Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Isuppose you would know best.
Luka’s cruel words spun around in my head as I carried the final tray of canapes to the parlor. My face was numb, and my ears rang. My heart stuttered, and I had to fight for every breath. I refused to cry. I refused to let that dickhead know he had hurt me.
It’s my own fault.
Why did I pick a fight with him? Why did I say all those stupid, mean things?
Yes, they were true, but still. I knew better. I had been warned to be silent and remember my place. My mother was going to lose her mind if she found out what I had done. I could practically feel her hand slapping my face.
I’m not a little girl anymore. I don’t have to take the punishment. I can leave whenever I want.
I wanted to leave right then. I wanted to drop the tray of food, grab my purse and race back to Dallas. I wanted to get away from this pit of vipers and never come back.
But I couldn’t.
Despite all my history with my sister, I couldn’t leave her here to deal with this alone.
When I stepped into the room, I quickly scanned the space to get my bearings.
My mother and grandfather were next to the baby grand piano that had never once been played, their heads close together as they conspired.
Besian Beciraj and his wife, Marley, were chatting with Aston and her husband Ben.
I had met Besian, Marley and Aston earlier before running back to the kitchen to help Mariana.
What is she doing? I found Dafina and Luka cozied up next to each other on a leather couch near the fireplace.
They were talking softly, and he was smiling at her.
Of course. I fought the urge to roll my eyes at how dumb he was and how easily he had fallen for her seductive grin and those elegant fingers stroking his hand.
She was fawning over the engagement ring he had given her, but I could see how fake her enthusiasm was.
It was the same bright grin she gave on Christmas morning when her gifts didn’t meet her expectations.
She hated the ring, and considering I couldn’t even see a sparkle from this distance, I understood why.
It was too small and too plain. Much too simple for the wife of a mafia kingpin.
“Elona, over here.” Dafina snapped her fingers the same way our mother did when ordering around Mariana. She couldn’t enjoy her ring, but she could enjoy dishing out another serving of indignity for me. A little pick-me-up to make her feel better.
I swallowed the lump of humiliation that filled my throat as I answered her rude beckoning by silently walking to the sofa. I refused to meet Luka’s gaze and instead lowered the tray for my sister to grab the quail egg canape she wanted. That surprised me. She had always hated eggs of any kind.
My gaze lingered on the engagement ring.
It looked like something from a pawn shop’s jewelry case.
The gold was brassy and warm, and the diamonds were small and lifeless.
The tiny marquise cut diamond in the center was hugged by diagonal channel set baguettes.
There were miniscule round diamonds running along the baguettes.
It had a very dated feel, as if it had jumped right off the pages of a mall jewelry store catalog from the 90’s.
Luka politely grabbed one of the triangles of toast with a dollop of goat cheese and roasted grapes. I gave him the fakest smile I could muster. I hope you choke on it.
“Thanks, E Cup.” Dafina waved me off like a nuisance, and I retreated quickly, taking the tray to the table and placing it on the empty stand.
Behind me, I could hear her laughing and telling Luka about the nickname the older boys gave me when I was in fourth grade and had developed large breasts seemingly overnight.
It wasn’t funny to me, at all, and had been one of the reasons our stepdad had moved me to an all-girls private school here in Houston.
Not to mention, they couldn’t have been more wrong. My poor back wished my bra cup was only an E. I’d given up trying to buy bras in stores by ninth grade. Good luck trying to find a 54G on the rack!
I stupidly glanced back and found him watching me. Our gazes clashed, and there was something unexpected in his eyes. Pity. He pitied me, and it infuriated me. I didn’t want pity from my enemy.
Desperate to escape, I poured club soda and a splash of cranberry juice into a glass, dropped two ice cubes and a lime wedge in it and turned to looked for a quiet corner to hide.
“Elona?” A dark-haired beauty in a killer red dress approached me with a smile. She had the regal bearing of a queen. “I’m Vivian, Nikolai’s wife.”
She was a queen. The Queen of Houston’s Underworld.
I had years of practice at masking my real emotions, so I was able to stay neutral at the mention of her husband.
There was only one man in Houston who could be introduced just by his first name with the expectation that everyone would know who was being described.
Nikolai Kalasnikov. Russian mob boss. The man who controlled all of Houston’s criminal underworld.
Although reluctant, I grasped her hand with a smile I hoped was sufficiently convincing. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“Oh, I think we crossed paths in middle school?” She asked it like a question, but it was clear she remembered me from the exclusive private school. If we had crossed paths, I didn’t remember it. I could hardly remember anything about my years there. PTSD. Dissociative amnesia. Take your pick.
“We had the same library and PE periods.” There was nothing cruel or venomous in her gaze or voice.
She wasn’t making a thinly-veiled hint to embarrass me.
She seemed to be genuinely trying to help me remember her.
“I remember because you were always checking out the mystery books I wanted to read, and you were so good at softball. Do you still play?”
“I do. I play on a co-ed team in Dallas. I also coach a minor league team. The Fastpitch Fairies.”
“The Fastpitch Fairies?” she repeated with an amused smile.
“My team is mostly ten-year-old girls. Imagine lots of attitude and glitter.” Coaching those girls was the highlight of my spring and early summer. They were the silliest, sweetest kids, and I loved watching them grow as people and players.
“Oh, gosh! I see the youth teams at the park where my son likes to play. I’m so looking forward to his first T-ball game.
” She refilled her glass with a similar mix of club soda and lime juice.
As she moved, the fabric of her dress pulled taut against her midsection and revealed a curve.
That and the club soda convinced me she was pregnant.
Not that I was going to say anything. I had been asked more than once when my baby was due. At least I was able to get a little smug satisfaction from seeing their mortified expressions when I said, “Never.”
“Did you play in college?”
I nodded. “Yes, at SMU.”
“What did you study?”
“Business.”
All thoughts of chitchat fled as Nikolai Kalasnikov approached his wife from behind.
He slid his arm around her waist, his heavily tattoed hand a stark reminder of his brutality as it possessively claimed her.
He tenderly brushed a quick kiss along her temple before offering me a polite smile. “Miss Dushku.”
The most powerful crime boss in Houston stood before me, all masculine power and danger. My stomach dropped like a runaway elevator. I hadn’t seen him in years, not since...
Well. I really didn’t want to think about that.
He was older now, more polished. Calmer. Quieter. But his eyes were still terrifying. One look, and I got the silent message. If I said one single word in front of his wife about our prior interactions, he would end me.
As much as he scared me, I couldn’t deny that he and his wife were the picture of sophistication.
The age gap between them made them seem all the more striking and impressive.
It would be easy to assume Vivian had married Nikolai for money and status, but the look they shared was one that made me envious.
Vivian loved this man with all her heart, and he was completely besotted with her.
I wanted a man to look at me like that. I wanted to be the center of my husband’s world, to be cherished and adored.
Fat chance, pig. Luka’s imaginary voice insulted me.
“Elona and I were just talking about our time together at school and what we’re doing now. I was about to invite her to come by the gallery.”
“Yes, you must,” Nikolai agreed. It wasn’t quite a command, but it was close enough to make me nervous. “Vivian’s gallery showcases Houston’s best artists. You’ll enjoy it.”
Another command that I didn’t dare ignore.
Controlling the tremor in my voice, I smiled apologetically. “I’m only staying tonight. Maybe the next time I’m in town I can visit.”
“Mbese.”
My shoulders stiffened at the sound of my grandfather’s voice. Vivian obviously noticed my reaction because her expression morphed from one of happiness to concern. I managed to fake another smile before turning to face my grandfather.
Skender had warned me during our last video chat that our grandfather looked like he was a single step from death’s door. Frail, sallow—he was a shell of the violent, cruel and overbearing warlord he had once been.
Good, I thought silently. I hope he’s suffering.
“Gjyshi.” I politely kissed both of his cheeks and tried not to dwell on his clammy skin or the strange smell coming from him. “How are you?”
He ignored my question and scowled as he looked me over. His thin lips curled, and I steeled myself for the cutting remark that was sure to come. “Thank God your father can’t see you now.”
“Artan,” Nikolai interjected forcefully.
“Stay out of this,” my grandfather growled, his rank breath fouling the air around us. “This is family business.”
Nikolai stepped in front of me, and Vivian tugged my hand, pulling me away from my grandfather and her husband who were now furiously hissing at each other.