52. -51-
Nina
“You look nervous,” Dorian said as we walked along the gravel path to Zyon’s mansion.
The creepy, tall house gave me goosebumps. Everywhere I looked, darkness stared back. But then I remembered where the brothers grew up. The estate their mother built would make Dracula come in his pants.
“I’m vigilant,” I corrected him, secretly wiping my sweaty palm into my long burgundy skirt.
Lucas brought me clothes and news about the Carlile family. Unfortunately, he found nothing useful, only reports of losses at high-stakes poker tables.
“It’s going to be fine.” Dorian placed a hand on the small of my back and leaned closer. “Zyon is in a terrific mood. Malin couldn’t have set a better date.”
“Why?” I asked, suspicion hitting me like a wave. Ruthless crime bosses weren’t happy often.
“Can’t tell.” Dorian smiled cryptically. “But we need to use this opportunity and persuade him you’re not a threat.” He kissed my cheek gently and pushed me toward the front door, guarded by a deadly Cane Corso and two men who looked like butchers in suits. “You’re not a threat, right?”
“Oh, c’mon.” I rolled my eyes, ignoring the cramps in my stomach. “I’m not going to blow up this house with a bomb in my bag.”
“Well, that’s comforting.” He grinned, nodding to greet the guards.
While he shook hands with them and asked about their day, I stepped into the spacious entry hall that flowed seamlessly into the living room.
Black dominated the space. A gothic sofa and matching armchairs surrounded a black marble fireplace, while charcoal-colored walls and a staircase in the same dark shade stretched toward the upper floor.
Behind the seating area, a floor-to-ceiling glass wall overlooked a perfectly manicured garden and a fountain illuminated by soft lights.
The whole place looked like a shrine dedicated to bad moods.
“I wouldn’t be surprised if he slept in a coffin,” I mumbled under my breath. I lightly touched the armchair's backrest; the leather felt cool against my fingers, soothing my tense nerves. My body was in fight mode, every muscle ready to throw punches and kick my way out of here.
“Aaaaaaah.”
A high-pitched scream almost made me jump out of my skin. My hand instinctively went for a knife attached to my thigh when a girl sprinted inside the living room, her long curly hair flying around her head, and her grey eyes darting behind her.
“Run!” she yelled at me. “Before he sees you!”
“Who?” I asked like an idiot, searching her face for clues.
“The monster!” She pointed with her index finger toward the door she had just dashed from, another scream flying from her mouth. I blinked, glancing at the man in all black with a zombie mask covering his face, unimpressed.
“Uncle Dory!” the girl squealed, breaking my staring contest with the man in the mask.
“Hey, princess.”
I turned around just in time to see Dorian spin her in his arms. She laughed like crazy, her giggles bouncing off the walls while I momentarily lost myself in admiring Dorian’s behavior around her.
He was such a natural with kids. Whether with the blonde girl he saved at the hospital or this one, the same happy smile possessed his lips.
Oh, fuck. I loved seeing him this happy.
“Nina.” Dorian interrupted my thoughts as he set the girl down. “This is Zara. My niece.”
“Oh, you’re Kellerman’s kid,” I blurted out without thinking, realizing too late the absurdity I'd let slip. Dorian froze, but my attention was stolen by the little girl whose steel-grey eyes threw daggers at me.
“My name is Zara Christina Zhumagulov,” she said with an unmatched confidence for a seven-year-old, shocking me even more than my own stupidity. “But you can call me Miss Zee.”
She stretched her tiny arm toward me for a shake, her brows lifting slightly when I didn’t take it right away.
“Nina,” I said, introducing myself and shaking her hand. “Nice to meet you.”
Zara flashed me a polite smile and let go of me. Stepping aside, she peeked behind me at the man in the mask.
“Was it good?” she asked expectantly, eagerness reflecting on her beautiful face. Gone was the steely gaze and severe expression. She was the little girl again.
“Perfect,” the man replied, lifting his mask. Exactly as I thought, the same face as Dorian’s was hidden under it, and by the emotionless expression, I would bet my money that it was Malin.
“I’m going to tell Mommy,” she chirped, running toward what I assumed to be the entrance to the kitchen.
“Are you teaching her to freak people out?” I asked, my eyes drifting between the two identical men. Dorian shrugged, smiling innocently, while his brother wore his perfect stoic facade.
“We’re teaching her survival,” came the response from behind me, and I spun on my heels.
Zyon entered the living room like a predator who never doubted his position at the top of the food chain. His black eyes bored into me with crushing intensity, reminding me that I was the prey tonight.
“The sooner Zara learns to take care of herself in this world, the better for her,” he said, walking toward me. “Right?”
“Right.” Dorian appeared before me like a shield, creating a barrier between his brother and me. A barely visible smirk lifted a corner of my mouth, and of course, Zyon caught it. His eyes narrowed slightly, his terrifying gaze lingering a moment longer on my face before he glanced at Dorian.
“Are you her spokesperson now?” he asked with an ironic undertone.
“I’m keeping you at a safe distance,” Dorian replied casually, masterfully ignoring the tension. “We don’t want you to get hurt, boss.”
He turned and winked at me while Zyon’s expression soured.
“Let’s move this meeting to my office,” he ordered, walking toward the massive door on the opposite wall. I stared at his broad back in a black, fitted button-up, but my feet refused to obey.
“Weren’t we invited to dinner?” I looked at Dorian, relaxing a little when he gently took my hand.
“House rules.” He led me to the office door. “No work-related stuff talk in front of Zara.”
“They remember she’s seven now?” I almost groaned at the absurdity of that rule.
No one would discuss murder over the zucchini soup.
But then my glance landed on Malin, casually leaning against the bookshelf, and I realized that without rules, this psychopath would teach the little one to slice a throat before the age of ten.
“Please, take a seat, Nina,” Zyon interrupted Dorian’s reply, pointing at the dark leather armchair. I sat, facing him across the huge oak desk, calculating how much time I would need to reach the silver letter opener or my knife if I needed to.
“So.” Zyon placed his hands on the table and wove his fingers together. “We are gathered here in the presence of family—”
“Seriously?” Dorian cut him off, plopping in the seat beside me. “This is the opening you chose?”
“It’s fitting,” Malin pointed out while my confused gaze jumped between them.
“You didn’t invite us to the wedding. Did you expect me to wave it off?” Zyon raised an elegant brow, leaning into his chair. “I’m actually offended. You sat in the front row at mine.”
“You really are in a good mood.” Dorian grinned, crossing his legs. “How was your trip, by the way? Enjoying the last months of being the center of Valeria′s universe?”
“Don’t change the subject,” Malin interjected, his emotionless expression sending chills down my spine. He constantly looked like the entire world bored him to the bones while he secretly planned a mass murder. “We are here because of your wife.”
“So the marriage is legal now?” Dorian flashed another smile at Malin. “Two days ago, you were telling a different story.”
“It depends entirely on how this conversation goes,” Zyon replied, my heart missing a beat. Out of the corner of my eye, I peeked at Dorian, but his attention was on his brothers.
“What’s the catch?” he asked, his voice dropping an octave. His signature playfulness disappeared in a millisecond.
“The bride is the catch.” Zyon turned to me, freezing me on the spot with his chilling look. “What’s the game plan, Miss Valentino?”
“Mrs. Zhumagulov,” Dorian corrected, my head whipping toward him.
“Not so fast.” Zyon raised a hand, opening his mouth to say more, but I completely ignored him. My entire focus was on Dorian.
He just called me, Nina Valentino, the woman who kidnapped and almost killed him, by his last name.
Was it for real?
“Are you sure?” I whispered, leaning closer so my fingers gently brushed against the back of his hand.
“Don’t make me regret this,” he exhaled, the severity of his words making my stomach knot.
For a brief moment, I forgot why we were here. All I could think about was the fact that the man of my dreams had just placed himself on my side of the battlefield.
Fuck! I wanted to kiss him.
“Game plan.” Malin snapped his fingers between Dorian and me, bursting our little bubble. My eyes narrowed as they connected with his empty ones.
“There is no game plan,” I almost snarled at him, pissed that he interrupted my victory moment. “My only agenda was to escape the arranged marriage.”
“And marry the man who killed your grandfather?” Zyon fired like a cannonball, effectively reminding me that the last two days, no matter how beautiful they were, couldn’t erase the past.
My grandpa was tortured, stabbed multiple times, and eventually hanged before being stuffed in a garbage bag and thrown into the river.
“What do you expect me to say, Zyon?” I turned to him, retracting my hand from Dorian. “That I plan to slaughter your entire family?”
“That’s what I would do.” Malin shrugged nonchalantly, pushing himself off the bookshelves.
“That’s what we all would do,” Zyon added. “Don’t insult our intelligence by pretending you just accepted it.”
I just stared at him, unsure what to do. They would never believe me when I said that, as a mafia heir, I wasn’t considering starting a war. However, admitting it could be my death sentence.