stand her up with me. “You’re okay.”
“I-I’m sorry…I didn’t mean to…”
“You don’t have to be sorry for something you can’t control, Lia.”
“P-please don’t tell Adrian about this.” She grabs my hand in both of hers. “Please.”
“I won’t for now, but he’ll eventually know. We were under attack, Lia.” Or maybe she was the target. After all, the red dot was on her forehead, not mine or anyone else’s.
I reach into my bag and give her a tissue. “Come on, wipe your face and let’s get inside, okay?”
She complies, but her expression remains half-horrified, half-shocked.
I dust my dress off, use a tissue myself, and then hold my head high and walk into the coffee shop. It doesn’t matter that my legs are still slightly shaking or that my mind is still outside where Kyle ran off to God knows where.
This brunch is my way to play a role in the brotherhood, and nothing will ruin this. I shoot a message to Katia and Ruslan to go after Kyle and hope that will be enough.
Inside, the women are completely oblivious to the spy-level show that just took place outside. Thank God.
The décor is cozy with multiple soft lights hanging down from the ceiling. I had my guards rearrange the seats so it’s a large sitting area instead of having separated, impersonal tables.
Everyone sits on the sofas, each cradling a drink. From our side, the women present are Anastasia, Lia, and Igor’s wife, Stella. Of course, Mikhail’s wife didn’t join because her husband is a bastard. As soon as he heard I arranged this meeting, he said she wasn’t feeling ‘well’, and then Damien snickered and whispered to me that he would send his wife over if he had one.
From the Italians’ side, there’s Sofia, Lazlo’s wife, Emilia, whom I had the displeasure of meeting outside, the underboss’s fiancée, and a few new faces I’m sure are Emilia’s friends or the leaders’ daughters.
The gathering goes well—for the most part. Lia spends the entire evening pale and shivering while Emilia keeps acting passive-aggressively toward me, taking any chance to make a jab, like asking Stella if I’m a good daughter-in-law.
Stella, graceful as usual, rubs my arm. “She holds an important role for all of us. Being a daughter-in-law is the least of her problems.”
Emilia huffs, obviously not expecting that answer.
“Thank you,” I whisper to Stella.
She smiles. “We stand up for each other.”
And with that, she excuses herself to go check on the kitchen. I don’t know whether that means approval or what, but Stella and Igor have always been a mystery. They keep their thoughts to themselves, so I’m never sure if it’s all a façade or genuine.
Unlike Emilia, Sofia seems to like me since she keeps talking to me the most among all of the women present.
Anastasia is her adorable, lovable self and is the perfect co-host. No one could hate that innocent, eager-to-please soul. She’s too good for this world.
Whenever I get the chance, I check the messages in my group chat with my guards.
Katia: No traces of Kyle.
Ruslan: Same here.
Katia: Even his guard doesn’t know where he went.
Ruslan: That bleached-haired kid is good for nothing.
I curse under my breath, then smile as Sofia tells me about her grown sons and married life.
Married men and women are generally more respected in the mafia. Being able to form a family isn’t a duty everyone is capable of.
I quickly type a message to Kyle.
Rai: Where are you? Text me when you can.
Not expecting an immediate reply, I tuck my phone away and listen to Sofia. She’s older, in her fifties, but still appears serene as she speaks. Being part of the mafia at a young age makes girls turn into women like Sofia, women who know their duties and don’t deviate from them.
“Now that you’re married, you can start your own family, Rai,” she tells me ever so casually.
“We’re still not at that stage yet.” And we never will be. There’s no way in hell I would start a family with someone as unpredictable as Kyle, someone whose past I know nothing about and whose future I can never predict.
“Why not?” Emilia slides beside her sister-in-law, slurping from her smoothie. “Trouble in paradise?”
You wish, bitch. Instead of saying just that, I choose the diplomatic road. “We just want to spend more time together before kids come along.”
I hate how the lie doesn’t feel like a lie when I say it.
“Oh,” Emilia pouts. “And here I thought you’d toss him out.”
I glare at her. “Not