Vladimira remained a stunning beauty. Her beauty was the stuff of legend among the Bratva, and rightfully so: her porcelain skin provided the perfect palate for her artfully arched brows, high cheekbones, and blood red lips. Glossy, blue-black hair shimmered beneath a sea of crystal chandeliers. The only evidence of the passage of time that Kathleen could discern was the prominent streak of silvery gray hair above her temple. And even that was beautiful. Vladimira wore her hair swept over one shoulder to emphasize the streak, and her jaw-dropping curves were as sleek as they had ever been.
Vladimira took one of Kathleen's hands and stepped back, admiring Kathleen's gown as she held their hands aloft. Her ornate, Gothic-style poison ring glinted on her left hand. She wore the lethal piece of jewelry as other women wore their wedding rings. It signified her all-consuming, lifelong commitment to Bratva – but it wasn't just for show. The ring was always fully loaded with her poison of choice, and today was no exception.
She eyed her sister-in-law with approval. "So very beautiful, as always, Kathleen. You do my brother proud." Turning her attention back to Glazov, she arched a brow imperiously. "Now, brother of mine, what is this you were saying about grandchildren?"
Glazov didn't join in the women's revelry, instead meeting Vladimira's mischievous gaze with somber stoicism. "Time is a luxury I do not have."
"I wish you'd stop saying that," Kathleen murmured as she tucked herself back into his side, kissing his cheek. "You know how I worry. Always so serious. Not today of all days. Just enjoy the moment, Glazov."
"You still call him Glazov after all these years, not Alexander. Why is this?" Vladimir asked.
"That is a good question," he concurred as he glanced around the room, instinctively taking stock of every detail: his guests' demeanor, the connections being made and hatchets being buried, so to speak.
"Because," Kathleen purred, "Glazov is who you are: the Pakhan who inspires great love and great fear in equal measure."
"So, you'll always see me as a gangster. I suppose I can't expect any different," he said, careful to keep his tone neutral.
"Ah, but you're my gangster," she said as she rested her hand on his cheek, her thumb slowly stroking along his beautifully chiseled cheekbone.
"I say, let them enjoy being newlyweds. I understand it is a feeling like no other," Vladimira concluded wistfully.
Then, smiling perhaps a bit too brightly, Vladimira turned away to scan the sea of wedding guests, her gaze settling on a couple standing near the edge of the dance floor. Kathleen's eyes widened when a small smile tugged at Vladimira's lips and a low, sensual purr hummed from her throat. Kathleen followed her sister-in-law's predatory gaze straight to Yafon, Glazov's longtime guard and Oleg's father. He was talking to his nephew's bride, Roksana, and seemed oblivious to Vladimira's hungry gaze.
"This is where I take my leave, my darlings," Vladimira drawled, smiling indulgently at Kathleen and Glazov's obvious pleasure in each other's company. "I have enjoyed my visit but I'm afraid I must fly away home tonight. I thank you for such wonderful hospitality, as always." She turned away abruptly when her eyes alighted on her beloved Nikita and his new bride, Natasha. "Oh, there he is, my little prince!"
"He loves it when you call him that," Glazov called after her blandly. He shrugged, feigning innocence in response to his wife's skeptical glare as he watched Vladimira cross the room, no doubt to fuss over her nephew. She slowed her pace when she passed Yafon and Roksana, pausing just long enough to air-kiss the bride and run a hand admiringly along the sleeve of Yafon's tuxedo jacket, squeezing the thick bicep that strained against the fabric.
Yafon always stood out in a crowd, an older man, pushing 60, handsome in an unconventional way with his bald head and his beefy, muscular build. Glazov frowned at the warmth that touched the big man's cheeks as his sister walked away, her hips swaying perhaps just a bit more than usual. Well, well, well.
Glazov watched his sister's retreating back as he contemplated his wife's previous comment, his brows drawing together almost imperceptibly. "Do you fear me?" he asked quietly.
"Would you have it any other way?" she teased, snuggling in closer to him and resting her hand over his heart. "I love you, Glazov, and every sinister moment of my life with you."