Mafia King’s Bride

10. Dmitri

TEN

DMITRI

I scowl at my door, the sound of a knock grating against my already fraying patience. My focus on the work at hand fades the moment my stepsister, Yelena, breezes in like a gust of uninvited chaos.

“Brother!” she sings, dropping her leather luggage with a thud. In seconds, she’s latched onto me, squeezing me tight with her arms, as if she’s trying to suffocate me with affection.

“You look good!” she chirps, clearly ignoring the fact that I can barely breathe.

“And I’m going to be blue and cold if you don’t let up, Yelena,” I rasp, tapping her arm to signal my surrender.

“Oh!” She releases me, stepping back with a sheepish grin. “Sorry. I just missed you. Wanted to soak in all the you I could.”

I stretch my arm out, keeping a safe distance between us. “You can soak in the ‘me’ with your words, not your death grip,” I say, cutting her off before she decides to smother me again.

She pouts, dramatically releasing me. “Right. I forget how much you hate physical contact. Always the brooding type. You and your thoughts, all alone in your little castle of seriousness.”

Typical Yelena. Always poking, always pushing. I don’t rise to it. “What brings you back?” I ask, cutting straight to the point.

She shrugs, tossing her hair back like the world revolves around her whims. “What do you think?”

I tilt my head, feigning curiosity. “You got bored traveling the world? Fell in love with some poor fool and realized it wasn’t love after all, so you did what you always do—ran?”

She clicks her tongue at me. “You make it sound like I have no depth, Dmitri. I came back because I missed you. You may not think about me, but I think about you all the time. Miss our time together, even when you’re scowling at me.”

My hand runs across my mouth, suppressing the grin that threatens to appear. “I’m not scowling.”

“Sure,” she says, waving her hand dismissively. “But, brother, I’ve got one question. Is your wife anything like you?”

The question takes me off guard, but I recover quickly. Like me? Ana is the furthest thing from me. If I’m winter, she’s summer. She burns where I freeze. She commands attention where I make people retreat. The thought of her, of her fire, brings an uncomfortable tightness to my chest.

“She’s nothing like me,” I say, my tone flat.

Yelena raises a brow, intrigued. “Good for you. But why did she marry you, then?”

I don’t answer right away. Yelena doesn’t know the real story. She doesn’t know this marriage wasn’t born out of anything real. No love, no affection, just strategy. I had kept her away from the wedding, away from the truth, and she didn’t push.

“It doesn’t matter,” I redirect, unwilling to open that door. “Why are you back?”

She sighs, a weariness settling in her eyes. “Needed a break. Traveling nonstop wears you down eventually. And yes, maybe my heart wavered for a bit. But I remembered what happened two years ago and thought it was time for a reality check.” She spreads her arms wide like she’s presenting herself to me. “So, here I am.”

I nod, accepting her vague explanation. “How’s your mother?”

Yelena pinches the bridge of her nose, her face a mixture of frustration and fondness. “Getting married again. Fourth husband this time. You know how it is.” She rolls her eyes. “Every time she calls, she somehow manages to bring you up.”

The corner of my lips twitch into the barest hint of a smile. Her mother always had a strange attachment to me, despite never really being present in my life. She wasn’t the motherly type, but there was something there—a soft spot, maybe.

“I wonder if she wishes you were her biological child instead of me,” Yelena muses, her voice distant for a moment before she snaps out of it and flashes her usual grin. “But now that I’m back, we get to make up for lost time. I’d like to stay with you. You think your wife will mind?”

“It’s my house,” I say reflexively, though the words taste hollow as soon as they leave my mouth.

“But she’s your wife,” Yelena counters, eyes glinting with amusement. “Don’t tell me you invite people over without consulting her. That’s just rude, Dmitri.”

Ana said something similar at that damn party. Is it rude? Why should I need Ana’s permission? It’s not as though we’re living like a married couple. We don’t share meals, barely even cross paths unless forced to. We’re more like strangers sharing a space, bound by a name and nothing more.

“If she has a problem with it, you can stay at a hotel,” I mutter, not wanting to think too hard about why Yelena’s question is bothering me more than it should.

Yelena shrugs, unfazed. She moves to her bag, unzipping it and pulling out a bottle of wine, holding it up with a grin. “Care to join me?”

I shake my head, disapproving. “It’s not even noon.”

She shrugs again. “It’s five o’clock somewhere. Come on, live a little. The world’s not going to collapse because you take a break, Dmitri.”

It might, though. I let my guard down once, and Nikolai Petrov nearly took everything from me. If I let it down again, who knows what kind of chaos could unfold?

It’s just wine, Dmitri. Relax.

The voice in my head sounds suspiciously like Yelena, her words always managing to crawl under my skin. She’s right, though. It’s just a glass. And I haven’t seen her in over a year. What’s the harm?

“I’ll tell Jakob to bring the glasses.”

She pumps her fist in the air like a child. “Party time!”

I see Ana’s car parked just outside the house as I pull up—a sign that she’s home. My brows scrunch together as I turn off my car’s engine.

It’s weird for her to be back at this time of the day. Typically, she comes back from work long after the sun has set.

Yelena is already racing through the door before I manage to intervene, passing Janet in the doorway. The only thing I can do is stare at the scene, wondering what’ll happen when the two finally meet and I’m not the one making an introduction.

But I’m met with a surprise. My stepsister has her arms around Ana, who looks polished and pulled together in her work clothes.

But that’s not all.

Ana, who’s never once shown any expression other than anger or displeasure toward me, has the biggest smile on her face as she’s hugging Yelena back.

“Oh, it’s so good to meet you finally,” I hear Yelena say as she pulls away and cups Ana’s cheek. “I knew the pictures I saw didn’t do you justice.”

“Mr. Orlov,” Janet is the first person to notice my presence, and three pairs of eyes turn to me where I stand. “Welcome home.”

Yelena rushes over to me, dragging Ana along. “How did you get this sweet, beautiful woman to marry you?” Her tone sounds more like an interrogation than a question, and she stares at me like she’s waiting for a confession.

I glance at Ana.

Should I tell her about your father?”

“I’m not always sweet.” She laughs, picking up on my hint.

“Nonsense,” Yelena disagrees. “You’ve the cutest look on your face, and you let me hug you before I even introduced myself. You’re a gem. My brother, on the other hand,” she says, giving me a side glance, “is allergic to people.”

“Janet,” I divert my attention to the housekeeper, handing her my coat and bag, before Yelena goes on to embarrass me further, “here.”

“Yelena, Janet will show you to your room. If,” I glance at Ana for a second, “it’s alright with you that she stays with us for a while.”

Ana smiles, and I freeze momentarily, taken aback by the change in her facial expression. I know she’s smiling because I mentioned Yelena’s name, but the fact that it’s aimed at me stirs up something in my heart.

No.

Nope. We’re done with the feelings.

It ended after the party, where I almost assaulted two men because they were talking shit about her.

“I’ll turn in for the night,” I announce. “See you in the morning.”

“Oh no, you won’t.” Yelena quickly blocks my path, shaking her head. “You just came home from work, and your wife arrived mere minutes before you. Aren’t we having dinner?”

Dinner?

The same look of surprise that’s on my face is mirrored on Ana’s. Yelena doesn’t seem to notice the reactions, though, because she turns to Janet.

“Is there anything to eat?”

Even the housekeeper, who’s never served husband and wife dinner since we got married, is flustered. She scratches her head.

“Ah, no, ma’am. They don’t . . . I mean dinner isn’t?—”

I clear my throat loudly. “It’s been a long day, Yelena, and I’m sure you’re jet-lagged. We’ll have breakfast together tomorrow.”

But she doesn’t give up. Grabbing Ana’s arm again, Yelena asks, “You’re hungry, aren’t you?”

Ana nods and side-eyes me. “Y—yeah?”

“Good!” Yelena says loudly. “And I’m hungry too. It’s two to one, Dmitri.” She lifts two fingers. “You’re eating with us whether you want to or not.”

Forty minutes later, Ana, Yelena, and I sit around the dining table eating baked chicken Parmesan that Janet quickly assembled.

Ana is sitting beside me, and I’m all too aware of her presence. I can smell her perfume as it wafts through the air, settling around me like a warm caress.

“So,” she rubs her palms, “tell me, Anastasia. Wait, should I call you that?”

My wife laughs—a soft sound that carries a hidden lilt.

“Yes, that’s fine. Although there’s only one other person that calls me by my full name.”

“My brother?”

She shakes her head. “No. Just someone I used to see as a father figure.”

Yelena nods. “Well, I like your name a lot. As I was saying, how does it feel to live under the same roof as my brother? I’ve had years to get used to him, but it’s like living with a ghost—a man without feelings. Sometimes you just want to shake him until the screws that keep his emotions under lock come undone.”

Ana’s gaze cuts to me, and her raised eyebrows, with the slight tilt of her head, convey her astonishment.

I press my lips together, my gaze penetrating hers. “You know why I’m like this.”

She arches one brow. “I see.”

“Am I interrupting something?” Yelena’s voice has us both turning to her at the same time.

Ana shakes her head. “Nope. Nothing. It’s like you said,” she smiles, pulling her hair to the side, “he barely shows any emotion. But then again,” she cuts me with a glance, “it’s not like he owes me anything. I’m fine being the only funny one.”

Yelena throws her head back and laughs.

“I knew there was a reason why I liked you! You have the sense of humor that my dear brother is sorely lacking.”

Ana delivers a reply that’s meant for me. “We can’t all be detached tyrants. Some of us need to have upbeat personalities.”

I don’t have to be told to my face to know who I am in this scenario.

“I’m curious about you, though,” she changes the subject while I stab my chicken. “Where have you been?”

While my sister entertains Ana with her travels, I stare at my plate, trying to burn holes into it. I nibble my Caesar salad while I try not to listen to their conversation. My attempts have me staring at random places in the dining room until my eyes softly land on Ana.

Her hand reaches up to the back of her neck, fingers lightly grazing the delicate skin. The simple gesture pulls my gaze in, fixating on the graceful curve. When she drops her hand back down, I catch a glimpse of the thin necklace resting against her throat, the tiny pendant drawing my eyes to the pale column of her neck.

The smooth skin begs to be touched.

I can’t help my thoughts as they imagine tracing the line of her throat with my fingertips, feeling the subtle pulse beneath the surface.

As she tilts her head slightly, I’m entranced by the elegant slope, wishing I could press my lips against that vulnerable spot just below her jaw. I’m reminded of the night I saw her sleeping on the couch, when I was drawn to her for the first time since we got married.

Then, the party.

The dress she wore, the way it hugged her curves, transformed her into a sensuous, almost irresistible creature. It seems the night she fell asleep on the couch unlocked a part of me that can no longer see Anastasia Petrov as a means to an end.

Every time my gaze falls on her, I’m reminded that she’s a beautiful woman with words that can cut through stone. She’s gorgeous, smart, spirited, more than I bargained for.

“Dmitri?”

I hear Yelena call my name, and I blink rapidly, pushing away my thoughts to focus on the present.

“Yes?”

She rolls her eyes and sighs dramatically. “You were thinking about work, weren’t you?”

No.

“Yeah. Anything you need?”

Yelena clicks her tongue. “Nope. Nothing. I just wanted to see where your mind was at. Ana and I were having a wonderful conversation.”

Ana turns to me just then, and her tongue darts out to lick the salad dressing from the corner of her lips. The simple gesture sends a jolt of desire down my throat, and it makes its way quickly to my chest.

Her lips look so soft. I wonder what it would feel like to kiss them.

Just once.

No. No. No.

I push my chair back, standing up. “Since you two are having fun in each other’s company, I’ll go up and get the sleep I need.”

“You should loosen up and have fun, brother! Life’s not going to go kaput if you do!”

No, it’s not. But it will force me to spend more time with Ana, and my resolve, which is slowly chipping away, will end up breaking down completely.

The emotions I feel make me weak. And I promised myself, years ago, after my father died, that I would not let myself be used or tricked by anyone.

Anastasia is still Nikolai Petrov’s daughter. I can’t forget that.

Ever.