Mafia King’s Bride

6. Dmitri

SIX

DMITRI

“Dmitri Orlov,” Igor announces as he strides into my office, grinning like the fool he is.

I know exactly why he’s smiling. He’s just secured a deal using my name, thinking I wouldn’t catch on. But I did. Of course, I did. I let him believe he’s clever, though—it’s far more entertaining to watch him dig his own grave.

For now, I play along. I turn off my laptop and close the file on my desk before rising to meet him. “Let’s go to the conference room. The others are waiting.”

Igor’s grin falters just slightly. “You don’t look like a happy man, Dmitri. Trouble at home?”

I shoot him a sidelong glance, my voice cold. “Would you like trouble in your home, Igor?”

He chuckles nervously, his bravado faltering. “I didn’t mean to pry. Just concerned.”

“You don’t need to be concerned. You’re here for business, nothing else.” My tone leaves no room for argument. “Alexey and Bianchi are already seated, and your business is… lesser, compared to theirs. Let’s not waste more time. Time is money, Igor.”

“Lesser business?” He laughs, but it’s the laugh of a man who thinks he holds a trump card. He doesn’t. “I just secured a deal with—” He catches himself, barely, his mouth twitching. “Someone who’s promised to finance the opening of my casinos in Vegas.”

I let the bait dangle for a moment, pretending indifference. Casinos? Interesting, but not enough to engage just yet. If I stay quiet, his need for validation will have him spilling more.

“You know I never cared for gambling,” he continues, babbling on. “But the money in it? Hard to ignore. I’ll be opening six casinos in high-end areas. We’ll move products through them, of course, but the real profits are in the chips. Big money.”

I’ve heard enough. Igor doesn’t realize that I already know about his little deal. He doesn’t know that the previous owners of those casinos are brokering something far more lucrative—something I’ll be taking from under his nose before he even gets a whiff of it.

This is why he’ll never be more than a pawn. He’s loose-lipped, careless. He’s already part of the group that tried to steal from me, and no matter how long it takes, I’ll make every single one of them pay.

We enter the conference room. I survey the faces seated around the table—Igor, Alexey, Bianchi, Romanov, Peterson. Five men, each one carefully slotted into my plans for revenge. They don’t know it yet, but their time is coming.

“Thank you all for taking the time,” I say smoothly, taking my seat. “I know you have busy schedules.”

Alexey interrupts, always the disrespectful one. “We sure do. Couldn’t we have done this somewhere else? We don’t always need to come to your office. You could make the effort for a change.”

Under the table, my hand clenches into a fist, but I don’t let it show. Alexey has always been a thorn in my side, but his time will come. For now, I respond with a calm, almost mocking smile. “This is our third meeting, Alexey. If you didn’t want to be here, you could have declined. But I’m sure you’d prefer we convene at your place next time, right? What with your current… situation with the Italian Mafia?”

Alexey’s face blanches, and the room goes silent.

“That’s right,” I continue, savoring the moment. “Word is, they’ve been pushing your men back, and now you’re scrambling to hold onto your territory. So, I understand if you’d want us at your place—it might make you look stronger, no?”

Everyone’s eyes shift to Alexey, watching as his face turns red with barely contained anger. “That’s not it,” he snaps, his voice rising. “I never asked for you to come to my territory. I just don’t see why we always meet here. You act like you’re better than us.”

Because I am better than you. You tried to steal from me, and you failed miserably.

I chuckle softly, shaking my head.

Bianchi, ever the slippery one, laughs heartily, though I can see the calculation in his eyes. “We’re all equals here, gentlemen. Although, I did hear that my daughter once had her sights set on you, Dmitri. Too bad Anastasia Petrov snatched you up. Tell me, does your wife know how lucky she is?”

His words are a veiled jab, one meant to test me, but I give nothing away. “We value loyalty over familial ties,” I reply smoothly. “That’s why I chose Anastasia. Not for any gain from her father, but for the respect it brings.”

And because marrying her gave me leverage.

Leverage I’ll use when I decide to take everything Nikolai Petrov has left.

But I sense the suspicion rising around the table, so I pivot, changing the subject before they start probing too deeply.

“Now,” I say, my voice sharp, cutting through the tension. “Let’s get to the matter at hand.”

The room quiets instantly, and I see the fear in their eyes. They don’t trust me. They shouldn’t trust me. Each of them has wronged me in some way, and each of them will pay.

But not today.

Today, they still think they’re in control.

And that’s just how I want it.

Hours later, I slide into the backseat of my car and tell the driver to take me home.

Home.

The word feels foreign. It’s been four weeks since I last slept in that house. Four weeks spent avoiding it, avoiding her . Except for that brief visit to grab an important document when I ran into Ana, spitting fire, throwing her words at me like they could hurt.

They didn’t.

At least, that’s what I’ve been telling myself.

I’ve been staying in my penthouse in the city, keeping my distance to avoid getting tangled up in emotions I never intended to feel. Since the wedding, things have changed. I find myself thinking about her at random moments. The defiance in her eyes when she tells me I have no right to control her life. The stubborn set of her chin when she demands I fight my own battles, leaving her out of it.

I shouldn’t be thinking about her, but I do. Too often.

The worst part? I wasn’t even angry when she called me a hypocrite for doing exactly what her father did, only with more power. I should’ve been, but all I could think about was how she masked her fear and stood toe to toe with me, unflinching. No one’s ever done that before. Not even Alexey, who came crawling with an apology after today’s meeting to avoid the inevitable consequences.

But Ana got under my skin. She told me she hates me. Those three words echoed in my mind all night, twisting and turning until I couldn’t sleep. Why the hell do I care? I’m not in the business of making people like me. I don’t need approval. I need power. Control.

I close my eyes, leaning back against the leather seat as the car speeds through the city.

It doesn’t matter. She’s Nikolai Petrov’s daughter, after all. A pawn in a bigger game. I’m not interested in her opinion of me.

The car stops in front of the house, and I open my eyes. With a sigh, I step out and head to the front door.

“Welcome, sir,” Janet greets me as she opens the door.

I hand her my bag and jacket. “I don’t need anything tonight,” I say, waving off her offer for food. “It’s late.”

She nods and disappears as I make my way through the foyer, fatigue settling in after the long day. When I reach the living room, I see someone curled up on the couch—a small figure, tucked into a fetal position, buried in the cushions.

Ana.

I take a step closer, curiosity pulling me in before I can stop myself. She’s sleeping, her face half-buried in the armrest, legs folded under her body like she’s trying to protect herself from something. The room is warm enough, so why does she look so small, so cold?

I click my tongue softly, considering waking her up. Janet could do it. I could leave her here and forget this ever happened. But I hesitate.

Her hair is spilled in wild curls across the cushion, her long lashes casting shadows on her cheeks. She sighs softly, lips slightly parted as she breathes. Something stirs inside me—something I don’t want to acknowledge—as I take in the peaceful vulnerability on her face. There’s a strange beauty to her in this moment, something I hadn’t noticed before.

I reach out, my hand moving of its own accord, and then stop, yanking it back like I’ve been burned.

What the hell am I doing?

This is the woman who despises me, the woman I should be indifferent toward. So why do I suddenly feel this pull toward her, this strange sense of… something ?

I shake my head, disturbed by the foreign thoughts creeping into my mind.

“Sir,” Janet’s voice cuts through the silence, startling me.

“I’m going to bed,” I say quickly, stepping away from Ana as if I’ve been caught doing something wrong. “Wake Mrs. Orlov.”

“Of course, sir.”

Without another word, I make my way up the stairs, gripping the banister tighter than necessary, my mind replaying the moment over and over. What’s wrong with me? There’s no reason I should be thinking about her this way.

Frustration bubbles up inside me. I head to the shower, turning the water hotter than usual, hoping it’ll burn away the thoughts swirling in my head. I scrub my hair, my body, anything to feel clean again—anything to erase the image of Ana’s sleeping face from my mind.

But the more I try to wash it away, the more it lingers, like a stain I can’t remove.

And that irritates me more than anything else.