Chapter 7 Vaughn #2
I could just stand up, walk away, and not talk to him, but that would be no different from running away, and I don’t do that.
Not anymore.
Yulian stops by my table, his fingers resting on the white cloth, and I catch a hint of a tattoo that looks like a wing on the slope of his thumb and sliding to the inside of his wrist.
He taps his index finger twice, his hand looking thicker than I remember, veins stretching on the back of his hand and disappearing under the rolled cuff of his shirt.
I try to look away, but he’s right in front of me, his presence seizing my entire attention. His black slacks contrast against the white drape as he taps his fingers on the table again, right in front of my plate of unfinished gnocchi.
“Why, hello, stranger. Long time no see.”
I stab my fork into the gnocchi but don’t bring anything to my mouth as I crane my head back to look at him.
His face definitely looks older now, having lost all the boyish traits that still lingered in his features four years ago. He looks positively menacing.
Not to me, but in general.
Yulian used to have a quiet type of beauty, even if his presence was loud as hell. Now, even his looks are striking.
In an extremely uncomfortable way.
His lips curl into a grin as soon as our eyes meet. “There you are. I thought you’d act like you didn’t see me.”
“And you are…?” I tilt my head to the side, pretending I’m trying to remember him.
His grin falters but doesn’t drop as he lifts his hand to my face. The moment his fingers graze my ear, I shove him away and jerk back, sending my chair flying.
A clatter sounds as my plate falls to the floor, the gnocchi splashing all over the tiles.
The incident stuns the whole restaurant into pressing silence.
A waiter and Donatelli rush in our direction. My chair is straightened, and the plate is scooped up in an unsettling gloom, the patrons barely moving, their utensils frozen in place.
I catch my breath, my hand flexing in the direction of my gun, but I can tell everyone’s uneasy. The crime families in NYC know of the feud between us and the Chicago mafia.
The two heirs fighting it out during a restaurant opening is about the worst thing that could happen tonight.
That’s probably why Donatelli’s sweating, his lips thin and pale as he asks with a hint of an Italian accent that apparently slips through when he’s nervous, “Gentlemen, is there a problem?”
“None at all.” Yulian’s grinning wider now as he throws an arm around my shoulders so that our sides are flush. “We’re catching up as old friends.”
My body locks in, trapped in a fight-or-flight response, and I want to punch Yulian in the face, but I don’t, because I’m not here to ruin my parents’ reputation.
I elbow him, though, and he groans and subtly releases me as Donatelli nods and asks a waiter to hurry and clean up the mess.
As the staff and Donatelli retreat, Yulian and I continue the glaring game—or I do, because the harder I glare, the wider he grins.
I flop back into my seat, and he takes Danika’s, sitting in that nonchalant way, his arm flung over the back of the chair, his legs so extended that his shoes touch mine.
Subtly, I slide my feet back.
“What on earth do you think you’re doing?” I speak low so the other tables don’t hear. “Leave, Yulian.”
“So you do remember my name. I was so wounded, I was going to cry.”
“Go. Away.”
“Wow, rude. Is this the type of welcome you New Yorkers offer?”
“I asked you to go.”
“I didn’t come all the way here just to go.”
“Then why are you here?”
He taps the table in front of him, but his entire intense and creepy attention is on me. “Why didn’t you enroll at The King’s U?”
I’m taken aback by the question, and I pause, frowning. “That’s none of your business.”
“All your friends are there, so the most logical option would’ve been to join them. Why haven’t you?”
“I prefer Columbia.”
He lifts a brow but says nothing.
I hate that look.
And I need to change the subject.
“You must know I’ll report your out-of-the-blue appearance to my dad.” I sit taller, my spine and teeth locking under the overwhelming tension. “You don’t get to come to our territories unannounced.”
“You have it in your heart to have me whipped half to death?” His lips push forward in an exaggerated pout. “I thought we were friends.”
“I’m not your damn friend, Yulian.”
His face falls back into that intense creepy look that’s so intrusive, I feel like his asymmetrical eyes will turn into actual beings.
“Now leave and don’t disturb my date.”
“Your date.”
It’s not a question, but I nod. “That’s what I said.”
“Is that the girl you had a crush on?”
“None of your business.”
“The one you wanted to lose your virginity to because you liked her, correct?”
“I said—”
“None of my business, I know, but here’s the thing.” He whistles. “I’m making it mine.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
He pinches his lower lip between his thumb and forefinger, and I’m transfixed by the motion as flashbacks from that godforsaken night rush through my brain, into my blood.
My breathing turns shallow, and I loosen my tie, feeling as if I’m being asphyxiated by his mere presence.
He doesn’t have to say or do anything, just his being here is enough to grate on my last nerve.
Finally, he releases his lip. “What if I told you that by the end of this evening, you have to break up with her?”
I release a humorless laugh, but he doesn’t join me. “I’d tell you that’s a distasteful joke.”
“I’m not joking.” There’s no grin nor any nonchalance in his surprisingly firm tone. “Let that girl go and change schools to The King’s U.”
“And why would I do that?”
“Because I want you to.”
I reach into my pants pocket, then produce a middle finger. “This is what I have to give about your wants and demands.”
He bursts out laughing, the husky sound intrusive.
For the first time in years, my stomach isn’t feeling well.
I’m nauseated.
“Good one. I see you developed a sense of humor.” His laughter disappears. “But I mean it. It’s better if you do what I tell you while I’m asking amicably.”
“And I mean it. You’d better leave now before I have my men fill your torso with holes.”
“Do it yourself, you coward.” He grins and winks.
Why the hell is he winking?
I open my mouth to say something, but Danika is a short distance away. Yulian notices her, too, because he stands up and starts to walk past me but then stops and places a hand on my shoulder.
His palm is big and heavy and as unsettling as his overwhelming scent. The mixture of cedar, lemon, and a hint of musk clogs my nostrils until he’s all I can breathe.
“You have until the end of the evening before I take matters into my own hands.” He leans down so his voice is closer, dropping into a husky whisper. “Remember what I said before. One way or another, I always get what I want, Mishka.”