Mafia King’s Bride

12. Dmitri

TWELVE

DMITRI

I’m halfway down the stairs when I hear footsteps behind me. My instinct sharpens, and for a moment, I slow, thinking it’s Ana. The thought makes my mind wander, unbidden, back to last night.

Thank you for bringing Yelena home safely.

The words still echo in my head. They weren’t what I intended to say. Hell, they felt wrong even as I said them. But there was something in Ana’s expression, that defiant tilt of her chin, like she was waiting for me to tear into her, waiting for the usual criticism. And in that split second, I saw it—how I was missing the bigger picture. She brought Yelena home in one piece. Yelena, who doesn’t stop until she’s blind drunk, was safe because of Ana.

I don’t know how the thanks slipped out of my mouth, but they did. And somehow, it felt okay. Almost natural. The look of shock on her face was unexpected, but the real surprise was how light I felt afterward, like I’d broken some unspoken rule between us by not turning it into an argument.

Lately, everything with Ana feels new. Too new. It’s unsettling.

I’m drawn to her, more than I’d like to admit. The way she carries herself, her beauty—hell, even the stupid necklace that rests on her collarbone makes me envious. I want her. And I hate that I do. This wasn’t supposed to happen. I married her for revenge. And yet, the desire is there. Growing.

I need to get a grip.

“Don’t tell me you’re leaving without breakfast?” Yelena’s voice jolts me from my thoughts.

I glance over my shoulder at her standing at the top of the stairs, looking far too chipper for someone who drank enough to drown a sailor last night.

“How’s your head?” I ask, already knowing the answer.

“Never been better.” She grins. “I took the liberty of making you and Ana breakfast. Mostly for her, since she saved my life last night, but I made extra for you.”

“I don’t have time,” I say, my fingers itching toward my buzzing phone. “I’ve got a meeting.”

She blocks my path, spreading her arms wide, her smile too innocent to be genuine. “You’re the boss, Dmitri. You can take ten minutes to eat breakfast with your wife.”

I sigh. “Dinner. We’ll do dinner.”

Her smile vanishes, replaced with a disappointed frown. “Studies show that couples who eat together grow closer over time. It reduces divorce rates and?—”

“Divorce?” I raise a brow, cutting her off. “Since when did you become a marriage counselor?”

Yelena tuts. “Since I’ve had to force you to sit in the same room as Ana. It’s like you’re allergic to her. You’re sending the message that you can’t stand to spend time with your own wife. Do you even care about her, Dmitri?”

I stiffen at the question. “I never said I didn’t.”

“You don’t have to say it. Your actions are doing all the talking,” she shoots back. “Ana’s warm, kind, and loving. If I were you, I’d be doing everything in my power to keep her by my side instead of pretending I don’t need anyone.”

Warm. Kind. Loving.

The words twist in my gut. I’ve seen her interact with others—she’s all of those things to them. But not to me. To me, Ana is a storm, fierce and unyielding. Still, Yelena’s right about one thing—I’ve never given her the chance to be anything else with me.

Maybe I pushed her away the moment we married. I left her outside the church that day, told her Janet would show her to her room, and disappeared into my own world. I made sure she knew there would be no affection between us. She is Nikolai Petrov’s daughter, and that was all I needed to know.

Would things have been different if I hadn’t built that wall so high?

Yelena breaks into my thoughts again, her voice softer this time. “Don’t worry. Ana and I can eat without you. You’re practically invisible anyway.”

Something about her words digs at me. Invisible? Is that really how I’ve been?

Before I can stop myself, I say, “I’ll eat. I haven’t had bacon and eggs in a while.”

Yelena’s face lights up, and I silently curse myself for giving in. But maybe breakfast won’t kill me.

We walk into the kitchen, and there’s Ana, already seated at the table, her eyes flickering up when she hears us. She looks as surprised as I feel.

I catch her gaze for a brief moment, and something stirs inside me—something I don’t want to acknowledge. I take a seat across from her, the tension between us almost tangible, and Yelena slides two plates of food in front of us with a grin, oblivious to the charged atmosphere.

“See? This isn’t hard,” she chirps, settling into her own seat with satisfaction.

Ana doesn’t say anything. Neither do I.

We eat in silence, the clink of silverware the only sound in the room. And yet, despite the quiet, my mind keeps drifting to her, watching the way her lips move as she takes a bite, the way her fingers brush against the edge of her plate.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

I wasn’t supposed to want her. But I do. And it’s a problem I can’t afford to have.

Because no matter how much I might be drawn to Ana, she’s still Nikolai Petrov’s daughter. And I can never forget that.

Yelena’s shoes click on the hardwood floor as she strides into my office. I follow her, and the second I sit down at my desk, dropping my bag carelessly onto the table, she’s already spinning around like she owns the place.

“You didn’t have to come with me, you know,” I mutter, leaning back in my chair, eyeing her with mild irritation.

She ignores the tone, planting both hands on my desk with a mischievous grin. “Yeah, but if I’m going to learn how things work, I need to stick with you for a while, right?”

I arch a brow. “And what exactly do you think learning ‘how things work’ entails?”

Yelena plops down in the chair opposite me, her fingers tapping rhythmically on the polished mahogany. “I’ve decided I want to settle down. For good this time. Get a job, make some money—work for you.”

I shake my head before she even finishes her sentence. “You’re not working for me, Yelena. What I do isn’t safe. You went to business school; you can find a job anywhere else that doesn’t come with the possibility of a bullet to the head.”

Her stubbornness kicks in, and she meets my gaze without flinching. “I don’t want to work anywhere else, Dmitri. I know this isn’t a family business, but we’ve been apart for too long. I’ve been running from things that won’t go away until I face them.”

I stare at her, sighing internally as I set my hands on the desk. “If you want to keep living with Ana and me, fine. As long as she agrees. But this,” I gesture to the office, to the world we both know I live in, “isn’t the life for you. I take risks every day. I always have to watch my back. I don’t want that for you.”

Yelena places her hand over mine, squeezing it in that affectionate way she’s always had.

“You know,” she begins, her voice softer, “after I first found out we didn’t share the same mother, I always wondered why you were so nice to me. I’m not your real sister.”

“You are my real sister,” I snap, cutting through her words.

She rolls her eyes, brushing it off. “You know what I mean. You’re the only one who ever cared about me. My mother was always chasing her next boyfriend, and your father was more interested in this life.”

She’s not wrong. But caring about her didn’t come naturally. When my mother died and my father brought Yelena and her mother into our home, it took me a while to feel any sort of attachment. She was just a kid, barely one year old. But over time, it felt like a duty—protecting her, watching out for her. My father made sure I knew the weight of my responsibilities, and looking after her became one of them.

“I know you’re more worried than ever because of what happened two years ago,” she continues, her voice barely a whisper now. “But I’m fine, Dmitri. I’ve been going to therapy, working through it. It took time, but I’m getting over him.”

I search her eyes, looking for cracks in her armor. Yelena has always been able to hide behind that smile, lighting up the room with her laughter while keeping her pain buried. But I know better.

“Are you sure?” I ask, my voice uncharacteristically gentle. I’m not used to this—showing concern. But I can’t help it with her. I remember the wreck she was a year ago, pretending everything was fine when it clearly wasn’t.

Her lip quivers slightly, but she keeps it together. “I fell in love with a man who used me. In every way possible. It takes time to heal from that, especially when I almost married him. But I’m okay now. I promise.”

I nod slowly, though doubt lingers in the back of my mind. If I don’t believe her, it means I don’t trust she’s healing. And what kind of brother would that make me?

“Alright,” I concede, watching her eyes light up in victory. “But I’m not letting you near the dangerous stuff. You’ll handle the accounting, maybe review some of the business ideas I’ve been working on. That’s it.”

Her grin is instantaneous. “That’s more than enough! When do I start?”

I glance at the clock. “I have a meeting in fifteen minutes. How about right now?”

“Works for me,” she chirps, then pauses. “There’s just one more thing, Dmitri.”

I raise a brow, pausing as I reach for a document. Her tone shifts, and for the first time since she entered my office, there’s seriousness in her eyes.

“Just because our parents didn’t understand love doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist. It might not start out that way, but sometimes, love hides in the places we least expect.”

She smiles, but her words hang in the air, heavy and pointed.

My thoughts immediately turn to Ana—whether I like it or not. Yelena’s earlier comments from this morning replay in my head, a mental loop I can’t shake off.

Is there something more beneath all the tension? All the fights?

I sigh inwardly, irritated by the questions bubbling up that I’d rather ignore. I’m not the type to believe in happiness or love, especially not for someone like me.

But still…

Is it possible? Could there be pockets of happiness, even for me?

The thought lingers, uncomfortably lodged in my mind as I try to push it aside.

Focus on the work. Always focus on the work.