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“Your grandparents…” Yelizaveta makes a clucking sound of disapproval with her tongue. “They weren’t too happy about their daughter running off with a Serbian-Russian mafioso.”
So far, the only bits I’ve gleaned from Drazen about my mother is that she had red hair like me, was tall like me, and was American. So was our housekeeper, which I suppose explains why it is I speak with an American accent despite growing up mostly in Serbia.
In the last few weeks, I’ve tried to see if there’s any glimmer that comes back when I try to read or listen to Serbian. But there’s nothing. That part is still a total blank.
“Your mother’s family was…proper, as I gather,” Yelizaveta goes on. “I believe your grandfather was a tycoon or a senator or something. Old money, lots of connections.”
My eyes widen. “Do you know his name?”
She shakes her head. “No. I don’t even know your mother’s maiden name, I’m afraid,” she shrugs. “But I did meet her on a few occasions, and I always enjoyed her company. Take that as you will.”
I smile, feeling my heart swell a little.
Yelizaveta clears her throat, eying me coolly. “I’m a busy woman, Annika. As are you, I gather. A lawyer and all now, with a brand-new name.” Her brow cocks, like she’s amused by something, but she keeps going. “So I won’t waste any of our time by beating around the bush.” She looks right at me. “I’d like to know why you left your husband, have been missing for the better part of fifteen years, and why you’re living under a new name in New York.”
I’ve been expecting questions like this. It’s one of the things Yaelle, and later Drazen, has quizzed and coached me on. But hearing it spoken to my face is still jarring.
I take a breath, like I’m about to give final arguments in court.
“I was a different person back then, Ms. Solovyova. I thought I knew what I wanted and felt…pressured by my family.”
“Yes, well, welcome to the world of arranged marriages,” Yelizaveta drawls. “You can see why I never did.” She sighs, twirling her fingers in the air. “So, you married Drazen, and then you…what, got bored?”
“More like curious. I knew what I wanted to do, and in my naiveté , I didn’t see that happening as the wife of a Bratva pakhan.”
“Whom you’d been forced to marry.”
I dip my head. “As I said, I was young and naive.”
Yelizaveta smirks. “And smart. And, arguably, right. Sometimes, a woman has to change everything about herself, to become something else, in order to rise in a man’s world,” she spits coldly. Then she sighs, her gaze flipping to Drazen sitting next to me, who’s been oddly quiet. “Her being back certainly helps your case, Drazen. But the rest of the Table will certainly have questions and concerns about you, given that you allowed your wife to disappear from your life for fifteen years.”
“I…made mistakes, Ms. Solovyova,” I say quietly. “And I was very careful to make sure I wasn’t found.”
“And yet…” She eyes Drazen’s arm over my shoulder. “Here you are.”
I smile, reaching up to squeeze Drazan’s hand affectionately. Hs squeezes back, and when he does, I feel a jolt, my breath catching at the sheer power in his squeeze.
It’s more like a grab. A hostile takeover.
“People change.”
She nods. “Indeed. Well, Drazen,” she says to him. “As I mentioned, it certainly helps your petition to join the Iron Table.”
Abruptly, one of her guards walks briskly into the courtyard. He leans down to murmur something into Yelizaveta’s ear and hands her a phone. She nods, and then turns her attention to the two of us as her man leaves.
“Please excuse me for a moment. Business calls.”
Drazen nods as she stands, bringing the phone to her ear and muttering in Russian. She turns and walks through the arched stone doorways to the balcony overlooking the ocean.
“Why do you want to join the Iron Table?”
I can feel him stiffen, even though I haven’t turned to look at him. I’m just smiling, looking happy as can be, snuggled against my husband.
“I believe we discussed this,” Drazen growls.
“We discussed that it was none of my business.”
“Exactly,” he grunts brusquely.
