27. Chapter 23
Chapter 23
Isabella
W arm, soft light pours into the room, casting flickering shadows all around me. I sit at one end of a long table, watching the game I walked in on finish. Several men and one woman are at the table. Most of the men wear ornate masks, barring a gentleman with intelligent hazel eyes and skin so smooth he might be anywhere from twenty to forty.
The woman isn’t wearing a mask, either, and I recognise her immediately. How could I not? We were almost sister-in-laws, after all.
Stephanie O’Shea’s sharp eyes lock on me from the moment I enter the room. The only empty seat is directly next to her. Any notion that she doesn’t share her brother’s disdain for me is gone when her piercing eyes burn a hole into the side of my head for the whole of the first game.
What do you say to the sister of the man you publicly humiliated?
Sorry? I didn’t mean to kiss the guy from the Russian mafia at the engagement party? No hard feelings?
Somehow, I don’t feel like that will cut it.
“I hear you’re married now.” Stephanie purrs.
I tear my eyes away from my cards and glance over at her. She’s wearing a deep green power suit, as if she’s been plucked from an eighties fashion magazine. She pulls it off, but the O’Shea’s always pull off their fashion. They all have that long, angular, model look that floods London, Paris, and New York during fashion week.
“Everyone seems to know.” I mutter as the dealer places the next card on the table.
I spin one of my chips in little circles and lick my dry lips.
“Have you ever played a game like this?” Asks Stephanie. “Where you could lose a small fortune on a check?” A devilish smirk pulls at her lips.
She lights a cigarette and slowly drags at it, her eyes lingering on me. She’s studying me like an eagle watching a mouse hole.
“I’ve played enough games.” I say, catching her eye for a moment. “Raise.” I push a few more chips into the pot.
Stephanie drags on her cigarette again. “Reckless,” she tuts to herself.
The rest of the round goes by in a flash, disappearing along with my chips as the gentleman with the hazel eyes wins the pot.
A small murmur of chatter bubbles around the table between the rounds, and Stephanie snatches the moment to lean into my ear. The smell of cigarettes floats around every word that drops from her full lips.
“Don’t rush into the game. These bastards will target you if they smell blood.”
Is she helping me?
“I know how to play.” I snap back stubbornly as my brows pinch and I pull my new cards close to my chest.
Stephanie chuckles, and the chatter lowers to whispers as the next game begins. Despite the rational side of my brain screaming at me, I ignore Stephanie’s advice and bet hard and aggressive.
We reach the last round and, once again, it’s me and hazel-eyes. I glance at my cards, then at the cards on the table, then at my chips. I should check, because if I bet much higher there’s a chance Nikolai will kill me for losing him a fortune. The dealer is eyeing my chips like they might affect his yearly salary.
Stephanie crosses her legs, leaning into my ear. “Bet hard.”
I shoot her a look before whispering, “you just told me to be careful?”
“Hey, no helping.” Snaps hazel-eyes from across the table.
Stephanie straightens her back like an offended cat. “You boys are always ganging up on me. It’s about time you taste your own medicine.”
The man glares at her, but says nothing. He doesn’t look like a man who is used to biting his tongue, but something about Stephanie seems to have that tongue caged. Stephanie trails a finger around my chips, her eyes locking onto mine.
“Trust me, Isabella. One mafia daughter to another.”
She’s hardly a mafia daughter anymore, more like a mafia queen. Everyone knows she runs the Irish operation.
I suck in a sharp breath and let my urges win over my rational mind, pushing forward a huge pile of chips. “Raise.” I growl through gritted teeth.
Stephanie purrs, puffing at her cigarette, as her eyes turn into huge saucers.
The dealer audibly gasps, before apologising and wiping the sweat from his forehead. He glances at the man with the hazel-eyes. “Sir?”
Hazel-eyes languidly pushes in an equal amount of chips.
The room holds its breath and leans in as the dealer draws out the last card. I don’t need to see it to know who's won. The look of relief on the dealer’s face is enough to let me know.
“Yes!” I jump out of my chair and, before I know what I’m doing, grab Stephanie into a hug.
Stephanie’s body stiffens, and I pull away as quickly as I went in. Judging by the looks of disgust, celebrating is rude. Whatever. What’s the point of playing if you can’t enjoy when you win?
“Congratulations, Mrs Ilyin.” Says the dealer, who might be the only person in the room sharing in my celebration. I have a feeling he might have lost more than his job if I lost that much money on his shift.
“Let’s take a ten minute break.” Stephanie says it so sweetly, but make no mistake, it’s an order. They all understand, clicking their fingers for drinks and turning to chat to the masked man next to them.
Stephanie turns to me.
“Sorry.” I blurt out. “It’s just… you helped, and I was excited.”
Stephanie flashes a tight-lipped smile. “I understand.”
“Why did you help me? I thought your whole family wanted me dead?”
Stephanie clicks her fingers, and a servant with a drink magically appears in the blink of an eye. She stubs her cigarette out on his tray, lights another and then takes the glass of expensive wine from the serving tray. She peers at me over the wineglass and through the cloud of smoke.
“Callum is playing his own little game, as he always is. I don’t really care how he entertains himself as long as he stays out of my way. Give a man the illusion of power and he'll be wrapped around your finger without ever realising the brilliant thoughts in his little head are only there because you put them there. To tell the truth, my brother seriously needed a humbling.” Something devious swirls through her eyes. “Past that, things like this are part of the life. If we killed everyone who disrespected us, we’d have too many enemies to count.”
“That still doesn’t explain why you helped me.”
She shrugs before taking a long sip of her deep red wine. “I like the piercings. If you’re so worried, give me something in return.”
“Depends on what you’re asking for.” I cross my legs, taking in the woman sitting next to me.
I’ve only heard whispers about Stephanie, despite her powerful position. Power without stories usually only means one thing - someone you don’t fuck with.
“There are one or two things I’ve been wondering..” She smiles a heartbreaking smile to herself. “I was wondering why you'd disobey your family for Nikolai Ilyin. Of all the men a mafia princess could choose, why that scarred, silent monster? He looks like he’d sooner kill a woman than love her.”
“He’s not a monster.” I snap so viciously Stephanie physically moves her head back.
She arches her eyebrows before quickly regaining her composure. “I was also wondering, if this really is a tale of star-crossed lovers risking it all - which, call me a pessimist, but I find hard to believe - then why is it so hard to find any hint of a marriage certificate?”
A shiver creeps down my spine, and anxiety cascades into my body. Stephanie studies every little movement I make. I lick my dry lips, wishing I’d said no to wine when I sat down.
“I’ve heard so much about the new, married couple. About all the fuss you’re causing. About the additional insult to my brother. But, when I look for a hint of proof, there’s nothing there. And that makes me wonder why? What game is being played?”
“What if there isn’t a game?” I say, ignoring the thundering of my heartbeat in my ears.
Stephanie chuckles, “then you’re better at this game than I thought or you’re playing the game with your heart.” Something sad flickers through her eyes. “An Italian and a Russian. I’ve heard that story before and it always ends in tears.”
“Nikolai has the marriage certificate.” I know she doesn’t believe me, but I say it anyway.
If she tells Aleksander or my father, they’ll tear us apart.
Why is that my first worry? I should care about being taken back to my dad and being forced into a marriage with a man I didn’t choose. Instead, the thought that picks at my heart is the threat of being cut apart from Nikolai.
Stephanie shifts in her seat, switching her crossed leg and taking another sip of wine. How many has she had? She possessed gentle sway to every movement, little indications of a bad relationship with drinking I’d learned from being around mafia men with too many demons to handle. And if I’ve learned anything else from them, it's to stay quiet. The more alcohol a person drinks, the less they can bear the weight of silence.
“Do you know the story behind Nikolai’s scars?” Stephanie shifts closer again.
I wish I could ask after the pain in her eyes without worrying she might send someone to kill me for noticing. At first I thought it was power, even cruelty, but the longer I hold her eye contact the more I think she might be looking for connection. Maybe this is part of her act. Maybe she just enjoys telling the story.
“No, he doesn’t like to talk about them.”
“Do you have any theories?” She says with an infuriating smirk.
“No.” I turn away from her. No matter how curious I am, I don’t like her toying with something that means so much to Nikolai.
Stephanie snatches my wrist as I try to turn, pulling me back into the conversation. “Oh, come on. Aren’t you curious?”
The dim light of the room dances in her eyes.
Of course I’m curious.
I say nothing, and, after a moment, Stephanie lets go. “There are so many iterations of the same story, Nikolai might be the only man who knows the full truth of those scars.”
I don’t egg her on, but I don’t stop her either.
“Back when Ivan Sidorov was the Pakhan, Nikolai wasn’t so powerful. He was too young. They were all young. Viktor, Aleksander, and Damon.”
I don’t recognise the last name. “Who’s Damon?”
Stephanie grins again. “Don’t play stupid with me.” She puffs at her cigarette, narrowing her eyes and watching the smoke as if it might act out the story she's telling.
“I’m not. My dad never told me much about the other families.”
Stephanie’s cold eyes flicker, but she seems to believe me. “Damon was Viktor’s brother. He killed the last Pakhan, Ivan, and fled.”
“What does he have to do with Nikolai’s scars?” I hate how she’s reeled me into my curiosity. “Wait, wasn’t Ivan Viktor’s father? Are you telling me Damon killed his own father?”
Stephanie stubs out her cigarette and sighs. “It’s a little more complicated than that.”
“How could it possibly be more complicated?” I almost laugh at the ridiculousness.
“That’s something to ask Nikolai.” Stephanie shifts in her seat uncomfortably before downing her glass of wine and moving the conversation back to Nikolai’s scars. “Nikolai was close to Damon and Viktor. Nikolai was like their unofficial brother. Damon couldn't betray the Bratva alone, so all eyes naturally went to Nikolai.”
“What? They thought he was a traitor? Nikolai would never do that.”
Stephanie chuckles behind her wine glass. “Whatever the truth is, it’ll die with Nikolai. Ivan got his throat slit and Damon’s been reported dead for years.”
Stephanie swirls her wineglass, the ghost of a smirk tugging her red lips.
“He’s not a traitor.” I say through gritted teeth.
"Of course not!" She waves her hand in the air, chuckling to herself. "Though it is strange, don't you think?"
"What?"
"Someone had to help Damon, and Viktor would never betray his father. Suspicions die with time, naturally, but whispers never fully silence. I've heard rumours Damon might be alive. Nikolai takes you, effectively starting a war with Don Leonardo, and it just so happens to coincide with Damon's return. Such a coincidence. A more cynical woman would think it's part of a plan to take control."
"You're wrong. You don't know Nikolai."
Stephanie ignores my response, continuing on through slurred words. “Ivan got hint of a coup and ordered everyone close to Damon be " questioned " until they stopped breathing." She lets out a little laugh. "Everyone except Viktor, of course, his eldest son. How could he ever hurt his darling baby boy?" The smirk playing at her lips gets even wider. She's toying with me. There's something more she knows. "Ivan got paranoid. He gave out orders based on nothing. I don’t know what they did to Nikolai in that cell, but I’d gamble hell would have been a kinder outcome. The Bratva can be cruel bastards.” She sneers to herself as the thought lingers in her mind.
“They tortured him? His own friends?”
Stephanie leans forward, the wine on her breath dancing into the air. “I hear Aleksander visited a few times. He had to leave the room to be sick. I can’t imagine what makes a man like Aleksander sick.” She shakes her head.
The tense looks between the two of them suddenly made a lot more sense. I picture Alek arriving in the dining room for breakfast, late, because he’s always late. He surveys the room, the smell of cigarettes clinging to him. I suddenly understand the feeling of repulsion that spreads through my stomach when his eyes find mine.
“Aleksander just watched?”
“He put a stop to it once Ivan was dead. Until then, yes. He watched.”
The door opens, and Nikolai steps in. His calming presence reaches me, even from the other side of the room. But this time, I can’t hold his eyes because the sadness in my heart won’t let me. I wish I’d not listened to a word Stephanie said. I should have heard that from Nikolai or not at all.
Stephanie places her hand on my knee and gracefully gets to her feet.
“I’ll see you at Aleksander’s party. Find something juicy to tell me. I like to think we might become confidants.”
I don’t trust her, but there's something intriguing about her that urges me to impress her. Does she have that effect on everyone?
She walks past Nikolai slowly, sharing a polite acknowledgement.
He takes her seat, a storm in his eyes.