Marie’s room is huge, bigger than my entire apartment in New York. The bed could comfortably fit five adults, and the walk-in closet looks like something out of a fashion show.
“So, you’re really happy here?” I ask her.
My sister rolls her eyes. “Yes, Tina.”
I smile. Looks like marrying into the mob has made my sweet sister a bit sassy. Good for her.
Stretched out on the bed next to her, I pretend to study my nails. “Was expecting you to be chained to a radiator or something.”
She snorts, grabbing a pillow and whacking me with it.
“Hey!” I laugh, swatting her back. “I’m just saying, you’re married to a scary Bratva boss.”
“Viktor’s not scary,” she replies, beaming.
I raise an eyebrow.
“Okay,” she admits, raising her hands, her smile widening, “he is. But not to me.” Her eyes soften. “He’s good to me, sis. I swear.”
I want to believe her. She looks good. Glowing, happy.
“That’s good because if he screws up, you know I’ll go full-on psycho-sister on his big scary ass.” Marie laughs. “Anyway,” I add, changing the subject, “how’s the whole ‘living in a fortress’ experience?”
“It’s different, but the guys aren’t bad once you get to know them. Most of them just let me be.”
I snort. “Except Aslan.” Marie laughs. “That man is a walking death glare.”
My sister chuckles. “He’s… intense.”
“Intense?” I puff. “The entire drive here he looked like he was two seconds away from pulling out his gun every time I spoke.”
Marie shrugs. “Leave the man alone. He’s just not very social.”
“Gee, really?”
Her smile widens. “He’s been with Viktor for years. He’s quiet, serious, does a great job apparently. But I don’t think I’ve ever seen him smile or actually look mad.”
“Well, I’m honored to be his first.”
Marie laughs again, and I change the subject before she starts suspecting I may or may not have a thing for a certain scary Russian gangster.
