Page 13 of Hostage of the Russian (Nikolai Bratva Brides #7)

A week after the shooting, Azriel found herself standing before the imposing wrought-iron gates of the Nikolai family estate, her palms damp with nervous sweat.

The sprawling mansion beyond looked like something torn from the pages of a Russian fairytale, all stone turrets and gleaming windows that caught the afternoon sun.

She had known Kostya was wealthy, but this level of opulence still managed to take her breath away.

“You’re quiet,” Kostya observed from beside her as they walked up the marble steps. His hand rested lightly on the small of her back, a gesture that had become natural between them during her recovery.

“Just nervous,” she admitted, smoothing down her dress for the third time. The wound in her side gave a small twinge, still tender but healing well. “Meeting your family feels... significant.”

Kostya’s dark eyes softened, and she caught a glimpse of that lighter shade she’d begun to associate with his more playful moods. “They’ll love you. Irina especially has been dying to meet the woman who managed to put up with me for more than five minutes.”

Before Azriel could respond, the massive front door swung open, revealing a woman who could only be Irina Nikolai.

She was stunning in that effortless way that seemed to run in the family, with long dark hair and the same expressive eyes as her brother.

But where Kostya often carried an air of dangerous intensity, Irina radiated warmth.

“Finally!” Irina exclaimed, pulling Azriel into an unexpected hug. “I was beginning to think Kostya had made you up.”

“Irina,” Kostya warned, but his tone held affection rather than real annoyance.

“What? I’m just saying, when has my brother ever brought a woman home to meet family?” Irina linked her arm through Azriel’s, already leading her inside. “Come on, everyone’s in the sitting room. Fair warning, though, the boys are in rare form today.”

As they entered the opulent sitting room with its cathedral ceilings and ornate furnishings, Azriel was struck by how the space managed to feel both grand and lived-in.

Viktor sat in a leather armchair, and she recognized him immediately from the clinic.

He was every bit as intimidating as she remembered, with his sharp features and calculating gaze.

Across from him, a man she assumed was Fedya lounged on the sofa, his pale skin and black hair giving him an almost ethereal appearance despite the cold intelligence in his light blue eyes.

“So this is the famous Azriel,” Viktor said, rising to his feet with fluid grace. Up close, he was even more imposing, and she found herself taking an involuntary step closer to Kostya.

“Famous might be overstating it,” she replied, hoping her voice sounded steadier than she felt.

Viktor’s lips quirked in what might have been amusement. “Any woman who can survive being shot and still argue with Kostya deserves some recognition.”

“She wasn’t arguing with me,” Kostya protested. “She was being stubborn.”

“Same thing,” Fedya observed quietly, his voice carrying a hint of dry humor that surprised her.

What happened next completely shattered every assumption Azriel had made about these dangerous men. Viktor raised an eyebrow at Kostya and said, “Remember when you were twelve and insisted you could jump from the second-story balcony into the pool?”

“I made it,” Kostya defended, and Azriel watched in fascination as his entire demeanor shifted. The lethal edge softened, replaced by the kind of exasperated affection she’d only glimpsed before.

“You made it into the shallow end,” Irina corrected with a laugh. “And nearly gave Mama a heart attack.”

“The scar on my back would suggest it wasn’t your finest moment,” Viktor added.

Kostya rolled his eyes, settling onto the sofa and pulling Azriel down beside him. “Gang up on me in front of my wife, why don’t you?”

“Wife?” Fedya’s eyebrows rose slightly. “When exactly did this happen?”

“Recently,” Kostya said, his arm sliding around Azriel’s shoulders in a possessive gesture. “We kept it small.”

Azriel marveled at how easily the lie came to him, how natural he made it sound. But what captivated her more was watching him interact with his siblings. This was a side of Kostya she’d never seen, relaxed and playful, quick with comebacks and gentle teasing.

“Do you remember,” Irina said to Viktor, “when Kostya convinced us all that he could speak to horses?”

“I was eight!” Kostya protested, but he was grinning now, that killer smile that never failed to make Azriel’s pulse skip.

“You had us convinced for months,” Viktor continued, his own stern expression cracking. “Until we caught you hiding sugar cubes in your pockets.”

“The horses loved me,” Kostya insisted with mock dignity. “I was just... enhancing the conversation.”

Azriel found herself laughing despite her nerves, charmed by this glimpse into Kostya’s childhood. She’d never had siblings to tease or be teased by, never experienced the kind of easy affection that flowed between the Nikolai family like a living thing.

“What about you, Azriel?” Irina asked, turning those warm eyes her way. “Any embarrassing childhood stories to share?”

The laughter died in Azriel’s throat. Her childhood had been marked by fear and loneliness, not the kind of memories these siblings clearly treasured. “I... not really. I was pretty boring as a kid.”

Kostya’s arm tightened around her, and she wondered if he could sense her discomfort. Irina, bless her, seemed to understand immediately and smoothly changed the subject.

“Well, you’ll have plenty of opportunities to make new memories with this one,” she said, nodding toward Kostya. “He’s surprisingly good at getting into trouble.”

“Am not,” Kostya said, but his brothers’ expressions suggested otherwise.

“Didn’t you get arrested in Monaco for trying to race that prince’s yacht?” Fedya asked mildly.

“That was a misunderstanding.”

“And what about the time you convinced that ambassador’s daughter that you were a Russian prince?” Viktor added.

Kostya had the grace to look slightly embarrassed. “I may have embellished a few details.”

“You wore a fake crown to dinner,” Irina said, dissolving into giggles.

“It was a very convincing crown,” Kostya defended, and Azriel found herself staring at him in wonder.

This playful, charming man was so different from the dangerous stranger who had stormed into her apartment.

Yet she could see threads of both versions in his expressions, the way his eyes danced with mischief one moment and held lethal promise the next.

As the afternoon wore on, Azriel found herself relaxing despite her initial nerves.

Irina drew her into conversations about books and travel, while the brothers continued their good-natured ribbing of each other.

She watched Kostya defend his honor against increasingly ridiculous accusations, his quick wit and easy laughter making her chest tight with an emotion she didn’t want to examine too closely.

When Kostya excused himself to take a business call, Irina moved closer to Azriel on the sofa.

“He’s different with you,” she said quietly, her gaze following her brother as he stepped out onto the terrace.

“Different how?”

“Gentler. More... settled.” Irina smiled. “Kostya has always been the most restless of us, always looking for the next thrill or challenge. But with you, he seems content to just... be.”

Azriel’s heart did something complicated in her chest. “We haven’t known each other very long.”

“Sometimes that doesn’t matter,” Irina said with the kind of wisdom that seemed beyond her years. “Sometimes you just know.”

When Kostya returned, sliding back into his seat beside her like he belonged there, Azriel found herself hyper-aware of every casual touch, every shared glance. The easy intimacy between them felt both natural and terrifying.

“What are you ladies conspiring about?” he asked, that teasing note back in his voice.

“Just getting to know your wife,” Irina said innocently. “She’s much too good for you, by the way.”

“I’m aware,” Kostya replied, his hand finding Azriel’s and threading their fingers together. The simple gesture sent warmth spiraling through her, and she had to resist the urge to pull away from the intensity of her own reaction.

Dinner was a revelation. The formal dining room could have seated twenty, but the family clustered around one end of the massive table, conversation flowing as easily as the expensive wine.

Azriel watched Kostya charm his siblings with outrageous stories, his hands gesturing animatedly as he described some adventure in Prague that may or may not have involved a stolen Lamborghini and a very angry Czech mobster.

“You’re making that up,” Viktor accused, but he was fighting a smile.

“I swear on Mama’s grave,” Kostya said solemnly, then immediately crossed himself.

“Mama’s not dead,” Fedya pointed out dryly.

“Details,” Kostya waved dismissively, and even Fedya cracked a smile.

Azriel found herself entranced by this version of her husband. The way he could command a room, not through fear or intimidation, but through pure charisma. She’d seen glimpses of it before, but here, surrounded by people who loved him unconditionally, he shone.

“Azriel looks like she’s seeing a ghost,” Irina observed with amusement.

“Just... getting used to this side of him,” Azriel admitted, not bothering to deny it.

“Ah, you’ve only seen scary Kostya,” Viktor said with understanding. “Wait until you see him trying to cook. That’s when he’s truly terrifying.”

“I can cook,” Kostya protested.

“Burning water doesn’t count as cooking,” Irina said sweetly.