Mafia King’s Bride

11. Ana

ELEVEN

ANA

“I hope you don’t mind me stopping by. I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d pop in to see my favorite sister-in-law.”

I look up from my desk, and my face instantly brightens at the sound of Yelena’s voice. She’s like a breath of fresh air, completely opposite to her stone-cold brother, Dmitri.

My husband.

“No, no,” I wave her in, shaking my head. “You’re always welcome. What brings you to the city?”

Yelena strolls in, dropping onto the chair opposite me with a dramatic sigh, a bag clutched in her hand. I can see the neck of a bottle peeking out, and judging by the size of the bag, there’s more than just champagne in there. This is Yelena, after all.

It’s been a week since she moved in with us, and the house has never been livelier. Every time she goes out, she returns with some kind of gift. Dresses, shoes, even random trinkets she thought I’d like. It’s sweet, in a way. A little overwhelming, sure, but sweet.

She flashes a mischievous grin. “Okay, so I lied about being in the neighborhood. I was bored at home. Didn’t feel like shopping, didn’t want to deal with my friends. So, I figured, why not hang out with you?”

“Oh.” I nod, smiling. “That’s fine. I’m working on a closing statement—it’ll take me a couple of hours. But if you want to stick around, I’d love the company.”

She pulls out the champagne bottle and two glasses from her bag like it’s the most normal thing in the world. “Say no more.”

I laugh, shaking my head. “As much as I’d love to join you, I can’t. Work rules.”

Yelena waves her hand dismissively. “Oh, don’t worry. One glass is for me, and the other is for me after I finish the first one.”

Her grin is infectious, and despite myself, I chuckle. She’s a force of nature, but one I can handle. I mean, give me Yelena over her brother any day. At least she doesn’t make me want to tear my hair out every time she walks into the room.

“You don’t have to entertain me,” Yelena says, settling in comfortably. “I’m just here to keep you company. I’ll quietly send you good vibes.”

Nodding, I turn back to my screen, trying to focus on the case in front of me. The closing statement I’m drafting should be airtight, but I can’t shake the feeling that the plaintiff’s attorney might have a trick up her sleeve. I just need to go over it one more time to be sure.

But then, Yelena’s face pops up in my peripheral vision. “I still don’t know why you married my grumpy brother.”

I freeze for a second, my hands pausing over the keyboard. Here it comes.

“You’re fun, smart, beautiful,” she continues, leaning in like we’re sharing a secret. “No offense, but I always thought if Dmitri was going to get married, it would be to someone...well, like him.”

I rest my chin on my hand, smiling faintly. The truth teases the edge of my tongue, but I hold it back. As much as I like Yelena, as much as we’ve bonded, she’s still Dmitri’s sister. There’s a line I can’t cross. And anyway, it’s not my story to tell. Not fully.

Still, a part of me wonders how she’d react if I told her that her dear brother forced me into this marriage. That I’m paying the price for a crime my father supposedly committed.

Yelena’s voice softens. “Or . . . is it true?”

I tilt my head slightly, studying her. “True?”

Her eyes dart around nervously, and for the first time since I’ve known her, she seems unsure of herself. She bites her lower lip, hesitating.

“I heard something through the grapevine. But it’s not my place to ask.” She scratches at her chin, clearly uncomfortable.

I keep my face neutral, but my mind is racing. Does she know? How much does she know? I don’t want to confirm or deny anything by accident, so I tread carefully.

“What is it?” I ask, keeping my tone light.

She shifts in her seat, her discomfort obvious now. “It’s probably nothing. You know how rumors can be. I must’ve had too much to drink one night and started believing the nonsense people talk about.”

I nod slowly, giving her a way out. “Right.”

Yelena waves her hand like she’s brushing off her own words. “Forget I said anything! Honestly, it’s just silly talk. You get back to work, and I’ll just sit here and enjoy my champagne.”

She picks up her glass, but the way her eyes avoid mine tells me she’s holding something back. There’s more she wants to say, but for now, she’s keeping quiet.

I glance at her as I try to refocus on the statement. There’s something about her expression that sticks with me—like she knows more than she’s letting on but doesn’t want to admit it. Maybe she’s heard whispers about my arrangement with Dmitri. Maybe she’s putting the pieces together.

She knows. Or at least, she suspects.

But she’s not ready to say it. And honestly, I’m not sure how I feel about that.

Grateful? Apprehensive?

I sigh softly, telling myself I’ll figure it out in time. For now, Yelena’s the closest thing to a friend I have in this house. I’m not going to risk that over a conversation neither of us is ready to have.

“Let’s go for a drink.” Yelena grabs my hand as we head out of the office.

“Are you sure you can have more?” I ask, giving her a sideways glance.

She nods enthusiastically. “Yup. I only had three glasses, and that was hours ago. You know,” she leans her head against my shoulder, her voice dropping, “when you go through something that messes with your head just enough, you build up a tolerance pretty quickly.”

Her tone takes on a strange wistfulness that makes me pause. I turn my head slightly to study her expression, but her gaze is far off, fixed on some distant point. There’s sadness in her eyes that I hadn’t noticed before, a heaviness she hides well under her usual brightness.

We step into the elevator in silence, and Yelena lets go of my hand, wrapping her arms around herself as if to ward off the weight of whatever thoughts are pulling her down. I’m no expert in reading people’s emotions, but even I can see that something’s bothering her—something she’s not ready to share.

“So, what do you say?” she asks, her voice picking up that false cheerfulness again. “Shall we get a nice drink and some food? You know, in case Dmitri’s written us off for the evening.”

I chuckle, taking her up on the offer. “I’m sure if he could avoid eating with us for the rest of his life, he’d be thrilled.”

Yelena giggles. “I know, right? But,” she lowers her voice dramatically, “it’s all a facade.”

“A facade?” I raise an eyebrow.

She leans in closer, her voice conspiratorial. “Between you and me, Dmitri likes to act all tough, but deep down? He’s a cinnamon roll.”

I nearly snort in disbelief. Dmitri, a cinnamon roll? The man who threatened my father, who forced me into this sham of a marriage? Yeah, right. That’s as likely as pigs flying.

“Are you sure about that?” I reply, trying to keep the skepticism from my voice.

Yelena grins, unfazed. “Oh, I know it’s hard to believe. But I’ve seen it. Under the right circumstances, with the right people, that gruff exterior melts away. Although,” she pauses for effect, “I might be the only one who’s ever seen it.”

I raise an eyebrow but say nothing. I don’t doubt that Yelena, with her infectious energy and warmth, brings out a side of Dmitri that no one else could. But me? I’ve only ever gotten the coldest, most brutal version of him.

“You don’t believe me, do you?” Yelena nudges me as we step out of the elevator.

“I don’t know,” I admit as we walk toward the parking lot. “From what I’ve seen, it’s hard to imagine.”

She slips into the passenger seat of my car. “Well, you’ll just have to take my word for it. Dmitri grew up without knowing what it felt like to be loved. All he understands is duty,” she says with a note of affection in her voice. “He was trained by his father to forge connections and to trust no one.”

I nod, letting her words sink in. Even if I want to sympathize with Dmitri’s tough childhood, it doesn’t erase the fact that he’s been nothing but a bully since the moment we met.

Two hours later, I’m practically dragging Yelena out of the car, her arm slung over my shoulder as she sways unsteadily.

“There we go,” I mutter, using my body to keep her upright. She’s had way too many drinks, but something about the sadness that hung over her all night made me let her. If she needed to drown whatever was haunting her, who was I to stop her?

Janet opens the door after the second knock, her eyes widening briefly when she sees the state Yelena’s in. She quickly steps in to help me, guiding us both inside. As we make it to the living room, Dmitri rounds the corner, his sharp eyes locking onto us.

His gaze flicks from Yelena to me, then back to her, his expression unreadable but tense.

“I’ll take Miss Romanov to her room,” Janet says quietly, clearly sensing the shift in the air.

I hand Yelena over to her, rubbing my sore shoulder from supporting her weight. As Janet disappears with Yelena, I feel Dmitri’s eyes still on me.

“What happened?” he asks, his tone flat, but there’s something probing in it—like an interrogation.

I resist the urge to snap back. “We went for dinner.”

His arms fold over his chest. “And she comes back like that?”

I shrug, trying to keep my tone neutral. “You saw her. If you want to know why, you can ask her in the morning.”

His gaze narrows, lingering on me in silence. I can feel the weight of it, the judgment, the questions he isn’t asking but wants to.

“I had a long day,” I add, taking a few steps past him. “Goodnight.”

But Dmitri isn’t done. “Did you drink?”

I stop, glancing back over my shoulder. “Yes. Why?”

He sighs, and for a second, it sounds like he’s disappointed. “You should’ve called a cab instead of driving.”

I turn to face him fully, trying not to roll my eyes. His words sound almost caring, but I know better. It’s not concern—it’s control. Dmitri doesn’t care if I’m safe; he cares about keeping everything and everyone in line.

“I had one drink,” I snap, keeping my voice steady.

His eyes bore into mine, searching for the truth. We stand there for a long moment, locked in a silent battle of wills. Finally, he breaks eye contact, running a hand through his hair.

“Thank you for bringing Yelena home safely,” he says, his voice softer than I’d thought possible.

And then he walks away, leaving me standing there, thrown off by the sudden shift in his tone.

Thank you? Since when does Dmitri thank me for anything?

I watch him retreat, still processing the exchange. Yelena’s words from earlier drift back into my mind.

All he understands is duty.

Could she be right? Is there a side of Dmitri I haven’t seen yet?

I rub my chin as I make my way upstairs. Maybe there’s more to him than the ruthless exterior he shows the world. But how deep would I have to dig to find it? And more importantly, do I even want to?