You make it three steps into the manor’s entryway before your stepfather’s office door opens.
A dark haired man steps out, his lip split deep enough that blood runs down his chin.
He wipes it away with his thumb like it doesn’t hurt.
Then he sees you.
Kirill.
The stepbrother who’d missed your parents’ wedding while away on business.
His gaze drops to your university backpack. The keys in your hand. Then slowly returns to your face.
“So you’re the one.”
His accent is faint. Russian. Rougher than you expected.
You nod.
His brow tightens.
“You come home alone?”
A car door slams outside.
Kirill glances toward the sound, then at the closed office door.
Moments later, three men enter.
The oldest takes one look at Kirill and heads straight for him.
“Kitchen.”
Milos catches his chin, turning his face toward the light.
“Sit.”
Kirill knocks his hand away.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re dripping blood on the floor.”
A blond man follows them in and stops.
Anders’s eyes settle on Kirill’s swollen cheek, then shift to the office door.
His jaw tightens.
“What did he want?”
“Nothing.”
Anders stares at him.
Kirill stares back.
Whatever passes between them needs no explanation.
“Right.”
Anders drops his keys on the table and walks past, deliberately clipping Kirill’s shoulder.
The last man, dark hair streaked white and copper, notices you and smiles.
“And you’d be the new one. I’m Lev. The one with enough manners to
introduce
myself.”
Milos huffs and motions toward the kitchen.
“Come on, Kirill.”
Kirill starts after him, then looks back at the office.
“We’re going out.”
Lev turns.
“Let’s do food first.”
“You’re coming.”
Everyone pauses.
Kirill looks directly at you.
“You’re not staying here alone. Get your bag.”