Chapter 12 #2
Her eyes lift, wide and searching. “Really? Is that even allowed in the mafia? To have a normal, happy family?”
A small growl escapes me before I can stop it. “I can bend the rules a little.”
She laughs, teasing. “What kind of wife would you have, then? Someone Russian, connected to a powerful family?”
“No.” My gaze holds hers. “I’d like a blonde with a mouth on her. Someone who looks perfect in front of others but shows her real self only to me. A woman who craves passion, who needs to be protected, who’d carry as many children as I want to put in her belly.”
Her breath catches, and I can see the heat creep up her neck. She reaches for her milkshake and sips it too fast, pretending to be busy, her cheeks flushed pink.
“Well,” she says, avoiding my eyes, “good luck finding your dream woman.”
I lean back in the booth, watching her struggle to look anywhere but at me. She’s fidgeting, stirring her drink even though it doesn’t need it, trying to escape the tension that she started without even realizing it.
She’s adorable when she’s flustered.
And in that noisy, greasy diner, with fries growing cold between us, I realize there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.
Sunday afternoon feels like a test I didn’t study for. It comes too soon for my liking. I’ve been texting Callista all week, because I’m addicted to her thoughts, her energy, and most of all, the way she lets me be myself.
We ate at the burger spot again. It’s quietly becoming ‘our place’.
This fake dating thing doesn’t feel fake anymore.
My feelings are growing, expanding so fast I can’t control my behavior around her anymore.
I keep an eye on her all the time, letting her distract me from my work.
My obsession, my lust, and my craving is close to boiling over.
But now there are new feelings squeezing my chest—love, protectiveness, caring, and the desire for companionship.
Callista’s hand is small and clammy in mine as we walk up the cobblestone driveway to her father’s estate.
The house sprawls across the hill like a showpiece.
Huge columns decorate the front, which seems both tasteless and excessive for a mere lawyer’s home.
I can tell these people are pretentions and trying to make themselves seem grander than they are.
The tinkle of glasses fills my ear and a pristine garden stretches around the house like a crown.
On the back lawn, the party is already in full swing.
Strings of lights hang from trees, tables draped in white linen, waiters carrying trays of champagne.
The air smells like money, perfume, and polite poison.
Callista’s fingers tighten around mine as we step onto the grass. She’s dressed beautifully—cream dress, pearl earrings, her hair brushed into soft waves—but there’s a stiffness in her shoulders, a tension I can feel through her skin.
She looks up at me, trying for a smile. “Well? Impressed?”
I scan the crowd. Women in designer dresses. Men in tailored suits. Laughter that sounds rehearsed. “I’ve seen better.”
Her lips twitch. “Good. Because they all think they’re better.”
We move through clusters of people, conversation lowering to a hum behind us. I can feel eyes on me, on my tattoos that stretch down my arms and peek from under the cuff of my shirt. The whispers follow us like gnats.
“They’re staring,” she murmurs.
“They always do,” I say. “Let them.”
She glances toward the center of the garden. “That’s them.”
Her father stands in a pale blue suit beside her stepmother, a woman too polished to look real. Selina, radiant in a pink dress, is surrounded by friends, her laughter sharp and sweet. Near the buffet, a young boy—Andrew—shoves another kid aside to reach the cupcakes.
“Family,” I say quietly.
She nods. “Unfortunately.”
Her stepmother notices us first. She steps forward, her voice high and grating. “Callista. Good heavens. Did you bring him?” Her eyes sweep over me, disapproving. “Really, dear, is this necessary? You know how people talk. Are you trying to humiliate Selina?”
Callista’s fingers tighten on mine. She tilts her chin up. “Dad invited Dmitry. If you have a problem with him being here, take it up with him.”
For a second, her stepmother freezes, her perfect smile faltering. Then she huffs, muttering something under her breath as she walks away.
I lean close and say quietly, “You did good.”
“She’ll make me pay for it later,” Callista whispers.
“Then I’ll pay double.”
Her mouth softens into a small smile before she exhales, the tension easing just a little.
Selina notices us next. When Callista approaches her to say congratulations, Selina doesn’t even turn her head. “Thanks,” she says in a flat tone, still chatting with her friends. “Paris is going to be so inspiring.”
Callista’s shoulders go taut, her skin stretching across her perfect collarbones. I want to reach for her hand again, but her father appears before I can.
He’s tall and lean, graying at the temples, his face sharp with disapproval. He looks at me, at my inked skin and dark suit, and his expression tightens before he forces a smile.
“Mr. Antonov,” he says. “We spoke on the phone.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You sounded… normal on the phone.”
“I’m normal,” I say, meeting his gaze.
He studies me with cool disdain. “You don’t look it.”
Callista steps in. “Dad, he’s one of the top accounting students. He’s brilliant.”
Her father ignores her. “You’re dating him?”
“Yes,” she says, voice steady.
He sighs. “You always have to be the difficult one, don’t you? You couldn’t bring a respectable young man? Someone who fits in?” He looks me up and down again. “You had to bring this.”
My jaw tightens. “This?”
He doesn’t even glance at me. “You’ve always been jealous of Selina. Is that what this is? You couldn’t stand her getting attention?”
Callista’s voice trembles. “Dad, that’s not true.”
He cuts her off. “Your mother was just like you. Always chasing men who didn’t belong in our world. Always looking for trouble.”
Something inside me hardens. “That’s not fair.”
He turns to me. “This is between me and my daughter.”
“She’s not your punching bag,” I say, my voice low.
His eyes flash. “You don’t know anything about this family. Her mother destroyed our reputation. She ran off with a man like you. Tattoos. Arrogant. No discipline. I see her every time I look at Callista.”
Callista flinches. “I’m not her.”
He doesn’t stop. “It’s in your blood. Recklessness. Shame. It always shows up eventually.”
My fists clench. “She’s nothing like her mother,” I say sharply. “She’s kind, she’s intelligent, and she works harder than anyone here. But you’re too blind to see it.”
He points a finger at me. “Watch yourself, young man.”
“Maybe start watching how you treat your daughter,” I shoot back. “She deserves better than this circus.”
“Dmitry,” Callista whispers, tugging at my arm, panic in her eyes.
Her father steps closer. “Proud of her? She sleeps around and brings home trash like you. She’s proving me right every day.”
“This isn’t about me.” My feelings are spiraling out of control.
I hate how this guy talks to Callista. Talks about Callista.
He has no right to criticize what’s mine.
He doesn’t deserve to be her father, but I hate that I’m the one who feels powerless.
Because at the end of the day, I’m nothing more than Callista’s fake boyfriened.
“You’ve never seen her as an independent person with her own personality and tastes.
She’s not an extension of her mother. You already judged her to be flawed even before you gave her a chance to prove herself. ”
“Well, she has proved herself, hasn’t she?” Her father’s arrogant smirk makes a nerve pop on my forehead. “She has proved herself to be just like that whore, spreading her legs for any man who catches her fancy.”
Anger, adrenaline, and righteousness surge through my blood like a potent cocktail. That’s it. I’ve had it with this man.
My vision narrows.
Before I realize it, my fist connects with his jaw.
The sound silences the crowd. The music stops. Champagne glasses tremble in people’s hands.
He stumbles back, clutching his face, eyes wide with shock.
Callista gasps, hand over her mouth. I can see the terror and disbelief in her eyes.
But I can’t regret it. I saw the way he looked at her, the way his words crushed her, and I couldn’t stand it another second.
For the first time in her life, someone needed to defend her.
And as I stand there, breathing hard, watching her shake in front of me, I know I’ve just crossed a line that changes everything.
Because I’m no longer pretending to be her boyfriend.
I’ve become something else entirely.