Chapter Sixteen
Alessia
The club swallowed us in heat and sound as we stepped in. The bass rolled through the floor in steady pulses. Coloured lights swept across a haze of smoke, and the crowd moved in a slow, consuming rhythm. Artur didn’t hesitate; he went straight to the bar and occupied a stool.
I took the seat beside him, letting my gaze drift over the shifting crowd, measuring faces. Was this where he intended to find Salvatore? A few people looked in our direction. But they looked away at once, as though holding the glance might cost them something they could not afford to lose.
Artur ordered, and the bartender placed a glass in front of him with silent efficiency.
I stayed quiet, letting the music and voices settle over me until it felt like a weight pressing against my skull.
My stomach tightened. There were too many bodies here, too many blind spots, too many ways the night could turn.
Artur rose without warning and placed a bill on the counter. I shifted to follow him, but his voice came back over his shoulder. “Stay here. Don’t make me have to find you.”
I eased back onto the stool, my hand still half-raised as if I might call after him. I watched his broad frame dissolve into the mass of bodies and light.
Two girls at the far end of the bar touched their glasses together, laughter spilling between them.
I caught their eyes and lifted a hand in greeting.
Their smiles faltered almost instantly. They turned away, disappearing into the crowd as if proximity to me might draw the wrong attention. My smile faded.
The bartender’s voice broke through the noise. “Drink?”
“I can drink?”
He shrugged, polishing a glass. “It’s covered.”
“Yes, please.” If I couldn’t walk out of here, then I would drink, and maybe the heat would be enough to push the cold edge of fear further back.
One glass turned into two, then three. The liquor spread through me, loosening my limbs and blurring the hard lines of the room. I knew I didn’t have the tolerance for it, but I no longer cared.
The stool beside me stayed empty, and I let a low laugh slip out. “Cowards.”
I drained another glass and set it down, my fingers brushing the rim. “One more?”
The bartender seemed to shift and double in my vision. I squinted and gave a soft, unsteady laugh. “There are two of you. I should dance… Yes, I should dance.”
Before I could take a step after sliding off the stool, a hand closed around my wrist. I looked up into Artur’s face. “I was about to dance,” I murmured, swaying against the pull of his grip.
He didn’t answer. His fingers tightened, and he guided me through the crush of bodies, straight toward the door.
The music faded behind us as Artur and I exited. His firm grip anchored my unsteady body as he dragged me toward the parking lot. The cold air scraped against my heated skin, the ghost of alcohol still burning in my bloodstream.
A nauseating swirl churned in my stomach, forcing my breath into shallow gasps. A gag wrenched its way up my throat. I slapped a hand over my mouth to hold back the wave of sickness threatening to erupt. I hated this feeling.
“I told you to sit and wait,” Artur growled as he stopped near his parked motorbike.
“You took so long,” I muttered.
He cocked his head. “And?”
I huffed, rolling my shoulders. “I was bored.”
A burp escaped before I could stop it, and I darted toward the fence, bent over as I gagged. The drinks were determined to make their way out, but my body refused to cooperate.
“Let’s go,” Artur commanded in fury.
“At least I waited. I could’ve run off, you know?” My words slurred as I stumbled after him. My head felt like it was floating, and my feet barely touched the ground. Was I flying?
He shoved a helmet into my hands, and I remembered why we came here. “Wait,” I glanced back toward the club. “Did Salva admit it?”
Artur climbed onto the bike, slipping on his dark glasses without answering.
“He didn’t?” I asked. In his silence, my temper flared. Or maybe it was the alcohol fueling me. “That bastard. You could’ve let me go with you. At least he would’ve confessed if I were there.”
Artur tilted his head in my direction. “Who said he had the luxury to confess? Climb on, or you’ll walk.”
“Then why did we come here?” I grumbled, placing my hands on his solid shoulders as I climbed onto the bike. “Salva deserves to pay.”
“I killed him. And you know who else deserves to die? You. Now shut up before I decide to kill you next.”
His words sent a shiver down my spine, but all I could do was laugh. “Yeah, sure,” I said, leaning against his back as the bike roared to life. “There.”
He didn’t respond; he revved the engine and sped away from the club. The wind whipped past us, numbing my skin. My arms wrapped tightly around his waist, more for balance than warmth. The motion of the bike made my head heavier, lulling me closer to sleep.
“I’ll make you believe me,” I murmured, half to myself. The distant sirens’ wail seeped into the air, but I ignored it. The bike’s rhythm and the warmth radiating from Artur’s back pulled me closer to unconsciousness.
We came to a sudden halt, and I jerked awake.
Artur shook me, signaling me to let go. My gaze shifted to the house in front of us, its windows glowing faintly in the dark.
The dense forest surrounding it loomed like silent sentinels.
He didn’t take us back to the mansion, and I knew this was where I would die.
Artur switched off the engine and climbed off, his boots crunching against the gravel.
“What is this place?” I asked. The alcohol wasn’t doing me any good.
“Get off,” he said while striding toward the house without looking back.
“You’re going to kill me here, aren’t you?”
Fear clawed at my chest, but I forced myself to follow him. My eyes darted around the clearing, paranoia creeping in. Every rustle in the trees felt like a pair of eyes watching me, waiting to strike.
I stepped inside, slamming the door shut behind me and twisting the lock. The interior was dimly lit, the warm glow of a few lamps casting long shadows across the room.
An earthy scent of wood filled the air. The rich brown walls blended well with the dark wooden floor. The furniture was rustic yet elegant, as though each piece was hand-carved with care. It was beautiful.
Artur sat at a small minibar in the corner, nursing a glass of whiskey. His elbows rested on the counter while he swirled the liquid in his glass.
Something felt off as I ambled toward him. My head weighed me down, and I could hardly turn it. I promised myself not to drink too much because the aftermath was never pleasant.
Frustrated, I sighed. “My head feels heavy. I think I’m sick.
” I lifted my hands and touched my head, and I realized I was still wearing the helmet.
“Oh.” I chuckled, realizing my mistake. “No wonder my head felt so heavy.” I took it off and shook my head, fixing my hair—or maybe messing it up even more. “Now I feel better.”
Silence settled between us, broken only by the sound of Artur pouring another drink. He could drink and not show signs of the effects that hit me after a few glasses.
Back at the club, I tried to talk to people, but they ignored me. Even when I tried to strike up conversations with the women, they’d pick up their things and leave. That’s why I ended up drinking alone.
“Can I drink?” I asked and got a glare in response, enough to communicate that it was a firm no. “I’m bored,” I muttered.
A powerful urge to speak possessed me, as if words could release what trapped my chest. If I didn’t, I could end up crying about nothing and everything. I always become a mess when drunk.
But Artur was nothing like Carina; he wouldn’t listen. God help me, I wanted to speak.
“Can I ask you something?” I whispered, and when he ignored me, I tried again. “Am I the only enemy in the territory?”
He filled his glass.
My words slipped out. “Okay. But don’t trust Renat. I’m sure he hates you.” I leaned my head on the bar counter, facing him. “He told me he wanted everyone to think he hated me. He wants to use me, but I’m done being used. There is no point.”
I was talking to myself now. He wasn’t listening, but at least I was voicing my thoughts.
“I hate him.” I groaned, my eyes closing. Wishing Artur would trust me about his brother was a pipe dream, wasn’t it? He’d always choose his family over nobody like me.
“About those pills, I had no intention of hurting anyone,” I continued. “That bastard told me they’d only make you unconscious. If I had known they were poisonous, I never would have done it.”
He slammed his glass on the counter, and my eyes opened wide.
My heart skipped a beat. For a second, I thought he was ready to end me.
I could see how he held his glass, the way his Adam’s apple moved as he swallowed.
His lips parted slightly as he sipped, and I focused on the rhythm.
He spread his legs and leaned his elbow against the bar, arching his back.
Maybe I was mistaken, but he seemed calm for once. It was the first time we’d been in the same space for this long.
“What’s your name?” I asked, feeling almost amused by the question. Artur wasn’t his real name. If it weren’t for Renat, I couldn’t have known that. Artur was the name of the dog.
He didn’t answer, nor did he look at me.
“Okay.” I sighed. “I can tell you a little about me,” I said, finally giving in to the alcohol.
“Carina is my best friend. We share everything—some naughty stuff, too. You remember when we met at the lingerie shop? I was trying to find the best one for a date with Marco. I was planning to sleep with him.”
My cheeks warmed at the thought. What if things hadn’t gone south that night? Would I have enjoyed it?
“Carina taught me a lot. Oh, and she was my first kiss. Can you imagine?” Chuckling again, I sat up, curiosity spiking up. “Wait, have you ever kissed someone before?” I asked, already anticipating his silent treatment.
“Of course you have. At your age, you must’ve kissed many girls.” Leaning back with a pause, I frowned at him, my curiosity growing. “Wait, do you have a girlfriend? Does she know you kill people? Oh my God, she must be a psychopath, too. Is she scared of you?”
“Are you?” he asked as he took another sip.
“Am I?” I rolled my eyes. “Hell yes.”
Silence followed. And I realized he just answered me. Had he been listening to me?
“How old are you?” I asked, looking for something to keep the conversation going. He took a sip and licked his lower lip. Damn, he looked hot when he did that.
“Twenty-five?” I ventured. Silence. “Twenty-five. Yeah, you’re twenty-five.”
“Thirty,” he replied.
At first, I laughed, assuming I had misheard him, only to realize he had answered my question. I straightened up, more alert. Was I imagining this, or was it the alcohol distorting reality?
Was I really having a conversation with Artur? I pushed myself off the stool and stumbled toward him, my legs betraying every ounce of control I thought I had.
“Wait, did you just talk to me?”
He exhaled and placed his glass down. “You’re drunk.”
I tilted my head to see his face more clearly. “For a minute,” I said, bumping my shoulder against his. “I thought I was tripping.”
As soon as I turned to my stool, the ground spun beneath me. My hand landed on the counter to steady myself, rubbing my forehead. “What the fuck? Does the Earth actually spin?” I laughed. “Science.”
Suddenly, a grip tightened on my waist. The next thing I knew, I was seated on Artur’s lap, my hands resting on his broad shoulders.
I looked at him, and everything blurred.
There were three of him, or at least it felt that way.
Despite the fuzziness, I focused on the one in the middle, locking eyes with him.
His eyes captivated me the first time I saw him at the lingerie shop.
Knowing how dangerous he was, I still couldn’t look away.
“There are three of you.”
“You’re drunk,” he muttered, and my eyes dropped to his lips.
“No, I’m not,” I whispered. “I can see your lips. See, I can touch them.”
My whole body quivered as I pressed a finger to his lower lip. They were so full, warm, and wet. I traced my thumb over them, feeling my heartbeat race.
“What’s your name?” I didn’t know why I wanted to feel his lips move against my thumb. But I did. I craved it. “Is it Artur?” I asked,
When he didn’t answer, I begged, “Then say my name?” I was desperate to feel his lips against my finger.
He tightened his grip around my waist.
“Say my name?” I asked, and his jaw clenched.
For a moment, I wondered if he was about to hurt me. But I didn’t move. I stayed still.
“Talk to me,” I murmured, the plea slipping out before I could bury it.
“Rodion.” His voice was low and husky, like it had been dragged through smoke. “Rodion Konstantinov.”