Chapter Twelve #2
Surprised that Skender would dare to argue with him here of all places, Luka narrowed his eyes at the younger man. “It might be better if you do go back to Houston with your mother.”
“Not a chance,” Skender replied stiffly. “I’m not leaving my sister unprotected.”
Luka bristled at the suggestion that Dafina needed her brother’s protection. “I would never hurt her. I’m not that kind of man.”
“We’ll see.” Skender shrugged. “It’s not only about protecting her. It’s about being here for her. I know what it’s like to be separated from everyone and everything you know. I don’t want her alone here without any friends or family.”
The younger man’s gaze looked suddenly far away. There was so much trauma reflected in those yes, and Luka hated that he was a large cause of it.
“I wasn’t aware you and Dafina were that close,” Luka said, wanting to change the subject.
“We aren’t. I’m closer to Elona. She actually makes an effort to visit me.”
“Does she?”
“We talk every day by text or video chat. Three or four times a year, we get together at football matches in Italy. My jailers don’t mind if I have visitors if they’re getting free tickets to a match.”
“But your mother and Dafina never came with her?”
Skender laughed bitterly. “No.”
Drita appeared in the doorway. “The priest is here. He’d like to speak with you.”
Luka nodded dutifully and followed Drita out of the room. Just outside the doorway, she stopped and touched his arm. Her expression softened as she reached up to stroke his cheek with maternal affection. “Your stomach?”
“It’s fine.” He brushed off her concern. “I took the medicine. If I need to step away for a moment, I will.”
“Promise me you’ll go to the hospital and have the tests after the wedding,” she begged. “If anything happens to you, Rina will be—.”
“She’ll be fine,” he insisted, refusing to even think about the possibility he might die young. “She’s surrounded by people who love her.”
“And what about the people who want to hurt her?” Drita asked sharply. “You might be mending fences with the Dushku family but what about the northern families? The Serbians? The Montenegrin factions? The Raffaellis?”
“I’m going to handle it,” he promised, even though he wasn’t actually sure he could.
The northern families would always be a problem. The tension between them had existed for centuries and nothing was ever going to fix that. Neither side wanted open war, and things usually stayed at a low simmer, always threatening to boil over but never quite reaching a critical temp.
The issues in Montenegro were worrisome but not especially pressing. The Serbian situation would sort itself out once Darko got over the hurt feelings from the crypto scheme gone bad.
And the Raffaellis? Well, they were just pissed off because they had to let go of all that money they had been holding as custodians of the treaty and relinquish control of the narcotics trade in this sector.
They would continue to get a cut, but they’d have to find another source of income after their free ride for the last seventeen years.
After leaving Drita’s side, he searched for the priest who was probably going to chastise and scold him.
Last night, the priest had been very aware of the stilted awkwardness between them.
Dafina had barely talked during the rehearsal dinner, and he’d been sick to his stomach for most of it.
He feared it was a glimpse of the miserable future that awaited them.
Christ, our honeymoon. If things don’t go well—
He rounded a corner and slammed into someone. “Oof!”
No, not someone.
Her.
Elona.
In a dress that made his mouth go dry.
She looked incredible. The voluptuous curves of her body were accentuated by the fabric, and her breasts were right there, just begging to be touched. He swallowed hard and ignored the heat streaking through his groin.
Fuck. Why did she have to show up looking like this? Was she trying to tempt him? To make him do something stupid?
“What are you staring at?” She hissed and self-consciously tugged at the neckline of her dress.
“I almost didn’t recognize you,” he said stupidly.
She scowled. “Maybe you would if I oinked first?”
His lust evaporated in an instant. Deep shame twisted around his heart, leaving him speechless.
She misinterpreted his silence for cowardice and roughly shoved him out of the way. “Watch where you’re going.”
“Maybe if you put your phone down, you wouldn’t be running over people,” he snapped.
“Some of us actually have to work for a living.”
“I work!”
“Everything you have was handed to you by your father—and from what I’ve heard, you’ve squandered all of it!”
Fucking Kristo! Had he been telling her the family secrets? Was he that drunk in Shanghai?
The way she lorded her success over him was so fucking irritating. “You don’t know anything about me.”
“I know enough to know that you’re not worthy of my sister!”
“I’m not worthy of her?” He laughed harshly. “She’s nothing special.”
“She’s more special than you’ll ever be.”
“You know, I was going to apologize to you,” he snarled.
“Like I want your apology?” She scoffed. “You can take it and shove it right up your ass.”
Stunned by the vulgar way she spoke, he was caught off guard when she barreled into him. She checked him with her shoulder, sending him stumbling to the side, and then shot him the finger while mouthing, “Fuck you.”
Incensed, he stalked after her. “Hey!”
She picked up her pace. The high heels she wore enhanced the swing of her wide hips, and he was momentarily dazed by the sight of her big ass wiggling like that. He quickened his steps, but she moved even faster, staying right out of arm’s reach.
“Elona!”
She glanced back at him, her face a mask of panic, and practically ran to the French doors that led to the garden where the ceremony would be held. She burst through them as if running from Satan himself.
Not wanting to run outside and make a spectacle, he slowed his pace. He clenched his fists at his sides. The pit of despair in his gut deepened and swirled.
Marrying into this family is going to be the death of me.