Page 27 of Bratva Brother’s Bride

I offer her my arm. After a moment’s hesitation, she takes it. Her hand is cool through the fabric of my jacket and she holds herself just slightly away from me as we walk to the door.

Inside, the restaurant is all dark wood and low lighting. Paper lanterns hang from the ceiling and the sushi bar runs along one wall.

The hostess greets us with a bow and leads us through the main dining room to a private booth in the back.

We’re halfway there when I see Father.

He’s seated at a table near the window with a woman I don’t recognize. She’s young, maybe twenty-two, with platinum blonde hair, and she’s laughing at something he said, her hand resting on his arm.

My father looks up as we pass. His eyes move from me to Vera and back again, and a slow smile spreads across his face.

“Roman.” His voice carries across the restaurant. “What a surprise.”

Vera’s hand tightens on my arm. I can feel her pulse jumping through the fabric of my sleeve.

“Konstantin,” I say. “I didn’t know you dined here.”

“I’m a regular. You would know that if you were ever around.” He gestures to the empty chairs at his table. “Join us. We have much to discuss.”

It’s not a request. The smile on his face doesn’t reach his eyes.

I look down at Vera. She’s gone pale but her expression is carefully blank. She knows Konstantin from her years with Dmitri, which means she knows exactly what kind of man he is.

“We have a reservation,” I say.

“Nonsense. I’ll have Yuki move your seating arrangement.” Konstantin waves at the hostess, who hurries over. “My son and his companion will be joining us.”

The hostess looks between us, clearly unsure how to proceed. I give her a slight nod. There’s no point in making a scene.

We take our seats. Konstantin’s companion shifts to make room, her red dress riding up her thigh as she moves. She looks at Vera with an expression that’s equal parts curiosity and calculation.

“Roman, meet Katya,” Konstantin says. “Katya, this is my son. This is Vera, Dmitri’s widow.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” Katya says. Her voice is breathy and high.

Vera nods at her. “Katya.”

“Such a tragedy about your husband,” Katya continues. “Konstantin told me all about it. You must be so devastated.”

“I’m managing.”

“Of course you are. You’re a Volkonsky now. We’re strong.” Katya reaches over and pats Konstantin’s hand. “Aren’t we, darling?”

Konstantin’s smile doesn’t waver. “Vera is under Roman’s protection for the time being. Observing the Zabota tradition.”

“How old-fashioned.” Katya’s eyes move between us. “I didn’t think anyone still did that.”

“It’s an important tradition,” I say. “One that deserves respect.”

“Of course.” Konstantin picks up his sake cup and swirls the liquid. “Though I have to wonder about the appropriateness of it. You’re only just back from Siberia, aren’t you?”

I go still. Siberia was my exile, and it took me a long time to claw myself back. Considering Konstantin was the one who sent me there, he knows exactly where I’ve been.

Vera’s hand finds my knee under the table. A warning or reassurance, I can’t tell which.

A waiter appears to take our order. I request the omakase without looking at the menu. Vera does the same.

Konstantin and Katya order additional dishes, far more than either of them need. I wonder if Katya is in it for the money.