Chapter 7 Vaughn
VAUGHN
PRESENT — AGE NINETEEN
My life is everything it should be.
Excellent grades, Ivy League college, and a future mapped out for greatness.
My parents brought up the ideal heir for their empire. A perfect blend of their genes and the most suitable candidate to take over once they decide to retire.
So now that I’m in college, I’m being handed more responsibilities to prepare me for my role.
While my friends decided to go overseas to attend a college funded by our fathers that’s situated on an island on the coast of the UK, I chose to study at Columbia University.
In order to stay close to my parents.
And to have full access to the operations side of things.
That’s it.
That’s all.
“This place looks divine.” Danika marvels at the decor of the new Italian restaurant that’s opening tonight in Manhattan.
The project was personally funded by my dad’s friend from the Luciano family, also known as the head of an infamous Italian crime family.
As Dad and Mom had other engagements, I’m attending on their behalf.
Ideally, Jeremy and Nikolai would also be here on their parents’ behalf, but they’re fucking around on the other side of the ocean in England.
Uselessly, I might add.
Yes, sometimes I feel a certain type of loneliness from being without all of them. Nikolai was the last to go to the island, so now I’m forced to attend functions like this by myself.
Well, not quite.
Danika accompanied me.
She loves all of these opulent places and the preferential treatment she gets for being on my arm.
“The food also looks fab.” She snaps a few pictures of the table.
Over the years, I’ve learned to never touch anything until she gets her fair share of pictures. I paint on an automatic smile as she takes a picture of me as well. She grins while scrolling through her phone, probably looking to see if she got decent shots.
“God, you’re hot.” She fans herself. “I feel so special.”
“Not more than I do.” I reach out and stroke the back of her hand, and her smile widens. “Did I mention that you look stunning tonight?”
“Yeah, a few times, but I don’t mind if you keep repeating it. Gotta look my best on nights like these.” She motions at the food. “Now, let’s see if this tastes as good as it looks.”
Finally, we dig in. Or she does, commenting on the level of spices, how well it’s cooked, and whether or not the ingredients are high quality and fresh.
If it’s not obvious, her dream is to become a food critic—and eat at the most high-end restaurants while at it.
Her family is well off enough, but her father’s business has been struggling for the last few years, and to my knowledge, he might have to close down his New York office and relocate to Seattle.
I know it’s been weighing heavily on her, especially since she was used to an extravagant lifestyle that’s now being cut off. So I pay for her wardrobe as well as fancy dinners and expensive shows.
And I love providing for her. I don’t really spend a lot of money personally, but funding Danika’s lifestyle gives me a sense of accomplishment.
Dad’s always said I have to take care of the woman I love. Put her ahead of everyone and everything. Always go the extra mile for her.
And I love Danika. I’ve loved her since the day we got together four years ago when she told me we’d make a great couple.
We do.
She’s stunning, with long legs and huge brown eyes. Her thick dark hair falls in waves to the small of her back, and tonight, she’s wearing a shimmering gold dress that complements her sun-kissed skin beautifully.
We picked it out together last week in preparation for this dinner—or more like, she picked and I paid. Not sure why she keeps asking for my opinion about clothes when everything she wears looks fine to me. But then again, I don’t really care for picking clothes for other people.
She was ecstatic when we left the boutique with the dress, and I’m happy to see her de-stressing a bit, considering everything with her father’s business. I believe tonight is perfect for getting her mind off things.
“Gosh, this is amazing.” She takes a sip of her mocktail, releasing a long sigh of contentment. “The food’s ending too soon.”
“Eat however much you want. I’ll order more.”
“No, no, I’m not sacrificing my flat tummy, even if the food is amazing. Thanks, though. For everything.” She reaches out and holds my hand. “I mean it, hon. I don’t know what I’d do if you weren’t by my side.”
“I’ll always be by your side.” I lift her hand to my mouth and kiss it, inhaling the floral notes from her skin.
I mean it.
Danika is the perfect person to be my wife.
She’s smart, beautiful, and handles crises pretty well, which is a must in our world.
Sure, she’s not as savvy as my mom, but many people aren’t.
Danika is pretty involved in our world, though.
Her dad has ties to the Bratva, and she grew up knowing he dealt in money laundering for the mafia.
I’ve asked Dad if we could invest in his business or offer a bailout of sorts, and he said he’ll look into it. Being my father-in-law comes with certain perks.
And he will be my father-in-law.
Danika and I will get married after we graduate from college. We might be too young, but we’ve been together for years, and she’s my perfect match.
My only match.
We’ve even talked about children. Danika wants at least two, and I’m fine with that, not because I’m thinking of kids at this age, but because I want to be a responsible, protective, and fun-loving dad, just like my parents are to me.
My friends, specifically Killian and Nikolai, say I was born with an old man’s brain, but they never lived under the weight of expectations and responsibility like I have.
They don’t understand.
No one does.
I’m about to drop Danika’s hand when loud laughter catches my attention.
Familiar laughter with an edge of huskiness that I can pick out amongst a crowd.
My body stiffens, my skin breaking into a sweat, as if this is a full-on lethal attack, but my eyes are scanning the entrance.
My throat closes.
Donatelli, the owner of the restaurant, stands by the front door, welcoming his guests for opening night.
No way.
I must be imagining things.
And yet as Donatelli shakes the laughing maniac’s hand, asking his staff to take the basket full of wrapped goods and the bottle of alcohol that one of the guards is holding, I feel the earth swaying beneath my feet.
Yulian Yaroslavich Dimitriev.
What the hell is Yulian doing here?
This is neither his territory nor the place he should be.
It’s been years since I last saw him—four, to be exact—and it’s as if time is still trapped in the nooks of that humid, drafty, and absolutely miserable cave.
On second thought, it’s not.
He’s taller now, still taller than me, and he’s grown ridiculously bulky—as big as Nikolai, who loves building muscle for sport.
Seems Yulian has gone down the same path as Niko. His muscles are so defined, he’s about to rip out of his white shirt.
While all men here, including me, are dressed in suits or tuxedos to fit in with the upscale event, Yulian’s only wearing a white shirt with the first few buttons open, and black slacks that frame his tall legs.
His hair falls in haphazard strands on his forehead, making him look every bit a gangster.
In reality, so am I, but I dislike the stereotype he’s embracing so openly.
“Please come in, come in. This is a lovely surprise.” Donatelli is personally leading Yulian to one of the tables opposite me.
We have two tables between us, but I track his movements as he flops onto a chair, an arm flung over the back and his legs stretched out in front of him, the usual grin on his face, the same boredom in his blue and brown eyes.
“I wasn’t expecting you, but it’s my honor you’re able to make it to my humble restaurant.” Donatelli grabs the menu from a staff member who looks to be sweating.
“My father sends his regards along with the basket of…delicacies.” He winks at Donatelli, whose eyes widen.
Yulian wasn’t supposed to be here.
Of course he wasn’t.
This is as far away from their backyard as possible. It’s like if I were to show up at an important restaurant opening in Chicago uninvited.
It’s wrong.
Everything about Yulian is wrong.
“Hon?”
I’m jerked back to my table as Danika frowns. I release her hand as slowly as possible, realizing I’ve probably been tightening it in my grip the entire time.
“Yes?” I smile and have to physically stop my gaze from straying behind her, to where a huge complication has dropped in like a bomb.
“Can you order me tiramisu for dessert? I’ll go to the ladies’ room real quick.”
“Will do,” I say absentmindedly as she stands up.
Danika rounds the table so that she’s standing beside me and drops a kiss on my cheek. “You’re the best. Love you.”
“Love you, too…” The last bit gets stuck in my throat because I’m being targeted.
It’s not with weapons or anything similar, but a set of contrasting eyes that are zeroing in on me—Yulian’s.
His gaze is sharp enough to cut; all of his grins have vanished and so has his easygoing demeanor. He’s sitting upright in his chair, his body warring with tension as he stares.
No.
Glares.
What the…
As Danika sashays away, he stands up. I sit taller in my chair, holding his gaze with a glare of my own as I communicate.
Stay the hell away from me.
I still despise Yulian Dimitriev, maybe even more than before he took a bullet for me.
After the cave, I downright loathe the guy.
I hate him with every fiber of my being.
So I’ve always been glad we’ve never had to cross paths again, considering the major fallout that happened between our fathers following the attack.
But deep down, a part of me knew we’d eventually have to meet again.
In theory, it’s better that this is happening in my territory so that I have complete control over the situation.
Now, if my muscles would stop tightening with every step he takes toward me, that would be terrific.