Page 15 of Eternal

AZRA

“Pink + White” by Frank Ocean

Present

W e spent the whole evening hunting for the perfect dresses because Katarina’s, well… a fucking control freak. But that’s just how she is. She has to make sure everything is flawless.

Every detail, every decision, every move. It all has to be perfect.

Sometimes, I think she’s not only proving herself to the living but to the ghosts too.

Her father had always planned to pass the reins to Vik. I remember it, even when we were kids, that was the expectation.

Vik, the man, the soldier, disciplined, strong, and capable of running this branch of the Bratva with a strong hand. He could make it clean, proper enough to avoid too much attention, and still brutal enough to command respect.

But Kat... Kat was different .

She wasn’t simply strong; she was sharp.

She saw every angle, every crack in everyone’s way to react, every opportunity others overlooked.

She didn’t wait for permission; she took control because she needed to, because it was the only way to prove to herself to her father, to everyone, that she was worth it.

When I came back two years ago, Vik told me Kat almost skipped their father’s funeral. She hated him for the way he made her feel; small, unworthy, like a shadow of what she could have been if she was a man.

Vik hated it too.

That’s why he lets her take over now. He doesn’t need to, but he does. He steps back and gives her the reins, watching from a distance, letting her run some things the way she needs to, not because she has to, but because it matters to her, and so, it does to him.

So, it’s no surprise that the Bratva’s ballroom is decorated in whites and blacks tonight. Precisely arranged and utterly perfected by my favorite blonde.

“If I catch anyone messing with the bouquets I placed on every table, I’ll kill them,” she mutters as we step inside.

I glance at her and grin. “You’re ridiculous.”

She smirks, throwing an arm around my shoulders. “I’m not joking.” And I don’t doubt for a second that she means it.

And she’s not wrong, she’s my best friend for a reason. Who else would lose sleep over centerpieces and still look ready to start a war over them?

“I’ll help you,” I replied.

She knows I’m dead serious when I say it, I’ll help her kill them if it comes to that.

She turns to me, her lips curling into a small, tense smile. Worry flickers in her eyes, but she hides it well. “I hope it’s good enough,” she says softly.

Without thinking, her hands move up, tucking a few loose strands of my hair back into place. Her fingers are steady contrasting the nerves I can see peeking through.

I’ve learned to read my best friend like an open book. I know the way her jaw tightens when she’s overwhelmed or how she smooths over her emotions to keep things together. So, I offer her the only thing I can in return. Words, sincere words.

“It’s perfect,” I say gently. “You always make it perfect . If someone says otherwise, I’ll strangle them.”

Her shoulders drop, slightly, and for a moment, the fire in her melts into something softer. She tilts her head, holding my arm as we walk forward. “I know, it’s just… I want to make him proud.”

A pang hits me when I look at her.

Kat is stunning tonight. Long blonde hair cascading like silk over her shoulders, her green eyes alight with that warm affection in them. In that soft white dress, falling barely above her knees, she looks like something out of a dream; pure, angelic, untouchable.

I’m her complete opposite.

My dress is black, flowing to the floor and swallowing the light. Kat insisted on straightening my hair, and now it falls longer than I’m used to, brushing against my back. It feels strange. Too soft, too neat. But I don’t hate it.

Still, I look nothing like her.

I’m the dark to her light, the demon to her angel.

And maybe that’s why I find her so breathtaking.

But it hurts to see her like this, so poised and radiant, but still feeling like she has something to prove. She doesn’t deserve that, she shouldn’t have to fight for validation.

Not from her father, not from anyone.

And yet here she is, carrying it all with grace.

“Hey,” I say, nudging her gently, “you’re making me proud, and I’m not even the one you’re trying to impress. Stop worrying. You’re too pretty to be stressing out like this. Smile, and do what you do best, scare everyone else to death.”

She laughs, some of the tension fading from her eyes. The green is finally brighter than when worry ate the beauty in them.

I hope that one day she won’t feel the need to impress anyone but herself.

People are already drunk when we walk through the estate. Some laugh with abandon, while others wear their misery openly on their tired faces. Furrowed brows, haunted eyes, like they already know how badly their lives will end.

There’s no point hiding it; everyone here knows how sin seeps into their drinks, their clothes, their skin, their very souls.

I can tell some of them escaped death only moments ago, maybe even on their way here, clutching champagne glasses as if that could wash away their past and anxiety.

Vegas is a beautiful city. Lust and extravagance intertwined in the most peculiar ways.

It has its charm, though.

I grew up here, straddling two worlds: the unrelenting brutality of the mafia and the sparkling haze of revelry.

So that vice doesn’t surprise me.

And this isn’t my first time at an event like this, a gathering where killers mingle with their future victims, everyone sipping wine as if their hands aren’t stained red.

The place is truly stunning, tonight, Kat’s touch is everywhere.

Funny how most of them have no idea who I really am, to them, I’m Voron.

They don’t know the truth, that my mother was the one who saved their sorry asses in courtrooms, using the law like a weapon to shield their empire.

But where her judgments came with words and signatures, mine are written in blood.

I’ve taken her legacy, warped it into something they fear, something violent, something grotesque. A protector when it serves me, an executioner when it doesn’t.

They look at me like they hate everything I represent.

If I weren’t me, I’d hate me just as much, not that I don’t already.

They despise the fact that the Bratva’s best enforcer in this city is a woman, and not any woman, an Arab woman. Some probably think it’s blasphemy.

Fools.

In the center of it all stands Viktor. His black suit is perfect. His eyes are cold, he’s so… different when he’s surrounded by sharks.

They don’t know him like Kat, and I do.

Viktor, the big brother, the one who calls the shots, gets on my nerves when I don’t play by his rules, but deep down, he gives a shit. He’s the same boy who’d laugh to stop making me cry every time I’d fall back then, or run with me until our lungs hurt, or push mean kids away from me.

He’s making his rounds, locking eyes with me as he strides over, shaking hands and exchanging words and orders to make sure everything is going fine tonight, until he’s finally in front of us.

“Kat, seriously?” he says. He gestures around dramatically, pretending to look disappointed, but we all know he’s here to provoke her. “I thought we agreed on something classy. What the fuck is that dress she’s wearing?” He waves a hand toward me like I’m some walking disaster.

Fucker .

“Remember the conversation about cutting balls this morning?” I shoot back, glaring at him as I casually flex my knife from my thigh holster. “Still got my blade on me, you asshole.”

His laughter rings out, and before I can fire back, he wraps an arm around my shoulders, pulling me into a headlock and pressing a kiss to my forehead like I’m five.

“I’m kidding, kroshka . You and Kat look stunning. Don’t stab me, yeah?”

“Depends on what today’s news brings,” Kat fires back with a smile, before linking her arm through mine affectionately and pulling me toward our table, planted in the heart of it all, where everyone else orbits around us like planets around the sun.

I sip my champagne, leaning back in my chair and letting the voices and laughs of the room roll off me. Viktor and Kat, on the other hand, are at it again.

“Seriously, Viktor,” Kat presses, her tone sharp enough to slice glass. “What are you announcing tonight? You’ve been smiling like an idiot all evening. Just say it already!”

Viktor swirls his drink, his smile widening even more when he leans into his chair like he has all the time in the world. “Patience, Kat. You’ll find out when the time’s right.”

Kat groans dramatically, throwing a hand in the air. “I swear, you’re the most infuriating person alive.”

I can’t help but laugh, earning a glare from Kat. “You’re both so tense. It’s almost impressive.”

“Don’t start with me, Visha ,” Kat snaps, though her lips twitch like she’s trying not to smile. “Aren’t you curious at all? He’s been acting like he’s about to drop the world’s biggest secret.”

“I honestly don’t care that much,” I say with a shrug. “Plus, it’s entertaining watching you try to squeeze it out of him like that.”

Viktor laughs, pointing his glass at me. “See? Azra gets it.”

Kat narrows her eyes at him, then glances at me with a mischievous grin. “Fine. If you won’t tell me, maybe I’ll stab you and make Visha dig the answer out of you.”

“Wow, betrayal,” I say dryly, swirling my drink. “Why am I suddenly involved in this?”

“Because you’re the only one who can scare him,” Kat retorts, crossing her arms.

Viktor chuckles, his gaze sharp but amused. “Scare me? That’s cute. The day my sweet Kroshka scares me is the day you start being reasonable.”

I roll my eyes, taking another sip of champagne. “Don’t drag me into your sibling fight. I’m only here for the free drinks.”

Kat glares at both of us now, pointing a finger at Viktor. “Fine. Keep your secrets. But if this announcement ruins my night, I’m holding you personally responsible for it and you’ll have to buy me a new car.”