51. -50-
Nina
We fucked everywhere. Technically, we turned every room in Dorian’s two-story house into a monument to our lust. By Sunday morning, I wasn’t simply tired. I was drained of every ounce of energy, physically and mentally.
Dorian lay beside me, sprawled on the thick carpet in his office, with his eyes closed and chest heaving. Sweat beaded on his forehead; his hair was a mess, but a tiny smile danced on his lips.
“We’re worse than horny rabbits,” he mumbled, blindly tapping with his hand on the carpet until he found my breast. “You poisoned me.”
“Me?” I pushed his hand away, stopping another round before it started. I couldn’t go another round. “Don’t make your insatiable libido my problem.”
“You killed the last woman I touched, ma vilaine.” He peeked at me out of the corner of his eye, my heart doing a pathetic little jump. “Whose problem is it then?”
I rolled my eyes, dismissing the conversation and focusing instead on the persistent buzzing in my ears. I’d heard it for quite some time already, and it wasn’t stopping.
“Is it a phone?” I mumbled, lifting myself to my elbows. Dorian opened one eye.
“It’s Sunday, right?” He stretched his arms above his head. “I’m not on call.”
“But someone might still need us,” I pointed out, standing up. Throwing a blanket around my naked body, I followed the sound, finding Dorian’s vibrating phone on the coffee table in the living room.
“Who the fuck is Sunshine?” I yelled, glaring at the caller ID. Jealousy and rage mixed in my chest, and because Dorian didn’t reply quickly enough, I answered the damn thing.
“Yes?” I barked into the phone, imagining some disgusting woman whose days had been numbered.
“Where is Dorian?” A chilling voice from my nightmares asked, freezing me on the spot.
“Malin?” I squeaked, but the answer was stolen from me when Dorian snatched the phone from my ear.
“Hey, miss me?” He winked at me, laughing at his brother’s response. But in a millisecond, the playful expression was gone, and he straightened up, all his muscles tensed.
“What do you mean he was shot?” His voice jumped as he located his pants behind the piano. I stared at him in shock, my heart slamming against my ribcage.
“What happened?” I mumbled, but he silenced me with his raised palm.
“Okay, press on the wound. I’m on my way,” he instructed, running around the living room. “Where the fuck are my keys?”
I picked them from the couch.
“Here.” I tossed them at him, hitting him in the chest. “Jeeesus,” I exhaled, throwing my arms in the air helplessly. “Pay attention.”
“I’m already driving,” he ground out, balancing on one leg and putting on his shoe on the other. “Karen got shot. I don’t know how bad it is.”
“Karen Kadyrov?” My eyes widened in surprise. “What happened?’
“No idea.” Dorian shook his head. “But he doesn’t want to go to the hospital, so it’s personal.
” My brows furrowed in confusion, yet he didn’t explain more.
“Please, behave while I’m away.” He kissed my forehead and gently squeezed my arm.
“I’ll be back before dinner with Zyon. Until then, don’t do anything.
Carlile included. That bastard is mine.”
“Okay.” I smiled at him. He kissed me again, on the mouth this time, and disappeared to save the world, or, in this case, the Bratva king.
The day moved torturously slowly without anyone to terrorize, poke fun at, or ride into oblivion. I ate, played the piano despite my ring finger protesting, took a long bath, and texted Dorian every five minutes demanding updates while ignoring my father and Sonny.
But Dorian didn’t reply, so eventually I called Lucas and begged him to find my man because I started to freak out that something terrible had happened to him.
“Dorian is at the Starlight,” Lucas reported after thirty excruciating minutes. “Didn’t you say he went to save someone?”
“I did,” I mumbled, my teeth sinking into my bottom lip.
Disconnecting the call, my mind worked overtime to understand why they would be in the center of Manhattan with a gunshot wound, which Karen refused to report. It didn’t make any sense.
The phone buzzing in my hand interrupted my thinking, and I looked at the screen.
Dad.
Since the party, I had fifteen missed calls and ten text messages from him, demanding a conversation, but I ignored them all.
First, I wouldn’t waste time with Dorian for anything.
And second, I wasn’t in the mood to listen to his preaching and demands.
He only asked about the wedding and reminded me how fucked up our situation was.
However, considering the Kadyrov situation, I eventually decided to answer the call. What if some of my people pulled the trigger? It would’ve been a disaster. Our family wouldn’t have survived that.
“Yes?” I said, sitting on a barstool at the kitchen island.
“Finally,” Dad snarled, potent anger seeping through the phone. “Where the hell are you?”
“I’m arranging my future,” I replied, keeping the details for myself. “What do you need?”
“Your future will be destroyed if you don’t return to your fiancé,” Dad seethed. “What happened with Sonny at the party? Did he tell you anything?”
“Tell me anything,” I mumbled, frowning at the empty coffee mug. “Tell me what?”
“You need to—” he started, ignoring my question, but I cut him off.
“Tell me what, Dad?” I raised my voice.
“You have to come home, Nina,” he said much calmer. “Now.”
“No,” I stated firmly. “I’m meeting Zyon…”
“You’re not meeting anyone!” he snapped, my entire body going rigid. “I’m done playing nice. Return home! The wedding will happen ASAP.”
For a second, I was fourteen years old again, standing in my grandfather’s office while he decided my future for me. The old fear resurfaced, sharp enough to steal my breath. Loving him had never made him any less terrifying. But I wasn’t that girl anymore.
I stared at the phone, my thumb hovering over the red button.
“Nina!”
I didn’t react. Why should I? He wanted to sacrifice me without listening.
“Answer me, Nina!”
My teeth clashed together as I ended the call.
Did he tell you anything?
The question looped in my mind. Dad had spent weeks forcing this marriage down my throat. We’d screamed, argued, threatened. None of that was new. That fucking question was. The moment I asked what he meant, he refused to answer.
I slowly lowered the phone onto the counter.
What the hell was he hiding?
“Fuck,” I mumbled, scrolling through my contacts. I found Lucas’s number and dialed it, bouncing my feet impatiently when he didn’t answer right away.
“What is it now?” he asked when he finally picked it up. “Dorian decided to breathe without your permission?”
“Not now, Lucas,” I retorted. “It’s about my dad.”
“Your dad?” There was clear curiosity in his voice. It’d been a long time since I asked him for something that didn’t involve Dorian.
“Yes,” I exhaled, trying to organize my thoughts into meaningful words. “I think he’s hiding something.”
“Something about the family?” Lucas mused, keyboard clicks echoing in the background.
“No, not really.” My brows dipped as I paced the living room. “It’s about Sonny. Something doesn’t fit.”
“The entire fucking situation doesn’t fit,” Lucas grumbled. “Your father should’ve put the bastard six feet under for touching you.”
“Exactly.” I stopped walking. “That’s what mafia logic dictates. Why not do it?”
“Ramzan, remember?” Lucas stated the obvious.
“No.” I shook my head firmly. The memory hit me out of nowhere. “Zyon never demanded marriage. Sonny’s uncle did.”
“What?”
“Yes! Sonny said it himself.” My steps quickened. “No help until we are married.”
“Still the same thing, Nina.”
“Fine, but… think about these two things. Dad asked what Sonny told me at the party and refused to elaborate. Twice. And when I told him about meeting Zyon, he shut the conversation down completely. It’s strange! Why wouldn’t he ask what I’m planning? He’s just pushing the marriage.”
“Well, it is strange, but it doesn’t prove anything.”
“What if Giovanni fucked up more than we think?” I asked, ignoring the painful squeeze of my chest.
“You mean, more than attacking the Zhumagulovs?” Lucas whined, disbelief lacing his words.
“Yes,” I exhaled, staring at my pale expression in the mirror in the entry hall. My pupils were blown wide. “I need you to look into them.”
“Okay,” Lucas sighed after a brief pause. “I’ll see what I can find. What about your plans?”
“I’m meeting Zyon tonight,” I revealed, a shocked gasp reaching my ear. “It’ll be fine. Don’t worry.”
“You should run away instead while Dorian isn’t home,” Lucas suggested, worry lacing his words. “What if they decide to get rid of you?”
“He won’t let them,” I claimed with absolute certainty, wiping my sweaty palm on Dorian’s T-shirt.
“I’d love to have your faith,” he mumbled under his breath, and a tiny smile grazed my lips.
I truly believed Dorian wouldn’t throw me to the wolves. After two days together like some deranged honeymoon, I trusted him enough to walk into Zyon’s house and defend myself.
My father scared me more.
Because if my gut was right and the marriage had never been only about helping the Zhumagulovs, then maybe not even Dorian could save me.