5. -4-
Nina
The loft at the Upper East Side was always my sanctuary.
Dad bought this place so I could have peace and privacy to play music, but I hadn’t touched the piano in more than three years.
The car accident in which I broke four fingers on my right hand stopped me from playing and writing the music I loved so much.
It also cut off my favorite hobby, archery.
Grandpa took me under his wing the moment I showed up at my father’s doorstep, and we quickly became close.
He loved archery and spent hours on the training grounds he’d built because, according to him, it helped him think.
His whole life, he’d hoped for a grandson to pass the skill on to since my father had no interest, but he got me instead.
And he did a damn good job. I fell in love with the sport and trained with him every day until a drunk driver hit my car and destroyed what had given my life meaning.
The best surgeons in the country repaired my hand, but they couldn’t restore full mobility to my ring finger. No one would notice, but I couldn’t clench my fist completely or control the finger well enough to always hit the piano key correctly.
Before the accident, I used to perform three times a week at Four Seasons, consistently selling out the hall. Then, I locked myself up in this place and composed. The accident took that from me.
Archery suffered, too. Grandpa had taught me the Mediterranean draw, using my index, middle, and ring fingers to pull the string, but with an injured hand it was no longer possible.
My trainer suggested changing techniques or trying a different bow, but I refused.
The thrill of hitting the target was gone.
I sat on the chair before the grand black piano, tracing my fingers along the keys. I didn’t allow anyone to touch it. My housekeeper dusted everything, but she followed my orders and let me take care of my precious instrument. I wiped the dust off slowly, imagining the tones each key would make.
The music echoed in my mind, calming my nerves, but I flinched at the sound when I accidentally pressed the key.
It was alien to me, almost violent when it pierced my ears.
In my head, it was gentle and beautiful, like a melody resonating through the blossoming meadow.
But the reality was harsh and forceful, almost as if it represented the disaster I was drowning in.
Sighing exasperatedly, I threw the rag away, grabbed my bag, and entered my bedroom. In the walk-in closet, behind my robes for special events, I kept my most recent secret obsession.
Dorian Zhumagulov.
His photos, newspaper pictures, and the front page of Vogue magazine were pinned to the handmade board, designed precisely for this occasion.
I cut his gorgeous face from the pages and arranged them all over the wall, musing on whether taking some secret shots of him on my own was too stupid and dangerous.
If he noticed me following him around, he might think I did it because we were enemies.
The truth was, I simply couldn’t stop thinking about him.
I took the magazine from my purse and opened it to the page with an interview with him. I gently touched his photo, my heart going wild.
He sat behind a massive glass desk, surrounded by his medical team, smiling into the camera.
His eyes glowed with the excitement of someone who had achieved everything he wanted.
His dark hair was combed back, and tattoos peeked from under the right sleeve of his lab coat.
Only his fingers stayed untouched. A luxurious golden watch and a set of bracelets encircled his wrist, and he held an expensive, custom-made silver pen with his monogram.
The picture was perfect, underscoring his tremendous success in opening a hospital in such a short time. My father claimed that the Zhumagulovs used all their influence and money to secure permits and licenses, but at least they used their unlimited resources to help people.
Carefully cutting out the photo, I focused mainly on Dorian.
No one else interested me but him. My eyes traced the lines of his face while I worked, memorizing every inch of him: the high cheekbones, chiseled jaw covered in gentle stubble, and, most importantly, big hazel eyes framed by curtains of long eyelashes that stared right into my aching heart.
His contagious smile, even when it was only from paper, had the power to lift my spirit like nothing else.
Despite being identical triplets, his brothers didn’t possess that charm.
They looked at people like demons ready to eat their souls.
They were impossibly handsome but frightening, true crime lords, while Dorian was full of smiles and winks and was always in a good mood.
I was sure he was the family sweetheart.
I pinned the photo into my collection and sat on the ground.
Leaning on my palms, I admired the man, but my mind wandered to the upcoming event.
I had already picked a stunning dress that would surely catch attention, and worked on plans to get as close to Dorian as possible.
Still, showing up uninvited could cause trouble.
When I asked Dad if our invitation got lost in the mail, he grimaced like he had swallowed something spoiled.
Every Italian family was invited to Dorian’s party, except mine.
It was obvious the Zhumagulovs ignored us because of the current situation.
It was part of the punishment for my grandpa’s plans.
I spent two hours in the quiet of my walk-in closet, thinking about my options. Lucas had already bought me a ticket to Europe if nothing else worked, but I wasn’t very open-minded about that possibility.
First, if Zyon didn’t kill my dad, my dad would easily find me and drag me back, and second, I didn’t have full access to my money.
I would get it after my twenty-fifth birthday.
Grandpa believed eighteen-year-olds were still kids and needed their parents’ oversight, so he conditioned access to his millions by age.
As the only grandchild, I would inherit Grandpa’s money as he wished in his will, while Dad got the other assets.
Still, surviving a year in poverty or a marriage with Sonny seemed impossible.
Looking around the spacious living room one last time, I planned to return tomorrow with new additions to my secret collection. But when the elevator door opened, I almost collapsed. The ordinary day became a nightmare in a split second when my gaze clashed with Sonny’s.
“What are you doing here?” I asked without greeting him, my eyes narrowing when he confidently strolled out of the elevator. I slowly backed away, wondering how the hell he got past the reception. They never let anyone in without prior notice.
“We need to talk, fiancée,” he replied casually, glancing around. “Your daddy set up a nice place for you.” He brushed his fingers against the deer statue on the chest of drawers, walking further into the room. “It’ll be easy to sell it for a solid price.”
“W-what?” I gasped, barely recognizing my voice. We were on the highest floor, and the memories of the last time we were alone together quickly resurfaced. My body instantly went into fight-or-flight mode.
“You don’t have a hearing problem, Nina,” he snapped, his slightly insane eyes piercing my skull. “This apartment will be the first thing you’ll get rid of.”
“Why would I sell the place I use?” I frowned, and he flashed me another sinister look before he plopped into the armchair, facing me.
“Do you think I don’t know what it is?” He crossed his long legs at the ankles and placed his hands on the armrest. It was ridiculous how he pretended to be some powerful mafia boss from an old photo.
He was obsessed with the status but had no idea what it meant in real life.
“I won’t allow you to have a place to bring your lovers to. ”
“Lovers?” I echoed with incredulity dripping from my tongue. “I don’t have a lover.”
“No?” he barked, rising to his feet so abruptly I flinched away. “Then why do you keep resisting the marriage?”
I gulped, staring into his sickening face. I wished to spit the truth at him, leave, and never look back. But he would snap me in half if I dared to do it. So I chose a different tactic.
“I’m hesitant to marry a man who seems to hate me,” I replied after a slight pause, keeping my voice steady. Surprisingly, Sonny chuckled, shaking his head as if what I said was complete nonsense.
“You naive girl.” He approached me, a wide grin splitting his face. “I don’t hate you.” He stopped before me, looking down at me with pity, before his expression changed to madness. “I fucking despise you!”
I couldn’t react quickly enough when he punched me in my stomach.
The blow was so hard I bent forward, yelping in pain.
The shock traveled through my body, shifting into a sick ache that weakened my knees.
Before my arms could encircle my middle in a desperate attempt to protect myself, he hit me again, and I collapsed to the ground like a rag doll.
My vision blurred, and I gasped for air while the pain quickly spread. I pulled my knees to my chest, clutching my abdomen, my mouth hanging open but unable to draw in a breath. I started to cough, every movement of my torso bringing a wave of nausea until I almost vomited.
“You’re such a weakling,” Sonny snarled, disgust lacing his words, crouching beside my quivering body. The size difference between us, and the realization that I was completely at his mercy, sent raw panic through my veins.
He glared at me through narrowed eyes, with pure hatred contorting his features. I could barely see through the wetness blocking my sight, but he looked ready to kill me.
“If you weren’t Giovanni’s only granddaughter, I would never set my eyes on you,” he seethed. “I would never tie my life to a fucking filthy bastard!”
Lucky me, I thought with irony, gasping for air. The pain in my abdomen lessened, but the tremor in my body stayed. I shook violently at his feet, unable to think of how to get away from his reach.
“So, listen to me very carefully, Nina.” He grabbed my chin with his large hand with such force that I was sure his fingers would imprint into my skin.
“I’ll marry your stupid ass, and you will keep that sassy mouth of yours closed.
Or I swear to God, I’ll fucking smash your teeth in.
I won’t let you destroy my opportunity to work with royalty. Do. You. Understand?”
I pressed my lips into the thin, and my heart almost broke through my ribcage. Tears streamed down my face as I slowly nodded, hoping he would finally let me go.
“Use your words,” Sonny commanded, pulling my face toward his. It was a perfect position to spit at him, to show him that I disgusted him much more than he disgusted me, but it would be my death sentence. So, I obeyed like a trained monkey, saying the words he wished to hear.
“I u-understand,” I whispered, my chin quivering. He snickered, shaking his head mockingly as if he was staring at a pathetic bug on his shiny shoe.
“Terrific,” he hissed, letting go of my jaw abruptly. The back of my head hit the wooden floor, the pain exploding in my skull.
I turned my face to the ground, my hair falling at my sides to muffle my whimpers from him.
Lying on my poor, beaten stomach, I hoped to hear his steps and the elevator sound that would signal he was on his way from my apartment, but he didn’t move.
I slowly pushed my hair behind my ear, my gaze climbing his long legs and torso until I saw his face.
He glared down at me with so much hatred that I looked to the side just to avoid it.
“Filthy bastard,” he muttered and finally walked away.
Painful groans escaped me while I crawled to the couch. Helpless tears streamed down my face, unwilling to stop falling from my eyes.
If I couldn’t find a way to flee the marriage, it would be my end. Perhaps I should tell Lucas to get me a fake ID after all. It wouldn’t stop my father from finding me, but what else could I do if the plan with the Zhumagulovs didn’t work? I couldn’t stay here and let this lunatic kill me.
Supporting my body against the wall, I dragged myself into my secret sanctuary. Dorian’s face smiled at me from all directions, planting a seed of hope in my chest.
One meeting was all I needed to make him notice me. I would make it happen. I had to!