Page 72 of Silken Chains
Stepping out of the SUV, the mansion looms, a fortress filled with memories, both good and bad. As the guards open the gates and doors, I can’t help but feel the weight of what’s coming.
The family’s all inside, including Laura, my soon-to-be wife.
Shit, why does that thought twist me up inside?
Straightening my suit jacket, I stride toward the house.
Entering the dining room, the grandeur of the Morozov estate is on full display. The long table is set with fine china and crystal, the chandeliers casting a soft glow over everything. My father sits at the head of the table, his facial expression is relaxed and strangely—cheerful.
“Probably the meds,” I murmur, a smirk tugging at my lips.
I haven’t sat for a family dinner in years, always finding an excuse to skip. But not today.
“Sorry for the delay,” I mutter, more out of formality than actual regret.
Ksenia smirks. “Fashionably late as always, Victor.”
I ignore her jibe and slip into my seat beside our father.
Placing my hands on the grand, age-worn dining table that has seen generations of our family’s gatherings, a server discreetly approaches, pouring a deep red wine into my glass with practiced elegance.
Taking a sip, my eyes skip over Dimitry, my brother-in-law, and pause on Yuri, my nephew. Yuri’s different now. Last time I saw him, he was just a kid. Now he’s tall, looks like he’s been working out, and there’s something about him that’s just… off. He’s not really looking at anyone, just kind of lost in his own world.
Around the table, cousins and their wives whom I barely recognize anymore give me those wary looks. Respect mixed with a bit of fear, like they’re not sure if I’m going to toast to family or start a brawl.
Down the table, Dr. Petrov catches my eye, and we share a brief nod—an unspoken acknowledgment between us.
He’s here for one reason: keeping an eye on the Pakhan, our headstrong patriarch.
I sweep the room, my eyes hunting for Laura among the faces.
Where is she?
My attention is pulled to those solid wooden doors across the room, waiting for someone to walk through them.
I force myself to look away, puzzled by my own actions.
Why the hell am I even looking for her?
I take a bigger gulp of my wine, trying to drown the irritation. Footsteps echo from the kitchen direction, stirring a brief hope.
Blyad. It’s just the server with appetizers.
Get a fucking grip, I scold myself silently, my gaze returning to the table.
“Is everything going according to plan?” my father asks me, his voice steady but his eyes betraying a hint of frailty.
Ksenia cuts in before I can speak. “The wedding’s all set for Saturday. Everything Is booked, from the church to the reception hall…” She pauses, her voice dropping to ensure I’m all ears for the bomb she’s about to drop.
“Invitations went out to the families, and…” She trails off, her eyes locking onto mine, a smirk playing at the corners of her lips. “Petrovas and Smirnovs ain’t happy,” she goes on, her smirk turning sharp. “Seems none of their daughters made the cut this time.” Her tone’s laced with a bitter satisfaction, a clear jab at me picking Laura over their high-bred stock.
Frustration bubbles up, and I take a swig of my wine, barely tasting it. My eyes flick to the appetizer in front of me—smoked salmon on toasted bruschetta garnished with a sprig of dill. Looks fancy, but my mind’s elsewhere. I sneak another look at the door, hoping, then snap back as my father coughs.
“What about the shipments?” he probes, voice laced with concern over the fifteen million in arms we’ve got floating somewhere between here and Vasiliev’s greedy fingers.
“Nothing to worry about, Papa,” I assure him, my tone more confident than I feel. “It’ll be settled. Before the wedding.”
Ksenia chimes in, surprisingly on my side for once, “You don’t need to worry about Bratva affairs tonight, Papa.” Her eyes flicker to me; for once, I agree with my sister.
