” Tigran takes a slow sip of his drink while watching my expression.
“I’ve concluded that you live in a beautiful fortress designed to keep threats out and assets in.” I pour myself wine from the bottle he brought with him. “I’ve concluded that my new role involves being monitored constantly while being excluded from any meaningful participation in the decisions that affect my life.”
“You’re not being excluded. You’re being protected.” Tigran leans forward slightly. “There’s a difference between keeping you safe and keeping you isolated.”
“Is there? Because from my perspective, both look remarkably similar.” I meet his stare directly. “Both involve other people making choices about where I can go, what I can see, who I can talk to, and what information I’m allowed to access.”
“What would you consider ‘meaningful participation?’” Tigran’s question seems genuine rather than dismissive.
“For one, being included in discussions about threats to our family instead of being told not to worry about them.” I stand and walk to the window that overlooks the mansion’s elaborate gardens. “It would look like understanding the business operations that fund our lifestyle instead of pretending the money comes from legitimate sources.”
“Some knowledge carries risks along with benefits.” Tigran joins me at the window. “Some information can’t be unknown once you have it.”
“Most of the time, ignorance carries even greater risks.” I turn to face him. “How can I make smart decisions about my safety and my future if I don’t understand the dangers and opportunities we’re actually dealing with?”
Tigran doesn’t answer immediately, and I can see him weighing competing considerations behind his careful expression. Including me in discussions means acknowledging that our marriage has become more than what it was intended to be. On the other hand, who wants a vengeful wife?
“What if I told you that meaningful participation means accepting responsibility for decisions that could affect other people’s lives?” he asks finally. “Would you want that knowledge if it comes with obligations you might not want to assume?”
