47. -46-
Dorian
Ispent the last few days and half of the party on pins and needles. Pretending not to know anything was torture. Only Aryna kept me from barging into Nina’s apartment and demanding a fucking explanation.
But it didn’t align with my plan. Nina deserved a little punishment, a pinch of fear when she discovered I knew. And seeing her now, in the quiet hall, her beautiful eyes blown wide with panic, I was proud of my flawless delivery.
Still, I felt no satisfaction because I wasn’t angry at her. The emotions swirling in my chest were difficult to explain, but one thing was crystal clear.
She was mine.
Obsessed and dangerous, with a high probability of planning revenge on my family, but still mine.
Zyon is going to have a heart attack, the demon sang in my head, but I ignored him.
The voice plagued me for the past few days, impersonating my deepest fears so greatly that I started to think about taking meds.
I hated the fucking drugs that numbed my senses and abilities, but the anxiety was eating me alive.
Until now. Every terrible feeling that haunted me vanished without a trace at the sight of her.
“Leaving so soon?” I broke the silence that stretched torturously long, unable to look away from her gorgeous face.
Fuck, she was beautiful.
While I had noticed her before, I never focused on the little things.
Like her adorable nose, turned slightly upward.
Or a thin scar above her left eyebrow that made her feel real under all the danger and elegance.
Still, my biggest weakness was those crazy long nails.
Just a memory of her scratching me woke up my desires.
“Running away, to be honest,” she replied boldly, but her eyes were betraying her. Fear reflected in her brown irises; her pupils dilated.
“Why?” I asked innocently, like my little piano stunt wasn’t the reason she almost broke her legs a few minutes ago.
“You know,” was all she said. No pleading. No reasoning. Nothing but two simple words that explain everything.
We stared at each other for another moment. I wanted to say so much. An hour ago, I had so many questions, but they didn’t seem to matter anymore. All I cared about was that I finally knew who stole my sleep and almost my sanity. And the most terrifying part was how quickly I accepted her.
Fuck! I accepted her long ago. Her identity be damned.
You’re in looove, the demon mocked, and I couldn’t argue.
Was I?
The door slammed behind me, making us both jump. Nina’s gaze drifted to the incoming guests, the Italian language reaching my ears. I turned toward the two women, one of whom certainly belonged to the Santangelo family. She cast Nina a strange look as they passed us.
“Let’s go.” I nodded toward the back entrance, refusing to be disturbed by the party.
“Where?” Nina asked in a firm voice.
“My house.”
“Secluded area with no cameras?” She raised a brow, and I involuntarily chuckled. “A great place for murder.”
“If I wanted you dead, ma vilaine,” I erased the distance between us, her breath hitching slightly, “I would’ve ended this days ago.”
As if my hand had a mind of its own, it moved up, and my fingertips gently touched her cheek.
Slowly traveling down, I cupped her chin, tilting her head up.
Her delicious lips parted, and I wanted nothing more than to kiss them.
But Zyon had no idea about this, and if he accidentally saw us… Well, it wouldn’t be pretty.
“Let’s go,” I repeated, fighting every instinct to claim her mouth right away. I let go of her chin, my fingers gently brushing her arm, down to her elbow, until they encircled her wrist.
“What are you planning to do with me?” she whispered, not moving an inch.
“I won’t hurt you,” I promised, but her suspicious face told me she didn't believe me. That stung. A pang of hurt stabbed my chest, and the demon in my head snickered.
Who is the big bad villain now? He laughed, and I almost rolled my eyes at the annoying voice. I shoved him into the deepest corner of my brain, hoping he’d never climb up.
“I swear on my father’s grave, Nina.” I squeezed her hand tenderly. “Nothing will happen to you. I just want to talk.”
A tiny smile tugged on her lips, her expression softening.
“You called me by my name,” she whispered, as if she couldn’t believe it. “It’s nice.”
“I finally know it.” I winked at her, pushing myself to ignore the magnetic pull between us. “Let’s go.”
I tugged her toward the back entrance and outside to the busy street. Relief flooded me when the cold air ruffled my hair, but only for a second, because Sasha stood beside my car, smoking a cigarette.
“I need the keys,” I commanded, waving my hand in front of his face. Nina moved behind me, yet he noticed her.
“Who’s that?” He straightened to his impressive height, glaring at her.
“None of your business,” I retorted, giving him a pointed look. “Keys.”
He hesitated, glancing between Nina and me before he reached into the inner pocket of his suit jacket.
“Does Malin know about this?” he asked as I opened the passenger door, my patience running out.
“He isn’t my babysitter.”
Sasha bristled. “But he’ll have my head if something happens to you. Again.”
“Not my problem.” I shrugged and slid behind the steering wheel.
The engine purred during the drive to my house. I stole a few glances at Nina, and she did the same when she thought I wasn’t looking, but neither of us said a word. My fingers tapped against the steering wheel while the radio failed miserably at swallowing the tension between us.
Parking in front of my house felt like redemption. Nina hastily opened the door and got out, scanning the surroundings as if she expected an army to run out from the decorative bushes.
“We’re alone,” I reassured her. “My brothers don’t know about this place.”
She nodded, her shoulders relaxing a little. I let her in, turned on the lights, and walked into the living room.
“Take a seat,” I offered, shrugging off my suit jacket and removing my tie. I rolled the sleeves of my button-up to my elbows and walked to the alcohol cabinet. “Drink?”
“Whiskey, please.” Nina crossed her long legs and adjusted her dress to cover her thighs. I handed her a glass of expensive scotch, old enough to pay rent, and sat opposite her in the armchair.
“Why?” I asked eventually, because she clearly didn’t want to be the first one to talk. “Why did you kidnap me, but didn’t use it as any mafia leader would? Zyon would’ve given you anything.”
“Naive,” she exhaled, moving the glass to her lips. She tasted the alcohol, nodding in appreciation after a generous gulp.
“You could’ve—” I continued, but she swiftly cut me off.
“I could’ve done shit!” she spat, slamming the glass on the coffee table so hard the contents almost spilled.
“I would’ve only started a war I couldn’t win.
My family has no allies, no powerful friends.
” She threw her dark hair over her shoulder, her eyes blazing.
“Giovanni destroyed everything, and now I have to pay for it!”
“You?” I echoed, watching her abruptly stand up.
“Me,” she snapped, reaching behind her dress. In a split second, the black gown fell to the floor.
I raised a brow, taken aback by her actions. I certainly didn’t think our conversation would take this turn so quickly. But then, I looked, truly looked at her body and froze.
A dark bruise spread over the left side of her abdomen, from her ribs through her stomach. The blue color blended with the yellow-brown one that ended just above her pelvic bone.
As if in a trance, I let go of the glass, the expensive liquid soaking into the carpet. Falling to my knees before her, I scanned the injuries, evaluating the shape, the color, the placement.
One bruise was fresh, barely hours old. The other had already begun healing. My pulse spiked, temper rising dangerously high.
“Who touched you, ma vilaine?” The question came out quietly, too quietly for the turmoil in my chest.
She didn’t answer. Maybe she didn’t hear me, so I tried again.
“Nina.” My fingertips hovered over her skin, rage crawling beneath my ribs. My eyes lifted to her. “Who the fuck did this?”
She released a shaky breath, her expression stopping me cold. For the first time since I’d met her, the fearless little menace looked genuinely hurt.
“My fiancé,” she replied, Italian accent slipping into the words, making it sound like an insult. “The man your brother chose for me.”
Something inside me snapped. The world narrowed into a suffocating red haze, burning through my skull. The room disappeared. The whiskey. The piano. Nina. Only her bruises remained.
The bruises. On my wife.
My pulse thundered as my brain abandoned every civilized thought and sprinted toward cruelty with terrifying enthusiasm.
Sonny Carlile.
That pathetic, overdressed prick had put his hands on her. Not once. Repeatedly. The demon in my head perked up like a delighted child handed matches and gasoline.
“Carlile,” I muttered, tasting the name like poison.
Fear flickered briefly through Nina’s eyes, but I barely saw her. I was already imagining the procedure in perfect detail. An empty operating room, sedatives carefully calculated not to knock him out completely. Scalpels. Clamps. Precision.
He liked using his hands? Beating women?
Fine. I would teach him about the fragility of bones, tendons, and nerves. I’d give him a lesson he’d never forget.
“Dorian,” Nina’s voice cut through the haze. I looked at her, registering worry imprinted on her face. “Are you okay?”
“I should be the one asking that,” I said, locking my violent plans deep into my brain for later use. Even when she grew up surrounded by brutes, she had no idea how crazy I could be. I didn’t want to scare her. “Are you okay?”
“I’ve survived worse.” She shrugged, her hand diving into my hair. Her nails gently scraped my nape, a moan almost slipping free from my lips.
Shit! A second ago, I was ready to commit murder.
“We need to talk,” I reminded her, trying not to focus on the pleasurable goosebumps that erupted all over my skin. “And I need to check your injuries. You—”
“Stop, Dorian.” Her firm voice enveloped me, cutting off my thoughts. “We can do that later.”