Page 101 of Unforgiving Saint (Starukhin Bratva)

I onlythinkI can stomach Gunsyn being tortured, but that’s a lie. I’m not that person.

I look out the window and notice that the scenery has changed dramatically. The SUV easily navigates a one-lane road, moving further into the woods. Signs warn trespassers that they will be prosecuted. A man steps out, blocking our path, and the SUV stops at a concealed checkpoint. We’re waved through, and my curiosity is roused.

“Where are we going?” I ask the driver.

He looks surprised to hear my voice. “To Zhanna Nikolaeva. Sorokin must make repairs on his estate. You’ll be here for a few days.”

I lean back in my seat, wondering what fresh hell awaits me. On one hand, maybe I can convince someone Nikolai and I should be together. But as we pass another man holding a rifle, I question if I have to convince myself first.

Zhanna’s house is different than I had imagined. I thought Zhanna would live deep in the woods in a cottage or an ancient Victorian house. But her home is sleek and modern, with expansive glass windows that provide a view of the surrounding woods.

I’m shown into an open-plan living room and find Zhanna seated on a mid-century-style couch. Her posture is straight, and she’s dressed in a simple tunic with leggings. Her gray hair is loose and full around her face. She looks nothing like the little old lady I met at the penthouse as she poses with two greyhounds at her feet.

She smiles warmly. “Eden Zakharovna, my dear. Come, sit.” She gestures to the empty couch across from her. “I hear there was quite some commotion at Radomil’s estate.”

I pause for a moment, unsure if I should tell all or keep my mouth shut. I stare at Zhanna like a deer, unable to move out of the road quick enough. It’s then that I notice she has a clear complexion, and her eyelids are covered in dark eyeshadow while long, meticulously applied lashes frame her violet eyes.

“It’s rude to stare, dear.” Zhanna sighs, folding her legs underneath her. “I was hoping for some conversation. My grandson Stepan is in Aspen with his friends.”

“It was awful,” I blurt out. “I shot someone.” My eyes widen when I remember why. “Natasha—she was shot. Do you know if she’s okay?”

Zhanna waves her hand in the air. “Natasha is fine. It’ll take more than a bullet to hurt that woman. Was there a lot of damage? Come, girl, tell me.”

I nod. “They burned some of the outer buildings. The garage and vehicles were torched. And Gunsyn got away.”

“Oh.” She eyes me, noticing the bitterness creeping into my voice. “How unfortunate, then.”

“I can’t handle seeing the violence,” I whisper, staring past her. “I don’t think I can be with Nikolai. I’ll be useless to him if I can’t handle it.”

She brushes her hair off her face, sighing. “You must understand that as women in the Bratva, we’re not the ones who get our hands dirty. Natasha is the exception to the rule. It is a shame that she set such unrealistic expectations for you.” She studiesmy face intently. “But you’re strong, like your mother. You can endure more than you think.”

I swallow hard. I need a change in conversation, something to take my mind off the danger that surrounds me everywhere I go. “You have a beautiful home.”

Zhanna laughs, ignoring my comment. “You look like her. And she was an enchanting creature,” she smiles at the memory. “Aria charmed everyone she met. I’ve never forgotten her.”

“How did you know my mother?” I ask.

“I met Aria Genovesi many, many years ago when she was around your age. Wives, mothers, sisters, daughters of pakhans and dons are allowed to mingle in certain places. It’s one of the privileges we have.”

“Privileges?” I question.

“The men may content themselves with bathing in each other’s blood, but it is thewomenwho must be the olive branch that saves face. If you and Nikolai had exchanged vows, it would have been you who reached out to the Lanzzare.”

“But I did,” I explain. “I asked Nikolai to let me call.”

“Not as a wife, dear.” Zhanna shakes her head. “It’s different when you’re a wife,” she continues. “The dress shops and the restaurants where women congregate have ended more wars than these foolish men and their oceans of blood. That is where true power lies, Eden. It is in those spaces that messages are delivered, meetings arranged, and deals made on behalf of our husbands.” She looks at me with those eyes that seem to see everything. “But you don’t care about that right now, do you?”

I shake my head. “No,” I reply softly. “I want to know more about my mother. Was she … Did she …”

Zhanna closes her eyes for a moment and nods. “There was one restaurant, The Lucrece, and everyone wanted to be seen there. People had to pull massive favors to get in. Money couldn’t get you inside; you had to have something special. Your mother ... well, she would walk into a place and bewitch the room. And all the men in it.”

“Really? How? What did she do?”

“And she knew how to flirt,” laughs Zhanna. “I used to smoke long ago. And one night at Lucrece, your mother asked me for a cigarette, even though she barely knew me and she didn’t smoke. Yet before she can even put the damn thing to her lips, men were lining up to light it. She had them wrapped around her little finger,” Zhanna chuckles at the memory.

I can’t help but smile at the image of my mother captivating a room full of dangerous men. “She must have been brave.”

Zhanna opens an ottoman and pulls out a photo album. She flips open a page, handing it to me. I stare at the picture of my mother and Zhanna dressed in evening gowns, sitting at a table covered with a white tablecloth. They smile radiantly at the camera while a full orchestra plays in the background. Zhanna is beautiful. Her long hair is piled on top of her head as she shows off her slim figure in an empire dress. But my mother’s beauty makes my jaw drop. Her catlike gaze latches onto the viewer as her mouth forms a plump smirk, as if she knows a secret that nobody else does.

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