CHAPTER 14

The table was warm with the aroma of roasted lamb, seasoned vegetables, garlic bread fresh out the oven, and a jug of Natalia's signature berry punch resting at the center. Plates clinked and cutlery danced as the family dug into lunch, a familiar chaos of conversation buzzing through the air.

Anya, seated between her grandfather and Viktor, jabbed a piece of potato with her fork and looked up. Her gaze darted to Nikolai who sat diagonally across from her, slicing into his lamb with practiced elegance. "Nikolai," she said, drawing out his name with mock sweetness, "you should lend me one of the Bratva dogs."

He raised a brow without looking up. "Why? Planning to start your own underground ring, malyshka?"

She rolled her eyes. "No. There's this guy in my class, keeps asking for my number. I've told him no, like, ten times already. He doesn't get it. I figured a good scare would do the trick. Maybe if a 200-pound Rottweiler growls in his face, he'll finally leave me alone."

Viktor snorted, nearly spitting out his drink. "You're fifteen, Anya. Tell your teachers."

"I did," she huffed. "They told me to be 'polite and patient.' Screw that. If I sic a dog on him, I'll be the one who gets expelled. So I figured I'd just ask nicely for one of your mutts."

Nikolai smirked. "They're not mutts. They're trained security dogs."

"Even better. Lend me the scariest one. I'll keep it in my locker."

Everyone laughed.

Viktor leaned back, dabbing his mouth with a napkin. "Speaking of unexpected visitors, I've got a new neighbor."

Natalia lifted a brow, already suspicious. "Oh? What's her name?"

Viktor groaned. "Relax, Mama. She's not a date. She brought me muffins last night. Said it was for 'neighborly love.'"

His father, Dimitri, smirked. "Muffins? That sounds... domestic."

"She's like your age, Mama," Viktor added quickly. "I think her oven mitts had kittens on them."

Natalia tilted her head, lips curling with amusement. "That doesn't mean she isn't trying to warm up to you. Maybe she's got a little spark left."

Viktor shuddered dramatically, earning a laugh from Anya. "Please. She smells like eucalyptus and disappointment."

As the laughter died down, Natalia turned her gaze to Nikolai. Her eyes narrowed slightly, and her tone was softer but laced with curiosity. "And you? How was your date?"

The room fell quiet instantly. Even the clinking of forks halted as everyone leaned just a little closer. Nikolai took his time chewing his bite, swallowing with deliberate slowness before placing his fork down.

"It was nice," he said at last. "We had a great time."

Anya made an exaggerated gasp, clutching her chest. "He used the word great!"

Viktor leaned in, eyes gleaming. "So what happened? Who is she? Is she pretty? Does she have a criminal record?"

"It's none of your business," Nikolai replied coolly. "And yes, she's beautiful. I should probably thank Father. That reservation you made was perfect."

Dimitri nodded approvingly. "Only the best."

Nikolai's lips quirked into a rare, subtle smile. "Maybe... you might actually see me saying wedding vows one day."

That drew whistles, gasps, and an audible thunk as Viktor banged his cup on the table. "He's bewitched. You hear that, Mama? Bewitched. Someone finally got through the fortress."

Dimitri snorted. "If you stop sleeping with whores and get yourself a girlfriend, maybe you'd understand."

Viktor gasped in mock offense. "They're not whores, they're—"

"—career-oriented ladies who make you breakfast and steal your watches," Natalia finished for him, shaking her head.

The conversation continued, spiraling into gentle jabs and loud laughs, but Nikolai kept quiet about Saturday. He wouldn't tell them. Not about the way his date had ended with breathless kisses, or how he had woken up with her curled beside him, their limbs tangled like they'd known each other for years. No, if he told them, he'd never hear the end of it. Not from his snitch of a father who would undoubtedly inform every aunt, uncle, and second cousin he hadn't even met.

But his grandmother—old, sharp-eyed Viktoria—was another story. She didn't need words. She just watched him through narrowed eyes as he reached for his glass. After a pause, she said flat out:

"They had sex."

Nikolai choked. The water went down the wrong pipe, and he coughed violently, pounding his chest. Viktor burst out laughing.

"What?" he wheezed.

"Don't pretend, boy. You're glowing. I've raised five sons, fifteen grandchildren, and I know that look."

"So what?" Viktor shrugged. "Everybody has sex."

Before the words had fully settled in the air, a loud crack echoed as their grandfather whacked Viktor upside the head with his cane.

"Idiot!" he barked. "Your sister is fifteen. Show some decency."

Anya rolled her eyes and chewed on a piece of bread. "Sex is natural. Viktor's right. Everybody has it."

Dimitri gasped so loudly it sounded like a choke. "What did you just say?!"

Anya waved her hand lazily. "Relax, Papa. I'm still a virgin. Boys are gross anyway. I'm into girls."

Everyone froze.

The silence was so thick you could hear the ticking of the antique clock in the hallway. Natalia blinked. Once. Twice. Then she gasped, pressing a hand to her chest. "I need to call an exorcist."

Viktoria snorted. "You need to calm down. It's not a demon, it's hormones."

"What?" Natalia turned to her husband. "Dimitri, say something!"

Dimitri looked like a man who had just stepped on a landmine. He stuttered, opened his mouth, closed it, then said, "So...you're sure?"

Anya shrugged. "I think so. I kissed a girl once at camp and it felt...right."

Viktor clapped. "Brave of you to say it at dinner. Bold move."

"I'm still getting that dog though," she added, returning to her food. "That guy in class is not gonna scare himself."

Nikolai watched the chaos unfold like a storm on the horizon. He leaned back in his chair, the ghost of a smile on his lips. There was something oddly comforting in the madness of his family. They might be loud, nosy, and borderline insane, but they were his.

Viktoria leaned toward him and whispered, "So? Was she any good?"

He closed his eyes and groaned. "Devushka."

She cackled and patted his arm. "I knew it."

As the meal went on, the conversation veered into harmless gossip, Natalia once again mourning her youth, Dimitri recalling a shootout that somehow became a lesson in fatherhood, and Viktor proposing a family vacation that ended with Anya threatening to poison his suitcase.

Through it all, Nikolai said little, his mind occasionally drifting back to her. The way she'd smiled at him, touched his hand over dinner, leaned into his chest when the night got colder. He thought about her laugh, her voice, the softness of her lips.

Everything just felt right.

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The grocery store was unusually crowded for a Sunday afternoon. The quiet hum of low conversations and the clatter of carts rolling over tiled floors filled the air, accompanied by the subtle buzz of a song playing from the overhead speakers. Elara pushed her cart through the fresh produce aisle, idly tossing a bag of apples and a box of strawberries into the basket. She had her headphones in, not playing music, but simply pretending. It was her favorite way to avoid unwanted interactions.

Today, though, fate had other plans.

"Elara?"

She froze for a fraction of a second. That voice—too sugary, too familiar. She turned slowly, pulling one earbud out and pasting on a polite, neutral smile.

"Emily," she said, with a slow blink and a feigned tone of surprise. "Wow. Long time."

Emily Cartwright stood there in an overly tight floral dress, her hair styled in the same high bun she'd worn all through high school, only now sprayed so stiff it looked like it could survive a tornado. Clinging awkwardly to her side was a tall, lean man with thinning blond hair and a stiff expression—her husband, if Elara remembered correctly. Gary? Greg? Something generic.

Emily's lips curled into a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "I almost didn't recognize you! You've changed so much." Her eyes trailed deliberately over Elara's outfit—a black sweater, fitted jeans, and leather ankle boots—and back to her face. "You're… thriving, I guess?"

"I guess," Elara echoed with an amused hum.

Emily giggled, nudging her husband. "Babe, this is Elara. Remember? I told you about her. We went to high school together. She was the one who—oh my god, remember that time you tripped during the senior talent show and your wig flew into the orchestra pit?"

Elara's smile didn't waver. She nodded slowly, pretending to be impressed. "Wow, you remember that? Your memory's still razor-sharp, I see."

"Well," Emily shrugged with a smug smirk, "it was kind of unforgettable. You were always… dramatic."

"And you were always observant," Elara said evenly, eyes flicking toward the man beside her. "Josh, right?"

The man blinked. "Uh… no. Garry."

Elara tilted her head, as if genuinely confused. "Oh, Garry. My bad." She narrowed her eyes slightly, feigning a thoughtful frown. "I don't know why I always confuse you with Josh."

Emily's smile twitched. "Josh?"

Elara turned to Emily, lifting a casual brow. "You know, Josh—the guy who owns that pilates studio on Fifth? Always wears too much cologne? Tall. Tattoo of a snake on his left wrist?" She made a swirling motion with her hand as if trying to help jog Emily's memory.

The blood drained from Emily's face in real time, her mouth opening slightly before she caught herself. Garry was now staring at his wife with growing suspicion, his brow creased.

"I don't know any Josh," Emily said too quickly, a nervous laugh trailing the words.

Elara smiled, her tone perfectly innocent. "Really? That's weird. He knows you. Knows you very well." She paused for effect. "Must be one of those classic mix-ups."

She turned to Garry, offering her hand with a polite smile that was all teeth. "Nice to meet you, Garry. Sorry about the confusion."

He took her hand, a little too slowly. "Right. No problem."

The tension between them was now thick enough to cut with a knife. Emily was glaring daggers at Elara, and Garry was no longer holding her hand. He took a slight step to the side.

"Well," Elara said, clapping her hands together softly. "I should get going. My boyfriend's waiting and he gets very grumpy if I take too long shopping. Something about missing me when I'm gone."

Emily flinched at the mention of a boyfriend. Back in high school, she'd spread rumors that Elara would die alone because "no man would ever want to deal with all that baggage." Elara remembered it all. Every whisper, every backhanded compliment. Every time she'd smiled to her face while stabbing her in the back.

As Elara turned to walk away, she caught the sound of Emily hissing under her breath.

"What the hell is she talking about, Garry?"

"I should be asking you that," he shot back.

Elara couldn't help the smug smile that curled on her lips. She grabbed a bottle of wine from the end of the aisle and continued her shopping like nothing had happened. The world had a funny way of coming full circle. Some people never changed. But some, like her, learned to sharpen their edges and smile sweetly while twisting the knife back.

She hummed quietly as she moved into the next aisle, her cart a little lighter, her steps a little brighter.

Revenge, she decided, was best served in the dairy section—chilled, sharp, and perfectly timed.

-------

Elara closed the cabinet doors softly and stepped back to admire her neat little kitchen. The groceries had been unpacked and tucked into their rightful places—the fresh fruit in the wooden bowl, vegetables crisp in the crisper drawer, spices lined like soldiers on the rack, and a bar of dark chocolate she'd slyly tossed in now hidden behind the rice jar. She exhaled contentedly. There was something calming about routine, about bringing order to small corners of her life.

As she wiped her hands on a kitchen towel, her phone buzzed against the countertop. She glanced at the screen and her heart immediately lifted.

Dad.

A grin spread across her face. Without a second thought, she snatched the phone and answered. "Hi, Papa."

"My little beanie!" came the unmistakably deep, booming voice of her father, laced with love and a slight touch of overprotective energy. "Tell me you've eaten something today. Not just coffee and air, right?"

Elara chuckled as she leaned against the counter, phone cradled between her shoulder and ear. "Yes, Dad. I've eaten actual food. I even bought vegetables."

"Vegetables?" he gasped. "Who are you and what have you done with my daughter?"

"Ha-ha. Very funny."

Before he could launch into his usual lecture about vitamins and hydration, there was a rustling sound, then a second voice came on the line.

"Elara!" her mother's melodic voice chimed in with exaggerated excitement. "Oh, sweet girl, we were just talking about you. Guess what your father asked me earlier?"

Elara raised a brow. "What?"

"Whether you've got a boyfriend yet," her mother replied with a little teasing lilt.

"Because she doesn't need one!" her father immediately chimed in, clearly eavesdropping again. "She's too young. Still my little beanie. What does she need a boyfriend for? Drama? Hormones? Nonsense."

"Oh, for heaven's sake, Harold," her mother scoffed. "She's finished college. She's working. She's living on her own. How young is 'too young'?"

"She's twenty-three!"

"Exactly. Not thirteen. She's a grown woman."

"Grown woman or not," her dad said, clearly growing more dramatic by the second, "I hope you don't have one, Elara. Do you? Please tell me you don't."

Elara bit her lower lip, her eyes flickering toward the apartment window where the evening sky had deepened to a smoky blue. A memory of Nikolai's smirk flashed in her mind—the warmth of his gaze, the way his voice dipped when he spoke to her like she was something precious. Her heart skipped in response.

She couldn't help the smile tugging at her lips.

"I'm… talking to someone," she admitted slowly, her tone gentle but cautious.

A beat of silence passed, and she imagined her dad's face going from calm to full-blown DEFCON-1.

Her mom gasped lightly. "Oh? What's he like?"

"Relax, it's still new. We're just getting to know each other," Elara explained. "I haven't even decided if it's serious yet."

"Good," her father said sternly. "Keep it that way."

"Oh, stop," her mother chided. "Elara, is he respectful? Does he have a job? Education? Decent haircut?"

Elara let out a soft laugh. "Yes, he's respectful. And smart. And… intense, but in a good way. I'm not rushing anything, Mom. I promise."

"See?" her mother said, clearly directing her words toward her husband. "She's being responsible."

"Responsible? That's not the point," her dad grumbled. "The point is, I don't want some hormonal boy sniffing around my daughter."

"I didn't say he was sniffing," Elara replied dryly, biting back a laugh.

"Well, if he ever does get serious," her mother said pointedly, "you should bring him over for lunch sometime. We'd love to meet him."

"Elara, no. Absolutely not," her father snapped. "Don't you dare bring some man into my house trying to charm me with fake smiles and handshakes while planning God-knows-what with my baby girl."

Elara chuckled and sat on the edge of her couch, one leg curled beneath her. "Papa, I haven't even said I'd bring him. I might—if it gets serious."

"There's no if," he said firmly. "The only lunch you're bringing him to is the one where I interrogate him with a lie detector test."

"I'll make sure to warn him," she teased.

"Good," her dad grunted.

Despite the mock gruffness, Elara could hear the love in his voice. It was the kind of fierce, unshakable love that came from years of band-aids, bedtime stories, and checking under the bed for monsters. He still saw her as that little girl with scraped knees and mismatched socks—even though she was now navigating a world filled with real monsters, complicated men, and feelings that couldn't be solved with a hug.

Her thoughts drifted back to Nikolai. There was so much she hadn't told her parents—how he looked at her like he could see beneath her skin, how his presence felt both dangerous and safe, like fire in winter. She didn't know if it would last, but she couldn't deny the pull he had on her, the way her chest tightened when she thought of him.

But for now, she kept it simple.

"Anyway, you guys don't have to worry," she said softly. "I've got everything under control."

"That's my girl," her mother said warmly.

"Still doesn't mean I like it," her dad muttered.

Elara smiled, warmth bubbling in her chest. "Love you too, Papa."

They said their goodnights not long after, and Elara ended the call with a soft sigh. She sat there for a moment, staring at her quiet apartment—just her, the city lights outside, and a man whose name she hadn't yet dared to say to her parents.

Not yet.

But maybe soon.