7. -6-
Dorian
Standing on the balcony, hidden in the shadow, I watched the spectacular room below me.
White and gold decorations hung from the ceiling, while transparent curtains decorated with flowers and butterflies framed the balconies, scattering tiny lights across the dance floor.
The quartet of violinists, complemented by a pianist and cellist, played gentle music whose tones tingled my ears.
Two long buffet tables on opposite sides of the room offered my guests various dishes, desserts, and drinks.
At the same time, servants in elegant white uniforms brought champagne on golden platters.
Chatter, laughter, and silver cutlery clinking against plates echoed from all directions, confirming everyone was having a great time.
Pride and contentment blossomed in my chest at the sight of the most successful people in the medical field, followed by the most powerful people in this country and my closest family and friends.
Everyone who received an invitation to the after-party showed up, which only showcased the Zhumagulov influence.
A smirk lifted the right corner of my lips when I stared down at the two politicians from Washington, accompanied by their beautiful, smiling wives.
Yesterday, they fucked the same woman in Malin’s club with three other men, and today, they were outstanding citizens supporting the medical care for the poor in New York.
Because yes, my new hospital was for the rich and beautiful, as Zyon mockingly called them, but I built an entire wing for people with limited resources so they could access the latest medical treatment.
Their therapy would be financed from my mother’s fundraising, because she was the best at getting money from wealthy assholes, and my brothers promised to add to the pot as well.
My dream finally came true. My parents always claimed I would achieve anything I set my mind to, and they were right. I would stop at nothing to get what I wanted, and I wanted this hospital open as soon as possible.
The trouble with equipment? Solved.
Problems with contractors? Solved.
Declined permits? Solved with so much money that someone could buy an island.
Not enough staff to cover 24/7 opening hours? I raised salaries so high that job seekers banged on my door nonstop to get in. The best doctors in the country left their warm seats to join me.
I used every ounce of my family’s money and influence to make it happen. After the tragedy that changed my life, I spent years prescribing vitamins and performing minor cosmetic procedures, convinced my days as a trauma surgeon were over.
Then Zyon was shot.
Until he lay before me on a dirty table in a secluded warehouse with three gunshot wounds, I believed I couldn’t perform major surgery anymore.
But when his life depended on my quick reactions, the tremor in my hands and the clouded vision disappeared.
The adrenaline, thrill, and excitement I’d denied myself for so long returned like a drug I desperately wanted to taste again.
After I removed the bullet and stitched my brother up, I stayed awake for forty hours, riding the rush.
I couldn’t get enough of it. The only other thing that could put me into the same cataclysmic state was punishing people who meant harm to my family.
It wasn’t about killing or causing pain.
It was about justice. Whoever dared touch my loved ones would pay a terrible price. That was my only rule.
But I also fucking loved saving lives. My patients’ gratitude and joy filled me with pride and confidence.
Malin claimed I had a god complex, but I was too empathetic for such a simple diagnosis.
I was arrogant, sure, but I didn’t believe I was always right.
I took advice from people more skilled and talented than me.
Sometimes, I thought of myself as Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde—the respectable doctor who saved lives and the mafia prince with unlimited resources and a carefully crafted reputation who could destroy them.
“You’re staring at them like you want to hug them,” Malin’s voice reached me from behind the heavy curtain.
A second later, his tall body, dressed in a black turtleneck, black jacket, and black slacks, appeared in my line of view.
His usually perfectly styled hair was messy, and a few strands fell into his cold brown eyes.
I knew him well enough to quickly figure out he was on a mission and came at the last second.
“I do,” I confirmed, unable to fight the broad, satisfied smile that split my face. “You, on the other hand, look like you just killed someone.”
“Not exactly. I left them to bleed to death while I hurried to cheer for your success, brother.” He scanned the crowd with his calculated gaze, probably looking for hidden threats, before he would relax a little.
The man was constantly working on a task.
If it wasn’t for his little side projects, or some of Zyon’s assignments, he was preoccupied with his psychotic stalker tendencies.
I admired him for having so many hobbies.
They kept his life unpredictable, full of unexpected surprises, while I could only count on his call to add some thrill to my dull days.
But it was about to change. My schedule was overflowing with consultations, surgeries, and medical lectures.
In two days, interns from the university would join the medical team.
Since I re-evaluated my license, finished my training, and passed my recertification exams, students bombarded me with applications to join my team.
I had only two places open, and I’d already received twenty calls from friends saying they had a daughter, son, nephew, niece, aunt, uncle, dog, cat, or horse at medical school and wanted them to work with me.
It flattered me, but on the other hand, it pissed me off.
Money could get these people everywhere, but not onto my team.
I wanted the best of the best. So, if the best in the class was Johnny from Maine, whose father was a fisherman, and he was on a scholarship, he would get in.
Connections and status didn’t matter here.
Skill, determination, and the will to learn did. My hospital, my rules.
“I don’t think I’ll be available tonight to dispose of the bodies, sunshine,” I said, wrapping my arm around Malin’s shoulders and flashing him another wide grin.
He grimaced but didn’t complain. He hated all displays of affection, but tolerated them from me.
Mostly because I was his triplet brother; otherwise, he would have torn my arm off.
“Just don’t make me drag you from here wasted,” he grumbled, wriggling uncomfortably, but I clutched him tighter as we walked down the massive stairs framed with ornamental railing.
“You’re such a great older brother,” I teased, ruffling his black hair. “Caring about my reputation and safety.”
He abruptly moved away, flashing me a murderous glare, but I didn’t mind. I never cared about his deadly stares or threats. It was his love language, and he proved countless times that he couldn’t live without me.
“Shut up,” he hissed, pushing me away when I tried to pull him to my side again. I burst out laughing at his lethal expression that worked on everyone but Zyon and me. Even Mom sometimes frowned at him when he looked at people like he wanted to skin them alive, yet his brothers were immune.
“You know my default settings.” I shrugged, acting all innocent about my annoying behavior and running mouth, which he pretended to hate. “I can’t be quiet. I would burst.”
“Then burst,” he said, ignoring the waitress who offered us two crystal glasses of bubbly champagne. I took them from her, casting her an apologetic smile and handing one to the grump on my right side.
“Drink, it’ll lift your mood.” I clinked my glass with his, watching him watch the bright, golden liquid with fine, persistent bubbles as if it were poison. I rolled my eyes at his behavior, then took a sip and exhaled in contentment.
Armand de Brignac, or Ace of Spades as they called it, had become my favorite party drink thanks to Zyon. Rich, smooth, and perfectly balanced between sweetness and freshness, it almost made me forget I preferred whiskey. At twenty thousand dollars a bottle, it damn well should.
“Dorian.”
A familiar, pleasant female voice disturbed me from enjoying a delicious drink with my brooding brother, and I turned toward smiling Mrs. Valeria Zhumagulov, Zyon’s gorgeous wife.
My heart involuntarily skipped a beat because, well, I had been platonically in love with her since I first saw her.
Fuck, I took a bullet for her. Of course, that meant something, but Zyon was categorically against our close relationship.
He refused to share her attention and time.
Still, it didn’t stop me from showing up at his house whenever I wished to see their happy little family.
“Valeria,” I chirped, putting the glass away. Her wide, happy smile was blinding, complemented by a long silver dress that changed color with the light and flawlessly styled cherry-red hair. The woman was stunning.
How did my brother get so lucky?
“Congratulations,” she said, hugging me tightly. “I’m so happy for you.”
She placed a gentle kiss on my cheek, and I almost melted into a puddle.
My arms wrapped around her thin waist, and I mischievously wiggled my brows at Zyon, who stood behind her and looked like he wanted to chop my hands off.
I needed my hands for my profession, so I let Valeria go, but I couldn’t help but say.
“It means the world to me to make you happy, Valeria.”