Chapter 4 - Dmitri
9 years ago
I dribble the ball down the field, my friends chasing after me as the warm summer sun beats down on us. The laughter and shouts of teenage boys fill the air, carefree and joyful.
"Pass it here, Dmitri!" Mikhail calls out, waving his arms frantically.
With a sly grin, I feint left and cut right, easily evading Nikolai's clumsy attempt to steal the ball. My heart races with exhilaration as the goal comes into view.
"You'll never catch me!" I taunt over my shoulder.
Piotr barrels toward me, desperation etched on his face. I brace myself for the impending collision, planting my feet firmly in the grass. At the last second, I dummy the ball between his legs, leaving him to crash ungracefully to the ground in a tangle of limbs.
Peals of laughter erupt from my teammates as Piotr rolls over, clutching his knee with an exaggerated groan. "That's not fair, Dmitri! You're too good!"
I reach down to help him up, my chest still heaving from the sprint. "Maybe you should spend less time chasing girls and more time practicing, eh Piotr?"
He swats my hand away with a scowl, but his eyes sparkle with mirth. "Just you wait. I'll get you next time."
I turn sharply, and my foot connects with the ball in a powerful strike. It soars through the air perfectly... until it veers off course, smacking into a nearby tree with a dull thud.
"Watch it!" a feminine voice rings out in protest.
I whip around to see the ball rolling away from a young girl seated beneath the tree's shade. A large book lays at her feet, the pages ruffled from the impact.
Shit.
My friends erupt into raucous laughter and hoots. "Nice one, Dmitri!"
"Time to put those famous moves to use, eh?" Piotr calls out with a suggestive wink.
My face burns with embarrassment as I give him a sharp look. Steeling myself, I jog over to the girl.
"I'm so sorry about that," I start, rubbing the back of my neck sheepishly. "Guess I don't know my own str—"
The words die in my throat as she looks up at me with stunning emerald eyes. Loose dark curls frame her delicate features, and full lips quirk upwards in an annoyed look that roots me to the spot. I stand there, utterly transfixed by her beauty. Those emerald eyes seem to pierce right through me, rendering me speechless and immobile. She brushes a curl from her face.
"You've destroyed my book," she says flatly, gesturing to the crumpled pages scattered in the grass.
My mouth opens and closes wordlessly as I drink in her flawless features. The gentle slope of her nose, the fullness of her lips, the way her dark lashes frame those captivating eyes—it's as if she stepped out of a Renaissance painting.
She arches one perfectly shaped eyebrow expectantly. "Can't you talk? Or are you just gawking down at me like a fool?"
The annoyance in her voice finally jolts me back to reality. I scramble to find the words, any words, to respond. But my mind is a tangled mess, overwhelmed by her radiant beauty.
She scoffs and rolls her eyes, clearly unimpressed by my slack-jawed staring. With one fluid motion, she gathers her book and stands before straightening her skirt.
"Asshole," she mutters, brushing past me without a second glance.
I watch helplessly as she strides away, my heart pounding in my ears. The scent of her perfume, an intoxicating blend of roses and vanilla, lingers in the air around me. I can't tear my eyes away as she disappears into the distance, her dark curls bouncing with each purposeful stride.
A firm slap on my back snaps me back into the present moment. I turn to see Piotr grinning at me, amusement dancing in his eyes.
"Nice one, Dmitri," he chuckles. "I've never seen you so flustered around a girl before."
I open my mouth to respond, but he holds up a hand, shaking his head.
"Don't even think about it, my friend. That's Valentina Makarov you were drooling over."
The name sends a jolt through me. Valentina... it suits her beauty perfectly. I rack my brain, trying to place the familiar surname.
Piotr must see the confusion on my face because he lets out a hearty laugh. "Makarov? As in Sergei Makarov's daughter?"
Of course—Sergei Makarov, the most powerful and ruthless crime boss in all of Moscow. A shiver runs down my spine as I remember the stories of his brutality and viciousness.
Piotr claps me on the shoulder, his expression suddenly serious. "Listen, Dmitri. If you value your limbs staying intact, you'll go the other way whenever you see that girl coming. She's off-limits, you hear me?"
I nod numbly. Valentina Makarov... daughter of the most dangerous man in Moscow. Just my luck to be captivated by someone so unattainable, so perilously out of reach.
As we rejoin the game, I steal glances down the path she disappeared, foolishly wishing to catch one more glimpse of her ethereal beauty. But Piotr's warning echoes in my mind: Stay away from Valentina Makarov.
I sit at my desk, staring at the files strewn before me as Alexei enters the room. His usual jovial demeanor is on full display, a stark contrast to the darkness that consumes my thoughts.
"Has our guest eaten?" I ask, not looking up from the papers detailing the latest intelligence on Sergei Makarov's operations.
Alexei chuckles. "No, she hasn't. You're treating her like a princess when she should be our hostage."
My jaw tightens at his teasing tone. "She's our leverage against Makarov. We need her alive and..." I trail off, unable to voice the rest of my thoughts.
Alexei's gaze pierces through me, seeing the truth I try to bury. "You can't even hide it, can you? The way you look at her, the way you speak about her..." He shakes his head, a knowing smile playing on his lips.
I grunt, shifting in my chair. "Just untie her and let her move freely in the basement. No need to keep her bound like a prisoner."
Alexei's eyes widen in mock surprise. "Oh, so now the little princess gets an upgrade to house arrest? How generous of you, Dmitri."
"Enough," I growl, fixing him with a warning glare.
Undeterred, Alexei singsongs as he turns to leave, "Whatever you say, lover boy."
His taunting laughter echoes down the hall, and I'm left alone with the turmoil of my conflicted heart. Why did I have to fucking fall in love with the enemy? Why did I have to still be in love with her?
I bolt upright as one of my men bursts through the door, his face flushed with panic. "Boss, the girl... she's escaped!"
My heart skips a beat as the words register. "How the hell is that possible?" I demand, already on my feet and striding toward him. There's no mistaking the implication in his wide eyes as he repeats, "The girl, sir."
Valentina.
A thousand thoughts race through my mind, but one question takes precedence. "Where the fuck is Alexei?"
The man swallows hard. "She... she hit him in the groin and ran out before he could stop her."
A ghost of a smile tugs at my lips. I expected as much from the Valentina I used to know. I quickly wipe the smile from my face, tamping down the surge of pride and affection. Now is not the time for sentimentality. I need to find her before she gets hurt or does something reckless.
"Gather the men," I bark, already moving toward the exit. "We need to find her before..."
Before what? Before she gets hurt? Escapes for good? Realizes the depth of my betrayal? The thoughts swirl in my head as I break into a sprint down the corridor.
I'm not worried about her attempting to flee—this house is like a labyrinth, and she has nowhere to go. No, a far more primal fear grips me: the thought of her getting hurt. My men won't hesitate to shoot her on sight. Fuck, I can't have that happen.
"Tell them not to shoot or engage. Did you fucking hear me? Don't shoot!"
Just as I round the corner, I see one of my men coming toward me with Valentina slung over his shoulder. She’s cursing and struggling, her fists pounding against his back.
"Put me down, you brute!" she screams, kicking her legs futilely.
"Boss, I got her," the man says, slightly out of breath. "She was fast but not fast enough."
I take in her disheveled appearance. Her hair is wild. And then my gaze lands on the bloody gash on her arm.
"Valentina!" The name tears from my lips as I rush toward them. "Are you okay? What happened?"
She seems to calm at the sound of my voice. "Put her down gently," I order, and the man carefully sets her on her feet. She stumbles slightly but regains her balance, glaring at me.
"Are you okay?" I repeat, my voice softer, more concerned.
She doesn't respond, her chest heaving as she eyes me warily. Her gaze flicks to the wound on her arm, and she winces.
Throwing caution to the wind, I close the distance between us in two long strides. Before she can react, I scoop her up bridal style. She lets out a yelp of surprise, but she doesn't fight. I carry Valentina down the stairs. When I reach the basement, I stride over to the bed and unceremoniously dump her onto it. She lands with a huff. I loom over her, fists clenched at my sides as I struggle to rein in my temper.
"What the hell did you think you were doing?" I roar, inches from her face. "Do you have any idea how dangerous that was?"
She meets my heated glare with fiery defiance blazing in those emerald depths. She straightens her spine and lifts her chin in a display of sheer stubbornness.
"My men are under strict orders," I growl through gritted teeth. "They'll shoot you or anything they can't recognize on sight."
Her eyes blaze with fury. She knows I'm serious and that my threat is real, but her pride won't let her back down.
I let out a frustrated growl, rake my hands through my hair, and turn away from her. I pace the length of the small room.
When I face her again, some of the fire has left my eyes, replaced by a simmering intensity. "Were you hurt? Did one of my men do this to you?" I ask, nodding toward the gash on her arm.
She hesitates, assessing me carefully before giving a small shake of her head.
My gaze drifts back to the bloody gash marring her otherwise flawless skin. "I'll have one of the guards bring the first aid kit to treat that wound," I say in a tone gentler than before.
Her eyes narrow slightly at my offer. "Why can't you do it yourself?"
I blink, caught off guard by her question. A derisive scoff escapes my lips before I can stop it. "Don't be ridiculous. I'm not playing nursemaid."
The words come out harsher than I intended, but a part of me relishes the sting they bring to her eyes. I turn on my heel and stride from the room, my heart thundering in my chest.
As soon as I'm out of her sight, I lean back against the wall, squeezing my eyes shut.
Fuck! Fuck!! Fuck!!! It's been ten hellish years, Dmitri, and you can't get a fucking grip?
I can't afford any more slip-ups like this. But even as the thought forms, an image of her expression flashes behind my lids.
I push off from the wall and make my way toward the supply closet at the end of the hall. The first aid kit is tucked away on the top shelf, gathering dust from disuse. I grab it and head back.
When I re-enter the basement room, Valentina's gaze instantly snaps to me. Her eyes widen almost imperceptibly at the sight of the med kit in my hands.
I approach slowly, as one would a wounded animal, and kneel before her without a word. Carefully, I pry the kit open and begin removing the supplies I'll need: antiseptic wipes, gauze, medical tape.
Valentina watches my movements in tense silence. I can practically feel the weight of her eyes boring into me. Gently, I take her arm and dab at the gash with an antiseptic wipe. She sucks in a sharp breath through her nose but doesn't flinch away.
"This might sting," I murmur, more to myself than her.
I flinch as Valentina's other hand unexpectedly touches my face, her fingers tracing the lines of my cheek with a featherlight caress. My heart stutters at the tender gesture, a stark contrast to the callous treatment I've shown her thus far.
Confusion clouds her emerald eyes as they search my face, glistening with unshed tears. "I... I thought you were dead," she whispers, her voice thick with emotion.
The rawness in her tone sends a pang straight through my chest. I open my mouth, but no words come out. What can I possibly say to her in this moment? How can I explain the hell I've endured, the lengths I've gone to for vengeance against her father?
Valentina seems to read the turmoil in my eyes. With a choked sob, she suddenly leans forward and wraps her arms around me, burying her face in the crook of my neck as she cries in earnest.
I freeze, my entire body going rigid at the unexpected embrace. Every instinct screams at me to pull away, to push her back and re-establish the distance between us. But I can't bring myself to do it. Instead, I remain utterly still, allowing her to cling to me as sobs wrack her slender frame. The scent of her hair, that same intoxicating blend of roses and vanilla from so long ago, overwhelms my senses.
Slowly, tentatively, I raise my hands to rest on her back. The simple act feels impossibly intimate after everything that's transpired between us. I can feel the warmth of her body seeping through the thin fabric of her shirt, the steady rise and fall of her breathing against me.
Valentina doesn't pull away, her tears soaking through the shoulder of my shirt as she clings to me with a desperation I've never witnessed from her before. I should push her back, remove myself from this compromising position before it goes too far.
But I can't, not when she's so vulnerable, so distraught, not when the feel of her in my arms is so achingly familiar, stirring up memories and emotions I thought I'd long buried.