Chapter 20 - Dani
I feel painfully underdressed, especially next to Vera.
She guides me through the lounge with effortless ease, weaving between low velvet couches and softly glowing tables as if she belongs here in a way I never could.
The entire place looks expensive in that understated Las Vegas way where nothing screams for attention because everyone already knows it costs too much.
Meanwhile, I’m trying not to look like I accidentally wandered into a place I have no business being in.
Regardless of feeling completely out of my depth, Vera keeps chatting casually beside me as if this is all perfectly normal. As if I’m not the random girl her cousin has been secretly housing after dragging her out of an organ harvesting operation.
The absurdity of my life nearly makes me dizzy if I think about it too hard, so I choose to focus on following as well as I can.
“This way,” Vera says brightly, steering me toward the lower level near the stage.
A live band is performing beneath the soft, intimate lights, and the singer’s voice is liquid smooth while jazz music drifts through the crowded lounge. The atmosphere is tender yet not too quiet, full of low laughter, clinking glasses, and people leaning close together in conversation.
It’s strangely nice, since for the first time in weeks, I’m somewhere other than Nikolai’s house or trapped in my head.
For the first time in what feels like forever, I almost feel like a normal person again, all things considered.
Vera settles beside me near the railing overlooking the stage and crosses one elegant leg over the other before handing me a drink I didn’t even see her order.
“I promise it’s not poisoned,” she says with a hint of mischief in her hazel eyes, accentuated by long lashes.
I snort softly before I can stop myself. “That’s reassuring considering your family.”
“You already understand us,” she chimes with a genuine grin, still faintly teasing.
Despite my nerves, I laugh quietly into the rim of the glass, and Vera’s grin is riddled with satisfaction.
She’s beautiful in a sharp, scary kind of way with dark hair falling in shiny waves over one shoulder, and an immaculate black dress she wears so easily. Confidence practically radiates off her skin as if she has never known a day without it.
She reminds me a little of Nikolai in the eyes, with the same intensity, and the same feeling that she notices far more than she lets on.
And yet somehow she’s also surprisingly easy to talk to. She’s not necessarily soft, but the warmth she does allow to slip is genuine, and admittedly, disarming.
“I know this is probably a lot,” she says after a moment, her tone softening slightly.
That’s definitely one way to put it.
Glancing back toward the upper level instinctively, where Nikolai and Artem sit in one of the private booths talking quietly, I catch the serious pinch in Nikolai’s shoulders again, and his attention is fixed entirely on whatever Artem is saying.
Even from here, he looks like someone you wouldn’t want to mess with.
“You could say that,” I admit quietly.
Vera follows my gaze toward the booth and hums knowingly. “He does that.”
My brows pinch lightly. “What?”
“Looks like he’s carrying the entire world on his back…he’s been like that since he was a kid.”
The observation catches me off guard because it’s painfully accurate, and ever since he has shown me more pieces of his life, I’ve noticed it too.
“He always looks stressed,” I say.
“Because he always is stressed.”
Something about the blunt honesty makes me want to laugh, but I keep it to myself.
For a little while, we watch the band play while conversation hums around us. I sip slowly at my drink and let the music settle some of the tension constantly living beneath my skin these days.
I didn’t realize how badly I needed this.
It isn’t about the luxury or the atmosphere, but simply being outside the house. Seeing other people, and hearing something other than my own grief echoing inside my head.
Eventually, Vera turns slightly toward me with more open curiosity flooding her features. She begins lightly, “So…how exactly did you and Nikolai meet?”
That makes me hesitate immediately as the truth of it comes to the surface all at once.
For half a beat, my instincts tell me to lie and invent some normal story where we bumped into each other at a coffee shop or met through mutual friends instead of what really happened.
But as tempting as that is, it doesn’t seem substantial enough to warrant Nikolai bringing me here, of all places, and introducing me to some of his family. I doubt Vera would even believe it.
She clearly already knows enough to understand this situation isn’t normal, and I can only imagine the nonsense she hears from her family.
So I exhale slowly and say, “It’s complicated.”
Vera grins immediately. “Those are always my favorite stories.”
I don’t think mine qualifies as a favorite, but at her insistence, I find myself telling her anyway.
Leaving out the gritty details of waking up in Nikolai’s house and believing my father was still alive somewhere, I tell her enough to paint a clear picture.
I explain the medical trial, the fake surgery, and the fact that Nikolai was investigating the people behind it and pulled me out before they could kill me, too.
The more I talk, the more Vera’s expression shifts from curiosity to genuine shock, and even so, she listens closely.
“Jesus,” she mutters softly once I finish.
I hum and nod. “Exactly.”
For a moment, she just stares out toward the stage thoughtfully, then she sighs and doesn’t seem entirely surprised.
“That sounds exactly like something that would happen around our family.”
I blink at her, surprised by the simple response. “That’s not concerning at all.”
“It should be,” she agrees. Somehow, that honesty makes me relax more than reassurance would have.
Vera doesn’t try to pretend their world is normal, and she doesn’t sugarcoat it or act offended that I find it overwhelming. She just accepts it for what it is, like she gets it more than most people would.
A beat later, her expression softens again. “I’m sorry about your dad, by the way. I imagine he would’ve been beyond grateful to hear how willing you were to step up, even if it wasn’t real.”
The words still hurt to hear since they make it real all over again, but I do my best to stomach it.
I lower my gaze briefly toward my drink and watch as the remaining ice cubes shift around. “Thanks.”
Vera is quiet for a second before beginning again, “Artem understands that kind of loss better than most people.”
I glance up, feeling more curious than I have any right to be. “What do you mean?”
Her eyes drift toward her brother upstairs, and a touch of sadness lingers in them. “His wife died a few years ago.”
The information catches me completely off guard, and I let out lamely, “Oh.”
“It was sudden and ugly,” Vera says softly, obviously remembering it all too well. “He doesn’t talk about it much, but some days are harder than others.”
I look toward Artem again instinctively.
He doesn’t look broken or tragically fragile. Instead, he’s composed and terrifyingly strong. You wouldn’t know he’s someone who survived something terrible and kept moving anyway.
Oddly enough, the thought comforts me a little.
It’s not that I’d ever wish grief on anyone else, but lately, I’ve felt isolated inside mine like the world kept moving while I got trapped somewhere between shock and heartbreak.
Hearing that someone else understands, even under completely different circumstances, makes me feel a little less alone.
“Does it ever get easier?” I ask quietly before I can stop myself, wondering if I’m pushing too far.
Vera considers the question carefully, then she hums to herself. “I think it gets quieter from what I’ve seen. It doesn’t go away, but the edges soften with time.”
I swallow hard around the sudden tightness in my throat as a glimmer of hope manifests in my chest. I want her to be right.
Eventually, the conversation drifts after that into easier territory towards safer things, like family stories, Vegas gossip she has heard recently, and, to Vera’s delight, embarrassing childhood moments involving Nikolai. Apparently, she’s delighted to weaponize it against him.
“He was impossible growing up. Even worse than he is now,” she says with dramatic exasperation, as if she’s been waiting to spill these details eventually. “Instead of joining in, he’d always lurk around corners looking judgmental, and when he wasn’t, he was lost in his own head.”
I laugh softly. “That honestly hasn’t changed.”
“See? He’s so private it’s infuriating. He’s always been wound up so tight, refusing to admit to anything.”
That I understand completely.
“He barely tells me anything,” I admit, quietly irritated by the thought. “I had to shout at him to get a single answer from him.”
“Welcome to the club.” She leans closer conspiratorially. “One time, he disappeared for three days because Roman scolded him for handling a situation wrong when he first started in the business.”
I scoff to myself. “Three days?”
She nods. “Roman was prepared to scour every inch of the desert, assuming he had been buried somewhere. But he came back as if nothing had happened.”
That sounds exactly like him, actually, and I shake my head, smiling despite myself.
For all my frustration with Nikolai, which there is still plenty of, I can’t deny that hearing these stories humanizes him in ways I wasn’t expecting. At the same time, knowing he has also frustrated his family feels like standing in solidarity together.
Around me, he always feels so controlled and perfectly measured, like every emotion gets locked behind steel doors before it can reach the surface.
But apparently, he’s always been like this, and it makes me feel a little less crazy.
“Still, for all his frustrating parts, he gets stuck in his head because he cares very deeply. Even if he’s terrible at showing it normally.
” Vera’s expression softens slightly as she glances toward him again.
“He’s scary as hell out there when he’s working, but I swear his heart is the biggest out of all of them. ”
I follow her gaze to see that Nikolai is still speaking with Artem with his rigid posture, though every so often his eyes drift instinctively toward where I’m sitting, like he’s checking to make sure I’m still there.
“He’s loyal,” Vera continues. “Almost to a stupid degree sometimes. If he’s trying to fix this situation, he will.”
Something in my chest tightens unexpectedly, because that’s the problem. I already know she’s right.
I’ve been trying so hard to protect myself from him emotionally, and to keep reminding myself that attraction doesn’t equal safety. That his world is dangerous in ways I still can’t fully comprehend.
But underneath all of that, I’ve still seen it in every gesture.
In the way he watches me like he’s waiting to jump in and amend whatever’s wrong, in the guilt he still carries over what happened to my dad and me, and the determination he gets in his eyes whenever he talks about the issues going on.
Nikolai may lie when he needs to, and he controls too much. He also frustrates me beyond belief, but he cares, and even I can’t discredit that.