Champagne Venom (Orlov Bratva, #1)(86)

I grimace. “It… happened fast.”

“So fast that you forgot your family in the process?” she asks, really holding my balls to the fire.

“Though I suppose that wasn’t so difficult, considering you’ve all but cut us out of your life.”

“It has nothing to do with you,” I say irritably. “I’m just –

“Family trumps everything else. Including the Bratva,” she says, refusing to hear my flimsy excuses.

“You may be a don, but before you were that, you were my son. You were Nikita’s brother. Cyrille’s brother-in-law. Ilya’s uncle.”

“I know that.”

“Do you? Because sometimes, I think the moment you put the crown on your head, you forgot who you were before. You’ve lost your way.”

“I didn’t lose my way,” I lash out with a ferocity that surprises even me. “I lost my brother.”

She doesn’t blink in the face of my rage and my grief. She just says in a soft voice, too sympathetic by miles, “I would argue they’re the same thing.”

That gives me pause. Because she isn’t wrong. Maksim was always meant to lead; I was supposed to stand by his side. When he died, I had to pick up his yoke and a lifetime of responsibility I never asked for.

The crown isn’t just heavy on my head—it’s fucking crushing me.

“Don’t keep my wife out too long,” I tell her flatly. “She’s pregnant. She needs to rest.”

“I don’t intend on tiring her out.”

“And Konstantin will accompany you.”

“You don’t trust my guards?” she asks.

Mom has had the same guards for years. They’re loyal, but aging. The only reason they still protect her is because she refuses to let me fire them. She said she’d rehire them with her own money if I let any of them go.

“Paige needs all the protection I can offer.”

She gives me a smug little smile. “Careful, son. Keep talking like that and someone might think you’re falling in love with your wife.”

If ever I need a reason to explain why I’ve kept my distance from my family over the last year, this is it right here. I’m not particularly interested in self-reflection most days. And my mother and sister are nothing but giant fucking mirrors.





63

PAIGE

It’s been four days since I met Misha’s mother, and I’ve already seen her three times.

If only I could get her son to show that kind of commitment.

While Misha has been keeping me at arm’s length since the morning we woke up together—the only morning we’ve ever woken up together—his mother has taken me shopping in some of the most exclusive stores in the city and thrown herself headlong into wedding planning.

Nikita was supposed to join us a few times, but she’s begged off repeatedly at the last minute again and again. She and Misha are alike in that way.

I half-expect a call from her right now, giving me some excuse about why she can’t make lunch yet again. There’s still an hour left before we’re supposed to meet. Plenty of time for her to bail.

I’m pulling on one of my favorite t-shirt dresses when Misha walks in. He looks as handsome as the devil, though much surlier.

“Going out again?”

I frown. “Do I detect an air of judgment?”

“Traipsing all over town isn’t wise, Paige. Especially because Konstantin can’t be a part of the security detail today. I’ve got him handling other business.”

I step out of the walk-in and take in his tense shoulders and the creased furrow between his eyebrows.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Please. That expression means something is wrong.”

“There is no expression. This is my face,” he says.

“Yeah, your face when something is wrong,” I counter. “Your eyes squint, your eyebrows pull together, and you look like you just swallowed a bad egg.”

He glares at me, but I notice him consciously correct every single one of the traits I just mentioned. I have to hide my smirk.

“There’s been another shootout at one of our safehouses.”

“Another?” I repeat, instantly alarmed. I walk over to him, wondering if I’m imagining things or if he really is trying to avoid meeting my gaze. “Was it Petyr? Are things… escalating?”

“You have nothing to worry about,” Misha rumbles. “I’ll keep you and the baby safe.”

“I’m not worried about me,” I hear myself say. Shockingly, it’s true. I am confident that Misha will keep me safe. Maybe to his detriment. “You’re the one in the line of fire.”

“I’m not the one he’s made a recent attempt on,” Misha points out.

“I’m traveling with security wherever I go, in case you forgot,” I remind him gently. “I can’t stop living my life.”

The look on his face says differently. But then he sighs and some of the rigidity seems to melt from his posture. “Are you meeting my mother again today?”

“Not today.”

He nods. “That’s good. The two of you were getting a little too—”