64. -63-
Nina
Icouldn’t tell what pissed me off more: the fact that a six-year-old girl had turned my entire world upside down, or my irrational reaction when Dorian touched me.
I had to leave. That one was for sure. Otherwise I risked saying things I’d regret later. Still, he didn’t deserve it. I believed him when he said he'd forgotten to tell me. Our lives were a freaking mess. I just couldn’t process the bomb he dropped on me.
A child?
A little girl?
What the actual fuck!
I stopped Dorian’s car. Because, yes, I took his flashy red Jaguar, parked it at the side of the road, and pressed my forehead against the steering wheel. My breathing came out in shallow gasps when the argument replayed in my head. But then, the real reason behind my reaction resurfaced.
A thirteen-year-old girl, dressed in dirty clothes, with long, dark, braided hair, frightened brown eyes, and clutching a small plastic bag containing all her belongings, stared at me from the darkness, reminding me where I would be if my father hadn’t accepted me.
Well, I knew exactly how my life would turn out. My mother would sell my body to everyone willing to pay until there was nothing left but an empty vessel bringing her money. She never cared for me, and if Dorian’s little girl’s story was the same, who was I to stop her from having a better life?
“Shit,” I mumbled, running my hands over my face. “I don’t even know her name.”
Leaning my head against the backrest of the comfortable car seat, I glanced at my reflection in the windshield.
I wasn’t that scared teenager anymore, with no idea what a TV remote controller was.
I grew up to be a strong, powerful woman who knew how to fight her battles and kick asses if necessary—but being a mother?
Where in hell should I apply for that course?
My own mom signed away her parental rights for ten thousand dollars.
Without a fight. Without a goodbye. She just came to the court, said that she couldn’t provide for me, and left.
When I contacted her four years later, because my psychiatrist believed it was a good idea, I met a malnourished drug addict who tried to manipulate me.
Dad found out about it, arranged for my shrink to lose his license, and my mother vanished from the continent.
So, the only motherly figure in my life was a catastrophe that allowed her filthy clients to rape me and then abandoned me. I had no one to teach me how to become one. No woman in my life cared enough to love me.
My father’s temporary partners were just that, temporary.
None of them stayed longer than a few weeks, and his sister pretended I didn’t exist because I was an obstacle she had to eliminate to get the Valentino throne.
But then karma did its job, and her hopes dissipated along with her ability to have children.
My whole life was full of women who didn’t give a fuck about me. My mother, teachers, my grandmother, who was terribly sick when we met, so it didn’t count, or basically anyone I ever encountered. I had no predisposition to become a good role model.
I killed a woman who touched my husband, for fuck’s sake! Why the hell did I even consider going back to Dorian and having dinner with him and the girl? It was absurd!
“I can’t be her mother,” I groaned, slamming the steering wheel. “I just can’t!” My teeth sank into my lower lip as my eyes stung with pain I thought I had forgotten. “What if I ruin her the same way my mother ruined me?”
No answer came. The trees outside swayed gently in the breeze. Moonlight washed over the empty road, the quiet night standing in cruel contrast to the chaos inside my head.
Desperately needing fresh air, I stepped out of the car.
The wind lifted strands of my hair and cooled my burning skin.
A plane crossed the night sky overhead. Manhattan rose in the distance, its illuminated skyscrapers almost touching the darkness above.
Everything looked so peaceful, blissfully unaware that my world was about to change forever.
With a heavy exhale, I sat on the car hood and leaned on my elbows, tilting my head back.
The stars shone brightly, creating stunning constellations.
But no matter how much I stared at the beauty, I didn’t find the answers I was looking for.
The moon, the stars, the sun—they couldn’t tell me if creating a family with Dorian was a good idea.
No one could tell me if being a mother was for me.
Was I willing to risk it? To influence a young life without knowing I'd lead her down the right path? How could someone consciously choose that?
I never dreamed about having children. Not when my father tried to marry me off.
Not after I kidnapped Dorian. Not even after I started imagining a future with him.
Kids simply weren’t part of the picture.
I finally had something that belonged only to me.
A husband who looked at me as though I hung the moon.
Was I supposed to share all of that with someone else?
It sounded horrible. Selfish. Childish, even. But it was the truth. I didn’t want to share Dorian with anyone. He already had his precious work. Why did he need… this?
“Fuck!” I yelled, jumping off the hood. Furiously, I kicked the front tire so hard that pain shot through my toes.
“Great,” I hissed, hopping on one foot. “That helped.”
Limping into the car, my eyes landed on my buzzing phone. For more than a week, my father didn’t stop calling and texting, and the same went for Sonny.
I blocked them both, so now they were calling me from burner phones. How fucking creative.
Lucas kept telling me to show Dorian the messages.
I couldn’t. With Malin’s life on the line, he already carried enough.
I refused to become another burden. Instead, I planned my own revenge after Lucas finally dug some dirt on the Carlile family.
But it was taking too long, and my patience was running out.
“What?” I shouted into the phone when it just didn’t stop buzzing. The more numbers I blocked, the more showed up.
“Hello, sweetheart,” Dad’s voice cut through my brain with fake sweetness. “I’m glad you—”
“Cut the bullshit,” I snapped, ignoring the guilt over my behavior. Grandpa hated when I acted like that. “What do you want?”
“The same as the last time,” he replied nonchalantly. “Return home. We need to talk.”
“That’s how phones work. Talk now.” My feet bounced against the car floor. I so wasn’t in the mood for this.
“Why don’t you come home, Nina?” he asked like the caring father he certainly wasn’t for the past month. “I just want to have dinner with you to discuss your future.”
“My future is my business,” I retorted. “Now, if you excuse me—”
“Nina!” he snarled, his mask slipping for a split second. “You don’t understand what you’re forcing me to do!”
“Me?” I shouted, fisting my palm. “You’re selling me out like cattle!”
“I’m saving our family!”
“You’re saving yourself,” I seethed, blood rushing in my ears. “And I won’t help you. This is your fight.”
“It’s our fight, sweetheart,” he said in a chilling tone. “A Valentino always returns home. See you soon.”
I glared at the phone. The audacity! As if I’d ever step back into his house willingly!
I threw the phone onto the passenger seat when it began vibrating again, then fired up the engine. I wasn’t in the right state of mind to return to Dorian. Instead, I decided to visit Lucas. His new hacking den was only half an hour away, and I could use his company and insight.
“You’re back soon,” he said when he unlocked the heavy security door.
“Yeah, unpredictable circumstances,” I grimaced, walking past him.
The entire space was a single room, filled with monitors mounted on the walls or standing on the long desk.
The purple keyboard sat proudly against the biggest screen, where numbers and letters scrolled quickly; his massive, comfortable chair faced the board with photos, names, and colorful notes.
Opposite it was the cheapest couch money could buy.
The comfortable one had been sacrificed to keep the internet running. His financial situation was terrible.
“Tell me what’s bothering you, my little patient,” he said sweetly, sitting beside me on the couch. He crossed his legs and rested an elbow on his knee to support his chin as he stared at me over his glasses, reminding me of my last therapist.
The words poured out of me. The argument. The adoption. My childhood. Sonny’s threats. Dad’s phone call. By the time I finished, my throat was dry.
“Well…” Lucas scratched the back of his neck, pursing his lips. “Motherhood is the worst, I presume.”
“Is it?” I looked at him curiously. “My father trying to sacrifice me. Or my ‘fiancé’,” I made quotation marks in the air, “wishing to beat the shit out of me aren’t very appealing options either.”
“They are avoidable options.” He shrugged, walking to the tiny counter with plastic cups.
“The Zhumagulovs will make your father and his plans disappear like a reeking stench. You won’t have to see him ever again if you don’t want to.
” He handed me a bottle of sparkling water and plopped back.
The couch cracked, making me lift an eyebrow, but Lucas ignored it.
“Whatever Giovanni dragged you into can be solved. But the adoption?”
His lips pressed into a thin line as he cast me a sympathetic look and shook his head.
“Fuck,” I mumbled. There was no point in saying more. He summarized it all perfectly.
“Yeah, fuck.” Lucas poured himself a cup of water, his face twisting with confusion. “Does Dorian really want you to be the mother of his child?”
“Excuse me?” My voice jumped an octave. “Who else should he want?”
“I don’t know.” He shrugged, biting his lower lip. “There are better options than you and your deeply rooted mommy issues.”
“Says the guy with daddy issues,” I snapped, glaring at him.
“Yes.” He nodded without hesitation. “That’s why I’m not trying to become a daddy.”
“I’m not trying to become a mother either!” I yelled, abruptly standing up. “Dorian threw it on me. What the fuck should I do?”
“Ask yourself if you’re able to forgive and forget,” Lucas replied. “You can’t just accept the girl and bury her in your hate and trauma.”
“Do you think I don’t know that?” I stared at him incredulously.
“Why do you think I’m pissed? Because I’m not ready!
Maybe I will never be! And that girl deserves a stable mother who will love and protect her, who will go to the mall with her, or play with dolls.
” I blinked rapidly to clear the tears stinging my eyes, but it failed miserably.
“I didn’t have any of that! I don’t know how to give love to a child… I never had any!”
I threw my arms helplessly in the air, tears streaming down my face.
“I didn’t play with toys because my mother bought drugs and alcohol instead.
And with Grandpa? I shot targets instead of enjoying dollhouses and dresses and whatever the fuck girls play with!
” I erased the distance between Lucas and me and leaned down so our eyes were on the same level.
“I’m a fucking psychopath who commits crimes when things don’t go my way. I can’t be a mother.”
Lucas released a breath, completely unfazed by my outburst.
“You have a strong case here, love.” He pushed his glasses up his nose, leaning into the couch.
“I’m here to defend your qualities, because clearly, you don’t see them.
So, first,” he showed me his thumb, “You’re the most loyal person I know.
And before you protest,” he raised his palm to stop me, “you really are. Your father should be the one singing odes. Second.” He lifted his index finger.
“You don’t bullshit people. When you say something, it stands.
And third,” he wagged his middle finger, “you destroy everything that stands in the path toward happiness for the people you care about.”
I groaned exasperatedly.
“You know I’m right.” He shrugged. “I remember you writing two tests so your classmate wasn’t punished for a bad grade.” I shook my head, embarrassment filling my chest. “Or when you gave money to the guy who couldn’t afford to eat so he could buy books as well as eat. Should I continue?”
He smiled at me.
“I remember you threatening the principal with your grandfather for a better recommendation letter for me. And,” he laughed, “I almost forgot my favorite.” He grinned. “You walked into the NYPD because a little boy you’d never met needed help.”
“Stop!” I yelled, hiding my face behind my palm. “That doesn’t count.”
“It counts.” Lucas stood up and walked toward me. “It proves you’re not an emotionless psychopath.” He put his hand on my shoulder. “You call the psychopath to action because you care. That’s a huge difference.”
“I hate you,” I mumbled through my fingers, another wave of tears attacking me. But this time, they weren’t angry, uncontainable tears that spilled from pure rage at myself. They were tears of gratitude for the person my best friend was.
“Yeah, I know.” Lucas kissed my temple, smiling. “I’m the best therapist, and defense lawyer, and everything you need.”
“Yes, you are.” I wiped my cheeks, inhaling deeply. “What would I do without you?”
“You’d spiral and push Dorian and the kid away because you’re afraid.”
“I’m not af—”
“You’re frightened, Nina.” He stood before me, resting his hands on my shoulders. “But you need to understand that motherhood isn’t about playing with dolls. It’s about not leaving.”
The words settled deep inside me, reaching the festering wound my mother had left behind. Could I really be better than her?