Chapter 3
DAHLIA
Ihate sleep. My subconscious takes the reins, keeping me caged in a dream while he’s just on the other side—always out of reach of my forlorn heart.
He’s always there, filling my days with impossible wishes, stalking my nights with unattainable dreams. I don’t know how to make it stop.
I can’t continue like this, or I will go insane.
Of course he had to show up and interrupt my playing.
I bet Mom told my brother, who called his best friend to watch over his little sister.
I huff out a deprecating laugh. If my dear brother only knew. But he won’t. No one will ever know.
Rolling out of bed, I prepare for another day.
I miss Calla. Our shopping trips, my fighting lessons. She infuses me with the belief I can achieve anything. But that “anything” doesn’t apply to her brother.
A few days will pass before I see him again. Mika never misses a concert. The rest of the time, we only see each other when he comes to visit Enzo.
Closing the door behind me, I come to an abrupt halt when the door to my right opens, and he struts out. I blink. Surely, I am still dreaming. He’s not here. It finally happened. I’ve gone mad.
He takes me in with those cold silver eyes—lethal to my heart like bullets.
No dream, no fantasy can wreak havoc through my insides like his presence, so I can’t be imagining him.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, tone icy.
He arches a brow, taking me in, his intense gaze boring into me. “Still mad at me, I see.”
I purse my lips to stop myself from saying it’s his fault and he could rectify it.
He cocks his head as he studies me, raking his eyes over me. They linger on the patch of skin I show. I wear a beige lace crop top and shorts that mold to my curves, and by the heated gaze, he approves by not approving.
“Like what you see?” I egg him on, the temperature rising just like the tension constantly sizzling between us. It’s a wonder I don’t combust.
The vein in his neck threatens to burst. “Watch it, Dahlia.”
I should heed the threat in his deep voice that ends with an edge attached to my name. But it only makes me burn hotter, makes me push him further until he finally cracks.
There’s no cure for my delusion.
I sway my hips as I approach him. Owning his attention is a heady feeling. I lick my lips. “Hmm, empty threats, and we both know it.”
His heated gaze causes tingles to dance on my lips.
“Yet you’re doing your best to piss me off. Did we wake up and decide to be difficult?”
Nostrils flaring, I get in his face, pushing at his chest as I look up at him. I don’t even reach his chin. The mountain of a man doesn’t even flinch. It’s like I am pounding on titanium, hoping to dent it. In vain.
He lowers his face and whispers in my ear. “Hurt me if it makes you feel better. I can and will take everything you dish out, but never fucking hurt yourself.”
His hot breath fans my sensitive skin, and I fist his shirt to support myself. Goose bumps spread, a fever I can’t contain, a fire ravaging my insides only he can tame.
Palming his muscular chest, the steady beat of his heart reminds me of my duty—of that sacred promise I made him.
A word is a word. He has kept his.
Whatever happens, we’ll always have each other.
Snapping out of my reverie, I ask, “What are you doing here?”
He rakes a hand through his hair, looking disheveled. “Your brother asked me to stay here until they return.”
I stumble back, the news making me trip on my feet, but he’s there to catch me.
“You can’t,” I whisper, the anguish clear in my voice.
I can’t be held accountable. We need distance, time apart, to pull off this farce we have kept going on for four years.
A muscle in his jaw twitches. “I have to.”
There is more behind his words—a secret message only I can decode.
As our eyes lock, time and space distort. It’s only him and me, connecting on a soul-deep level. Nothing else exists but us. I could spend eternity just like this, unbothered by cruel reality—he and I, and nothing else between us.
Just as he does every time, he breaks eye contact, severing the bond. “Do you have something else to tell me?”
“I’m not sorry for last night,” I say haughtily.
“You’re going to be the death of me,” he groans low, and my stomach flutters at his deep voice.
It takes everything in me not to smile. Instead, I pretend I didn’t hear him, loving to mess with him.
“What was that?” I ask playfully.
He pins me with an unamused gaze. “You’re a brat.”
“Sure.” I shrug. “But I am your brat.” The words rush out of me.
For a moment, everything stills. My heart thumping wildly in my chest is the only sound penetrating the silence. That’s why proximity is dangerous. I am prone to slipping if my brother is not around.
I suck in a breath, and he shuts his eyes, but not before I see the gleam of desire there.
I know he’s rough. I know he’s a beast who lets loose while fucking. That fact doesn’t fit with his impression of my willowy, flowery self, which he always treats like something fragile, easily breakable.
He’s a master at control, leaving me wondering if I imagine those rare moments when I crack it.
His eyes take on a dangerous edge. “Dahlia…”
He raises his hand and cups the base of my neck, heating the sensitive skin he touches. A bout of dizziness overcomes me. I may faint at any moment now.
Licking my lips, I stay perfectly still, hoping and praying for something when my mother calls my name. His eyes clear of that violent storm I wanted to feel unleashed on me, and I sigh.
Why do you hate me, God?
Not even a second later, he yanks his hand away and storms down the hallway, leaving me wanton and starved for his crumbs.
I sulk the entire way to the dining room but plaster a fake smile when I drop into the seat next to my mother. Mika sits at the head of the table. It’s a clear sign that in my brother’s absence, he’s in charge of the family.
“Did you sleep well?” Mom asks him.
He glances at me, his eyes twitching. It’s only fair that if I lose sleep over him, he should too, only for guilt to strike my chest. One mistake in the world he rules can mean the difference between life and death.
“I will—” I don’t even know what I want to say. Behave, so he won’t worry. That would be a lie, so I keep silent.
“I’ll stay here until Enzo returns,” he says with finality.
Misery it is. Something we’re familiar with.
I nod, trying to finish the poached egg while he and Mom talk with familiarity and ease about Enzo and Calla’s wedding.
My mother doesn’t know the role my father played in my misery.
When Igor told me the truth, I understood his need for revenge.
He killed my father and kidnapped me to enact his revenge over the death of his wife and daughter.
I would have understood if Mika had done the same.
Instead, he chose me—slaughtered his kin to save me.
Every time Mika peers over at me, he sends my heart into overdrive. I am afraid the fragile organ might shoot out of my throat and flop on the table in front of him. I might be a virtuoso, but he’s the maestro orchestrating my heartbeats.
My mother’s mouth curls up in a secretive tilt. “Tristan seems like a nice man. What do you think, Dahlia?”
I blink at her as if inquiring about the preposterous topic.
“He’s not Italian,” Mika grumbles as if that’s the issue.
Mom’s gaze lights with a mischievous spark as she eyes me. “You said he’s handsome.”
Mika’s head snaps to me, sending me a death glare. No wonder I choke on the piece of toast. I beat at my chest, dislodging it, but by the expectant stare he casts my way, I don’t know if choking would have been the worst idea.
“And he wants her to move to New York, play for the New York Philharmonic,” my mother says, obvious delight threading in her voice.
“Is that so?” The coldness in his tone could freeze me in place, like an arctic winter.
“I haven’t decided,” I say, feeling petty.
I don’t know what is wrong with my mother, but Mika assaulting his egg is not a good sign.
“Are you interested in him?” He eyes me, his gaze darkening, looking half hurt, half savage.
The audacity. He has no right. None.
“Maybe.”
He holds my gaze, sucking the air from my lungs.
“Neither your brother nor I want you in this life, so I wouldn’t get my hopes up if I were you,” he says nonchalantly. He chews his food slowly, never breaking eye contact.
He had to ruin it, pushing me to challenge him.
I jerk my chin at him, madness snapping my sanity. “Who are you to tell me what to do? You’re not my brother. Nor my father.”
Mom flinches, and I apologize, but it’s too late. She retreats into herself and excuses herself, leaving me alone with him.
I breathe through the havoc wrecking my composure.
Like a predator, he waits for the perfect moment to strike. He shoots up and cages me in between his hard chest and the chair, his palms resting on each side of my hands. His chest ripples with his harsh panting.
It’s like every breath of mine rattles the beast inside him. His silver eyes take on a darker note, lost in a haze of violence.
“Tristan—”
He puts a thick finger on my lips, cutting me off. “Don’t say another man’s name in my presence, Dahlia.”
Instinctively, I lick my lips, which causes his jaw to sharpen. “He’s—”
He grips my chin, his fingers digging into my cheeks as if wanting to mark me. “I don’t fucking care who he is.”
Somewhere during our clash, he began rubbing his finger over my lips, making them tingle and spreading goose bumps from my scalp to my toes.
“Are you jealous?” I ask, genuinely curious. The idea is ridiculous, yet giddiness spreads through my insides, reviving the barren soil of my chest.
His eyes bore into me, unraveling me. “What did he tell you exactly?”
It’s not lost on me that he didn’t reply. He casts such a potent spell on me that I can’t think rationally.
I gulp, the intensity overwhelming me. “I’ve known him all my life.”
His features sharpen, making him appear lethal. “Like you did me.”