Page 193 of Blackwood

Chapter 55

BELLA

Brunch at the Barinov’s

694 Days Since Zeke’s Death

The wind catches the hem of my coat as we climb the limestone steps, that crisp autumn bite teasing my skin. Rust-colored leaves scatter under Lex’s boots beside me, crunching like whispers. The trees along the iron gate blaze in orange and gold, like even nature knew it had to dress up for Irina Barinov.

Holy hell, this house. Massive, yeah, but not the cold, concrete palace I expected from a Bratva queen. It’s all warm stone and curved archways, tall black-framed windows gleaming against the sunlight. Everything is symmetrical, precise, too perfect and beautiful to be accidental.

Ellie picked my outfit. She said I needed to lookfall-chic but terrifyingly expensive. So here I am in a cinnamon-brown fitted midi dress, belted tight at the waist, tall suede boots, and a maroon coat that swishes behind me like I own the runway. My hair’s curled into glossy waves, my earrings are tiny gold daggers, and my nerves are about to explode.

What was supposed to be a calm brunch with the Barinovs somehow snowballed into a full-scale family summit. Barinovs, Whitmores, and me thrown right into the center. While I’m gladto have the Whitmores here for moral support, it all still seems like too much.

Thankfully, Tex is here too. My family. Not that he’s happy about it. I had to talk him into coming—under protest, obviously—but after that last message from Luca, I didn’t want to show up completely unguarded.

I’ve pulled back a little from Uncle Jack and Daddy lately, just enough to create some distance. A few calls, a couple quick check-ins. No more lunches. My gut’s been buzzing and I’ve learned not to ignore it.

We’ve added a few extra security details around them too. Nothing dramatic. Just precaution.

And I know Luca’s probably just being his usual creepy self. Probably bluffing. Probably nothing. But if it’s not. If he’s more than some cyber-stalker with a bad poetry habit then I’d much rather feel paranoid than sorry.

I wanted them here today, I really did. But until I know more, I’m not risking anything. Especially not for mimosas and finger sandwiches, no matter how damn good they probably are.

We barely make it past the front doors and into the towering foyer before Tex stops beside me. “Bella, can I talk to you for a second?”

I pause mid-step and glance up at Lex. “Give me a minute,” I tell him gently.

He leans down and brushes a kiss against my forehead. “I’ll be right inside, baby.”

I smile and turn to Tex.“What is it?”

He doesn’t answer right away. His jaw’s locked, eyes scanning the hallway like the walls might close in on us. “We shouldn’t be here.”

“What do you mean?”

“Just trust me, Bella. You and I”—he points between us—“should not be inside the Barinov estate.”

Something in his tone slices right through me. “What are you not telling me, Tex?”

His nostrils flare. “Drop it. Let’s just go.” He reaches out like he’s going to take my arm and pull me with him, but I step back, yanking away from his grip.

“Tex, it’s just brunch,” I snap. “What’s the worst thing that could happen?” I don’t give him time to answer. I link my arm through his and start walking. He stiffens beside me but follows, tension radiating off him in waves.

We turn into the grand living room, high ceilings, gold trim, and oil paintings that are probably older than the country. The instant we cross the threshold, everything halts. A champagne glass slips from someone’s hand and shatters against the marble.

“James?”

I follow the sound to the far side of the room and there she is. Irina Barinov. Lex’s mother. Bratva Queen. Tall. Elegant. Lethal.

She’s wearing tailored ivory trousers that fall perfectly over pointed nude heels and a pale blue silk blouse tucked in. Her white-blonde hair is swept into a polished twist, not a strand out of place. Everything about her is expensive and terrifyingly beautiful, like fall in Manhattan with a gun in its purse.

And… she’s staring at Tex like she just saw a ghost.

I blink at him. “Tex, why did she just call youJames?”

He still doesn’t look at me. No answer. Just a muscle ticking in his jaw.