Mafia King’s Bride

16. Dmitri

SIXTEEN

DMITRI

I slide the file across the desk, watching as Igor Pavlov scrambles to open it like it holds the secret to saving his skin. It does—just not in the way he thinks. He flips through the pages hurriedly, glancing up at me with those darting, nervous eyes. Desperate men never read the fine print. That’s why I like doing business with them.

“As I promised,” I say, tapping the folder with my finger, “the paperwork for the casino project. All you need to do is sign.”

I push the pen toward him, watching him swallow hard. The clock’s ticking, and I know he’s feeling the heat. He needs this deal to go through. The former owners gave him a deadline, and he’s on the edge of losing everything.

He won’t bother reading the part where I take full control after a year. Not until it’s too late.

Igor hesitates when he gets to the signature page, looking up at me with a pathetic attempt at confidence. “How’re we working out the investment? What’s the interest? How long do I have to pay you back?”

I drum my fingers on the desk, letting the tension build before I respond. “I’ll take ten percent of your annual profits for ten years. No payback necessary.”

His eyes widen like I’ve just handed him the winning lottery ticket. “That’s...generous. Too generous.”

I lean back in my chair, keeping my expression calm. “Is it? With the plan I’ve got, those casinos will bring in more than double the purchase cost in the first year alone. You’ll be swimming in money.”

His tongue flicks out nervously to wet his lips. He doesn’t realize he’s about to sign away his empire.

“I see. Okay,” he mutters, his voice shaky, but he picks up the pen anyway. I don’t take my eyes off him as he scribbles his name on the dotted line. The ink dries, and with it, his fate.

“Thank you,” I say smoothly, pulling the file back toward me, tucking it away. “I’ll be in touch.”

Igor leans forward, his desperation showing again. “Don’t you need me for something? I mean, I get to have a say in the renovation, right? I’ve got ideas I thought about implementing.”

I stifle the urge to laugh. His ideas? Not happening. I give him a quick shake of my head. “Don’t worry. I’ll consider your suggestions. But for now, let me handle things. I didn’t leave you hanging, did I? You should trust me by now.”

He chuckles nervously, trying to keep up appearances. “I trust you, Dmitri. Hell, I was one of the few people who supported you when the alliance was first proposed, remember?”

Oh, I remember. I also remember how he tried to stab me in the back when I was grieving my father. But I don’t show that. Not yet.

“Why don’t we celebrate?” Igor’s trying to lighten the mood, offering an olive branch he doesn’t realize I’ll break over his head later. “I know the perfect place. Hell, I’m thinking of buying the bar next. Elite clients, beautiful women?—”

I cut him off, my voice cold. “What about Freya?”

Igor sputters, caught off guard. “W-we could just drink. Hang out, nothing more.”

I stare at him, unblinking. It’s fascinating how quickly they forget what matters. Igor, Alexey, and the rest—they’re older, used to thinking their years somehow give them an edge. But in this world, age doesn’t mean anything. Power does. Control does. Rank and loyalty are the currency here, and they’re sorely lacking.

“I’ll be there,” I say, deciding to play along for now. “Might come a little late. Things to attend to.”

He stands, adjusting his jacket, looking relieved like he’s just escaped a firing squad. He reaches for the file, but I’m faster.

“Why don’t I hold onto this?” I suggest, my tone sharp. “For safekeeping. You know as well as I do there’s no replacing that document if something happens to it.”

He pulls his hand back slowly, nodding. “Right. But you’ll keep me updated, yeah?”

I flash him a smile, the kind that makes men like him uneasy. “Of course.”

As he turns to leave, he throws me a grin, thinking he’s still in the game. “You’re the man, Dmitri. I’ll save you a seat and a bottle.”

I watch him go, the file safe in my hands. He has no idea that he’s already lost. By the time he realizes it, I’ll have what I need, and he’ll have nothing.

This is how it’s always been. Control. Power. They never see it coming until it’s too late.

I arrive at the Gentleman’s Club, already regretting my decision. The hostess leads me to the VIP room where Igor and Bianchi are deep in conversation, along with some guy I barely know. Alexey’s absence is obvious, but no surprise. He’s always been more selective about these gatherings.

Igor, already drunk, attempts to stand when he sees me. “My good man!” he slurs, wobbling as he clutches a bottle in one hand and a glass in the other.

“You’re going to break someone’s head,” Bianchi says, laughing as he takes the bottle from Igor, his gaze shifting to me. “Dmitri, I didn’t think you were the type to drink at night. Formal parties, sure, but this? It’s a surprise.”

I sit down, already regretting my presence. I don’t do things like this unless I have a reason, and tonight’s no different. Igor’s drunk, the man next to him is distracted with a blonde, and soon enough, I’ll have Bianchi to myself. He’s next on my list.

I raise my glass toward Bianchi. “Pour me a glass.”

He looks me in the eye, filling my glass. “Something’s going on with you.”

I don’t bother denying it. Bianchi’s not stupid and playing coy won’t get me anywhere. “Yeah, there is. But I can handle it. I hear there’s trouble on your end. Need help? I could step in. You’ll owe me, but who doesn’t?”

Bianchi shakes his head, laughing as he takes a sip from his drink. “You know, Lucia’s not backing down.”

“Backing down from what?” I ask though I already know.

“She wants you, Dmitri. For all of Lucia’s games, she’s never been with a married man. But now? She’s dead set on you. I’ve tried to stop her, but if you know my daughter—and I think you do—you know better. She’s not giving up.”

The man sounds stressed, and I don’t blame him. He’s never been able to control Lucia. He just enables her, covering her mistakes when things go sideways.

I place my glass on the table and face him squarely. “She’s going to have to learn, Bianchi. I’m married. I’m committed to my wife. I’m not bringing anyone else into our relationship.”

Bianchi shrugs, a tired acceptance in his expression. “I understand.”

We sit in silence for a moment, the tension palpable. Then, as expected, he leans back, folding his arms. “Can I ask you something? You like her? Your wife, I mean. Because, let’s be honest, most Bratva heads don’t stay faithful. Hell, Pavlov over there,” he nods toward a passed-out Igor, “doesn’t even pretend. Loyalty to the men is one thing. But marriage? That’s different.”

Do I like Anastasia? “Like” doesn’t even begin to describe it.

Every time I look at her, something shifts inside me. There’s a pull, a need that I’ve never felt with anyone else. When I kiss her, it’s like a surge of adrenaline, something deeper than just desire. It confuses me, this feeling. I didn’t expect it, didn’t want it. I married her for reasons that had nothing to do with affection. Yet, here I am.

“I’m a faithful man, Bianchi,” I say, not fully answering his question. “I protect what’s mine. That includes my marriage.”

He raises an eyebrow, clearly not expecting that. “Then I’d better warn Lucia about the heartbreak to come. She told me she met your wife while shopping, said Anastasia was cold and rude. Though, I’m guessing Lucia wasn’t exactly friendly herself.”

My mind spins at his words. Ana met Lucia? Why didn’t she tell me? Did Lucia mention that we’d been together before? What does Ana think of me now? Does she think I’m a man who sleeps with every woman that crosses his path?

I run my fingers through my hair, tension building in my chest. I need to talk to Ana before this blows up in my face.

Standing abruptly, I grab my jacket. “I’ve got to head home. Tell Igor I had a good time.”

Bianchi gives me a nod. “I’ll make sure he gets home safe. Have a good night, Dmitri.”

I leave the club, ignoring the women who call out to me, their hands grazing my shoulders as I walk past. They mean nothing. My mind is elsewhere, back at home, with Anastasia.

The drive is a blur. All I can think about is what Lucia might have said to Ana. The sex we had might have been a mistake, but Ana deserves to hear the truth from me. I have to tell her that Lucia and I have been over for a long time, and there’s no place for her in my life now.

When I step into the house, it’s Yelena I find in the living room, casually eating bread with jam while watching TV. She turns to me with a teasing grin.

“About time you came home. I was starting to think you had another family.”

“Why are you still here?” I quip back. “You didn’t come home last night. Thought you’d moved out.”

She stands, popping the rest of the bread into her mouth. “I wanted to give you and Ana some space. I mean, you’re my brother and Ana’s becoming my best friend. Didn’t want to be the third wheel.”

I stay quiet, but she scurries over, rubbing her shoulder against mine with a mischievous smile. “Did something happen last night? Anything...interesting?”

I brush her off with a hand. “You’re nosy for someone who doesn’t want to be a third wheel. Where’s Ana?”

“Asleep.”

“Asleep?” I frown, glancing at the clock. “It’s only ten. She doesn’t sleep this early.”

Yelena steps in front of me, her face serious now. “How would you know that, huh? Something going on between you two?”

I ignore her, heading for the stairs, but she stops me, her tone shifting to something more somber.

“I know why you married her. I know it wasn’t for love.”

Her words freeze me in place.

“But Ana’s incredible,” Yelena continues. “She’s sweet, smart, and tough. She’d do anything for the people she cares about. Like when she stood up for me against Lucia. When I froze, Ana stepped in. Protected me.”

I grip Yelena’s shoulders, my mind racing. “What else did Lucia say?”

She hesitates, clicking her tongue before answering. “Lucia implied you chose Ana for business, but she’s the one who has your heart. She made it clear she thinks she will have you again.”

My jaw clenches. Lucia’s playing a dangerous game, and if she thinks I’ll let her meddle in my life, she’s gravely mistaken.

Ana doesn’t deserve this. And Lucia? She’s about to find out what happens when you push Dmitri Orlov too far. “Never,” I say strongly, shaking my head. “Lucia and I are a thing of the far past. I ended things way before Ana and I got married. I’d never betray Ana like that.”

Yelena’s words hit me harder than I expected. They linger in my head like an accusation I can’t shake off. She’s right—Ana’s been carrying the weight of her father’s guilt, my resentment, and the mess of a life she didn’t choose. I let my anger toward Nikolai Petrov blind me to the fact that his daughter wasn’t the one who betrayed me. Yet, I’ve punished her all the same.

“I need to check on Ana,” I say quietly, the weight of guilt tightening in my chest.

Yelena steps aside, offering a small nod. “Do what you need to do. I’m going to bed.”

As I make my way to Ana’s room, each step feels heavier, like I’m walking toward something I can’t undo. I push the door open carefully, not wanting to disturb her. The dim light from her bedside lamp casts a soft glow on her face, and for a moment, I just stand there, staring.

She’s breathtaking in her sleep. So peaceful, so vulnerable. The opposite of what I’ve always made her feel. She deserves more—more than I’ve given her, more than this cold, transactional life we’ve fallen into.

“ Kotyonok ,” I whisper, my fingers tracing the air just above her skin, close enough to feel her warmth but not touching her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to put you in this situation. I was angry—angry at your father, at the world, but I shouldn’t have let that fall on you. None of this is your fault.”

I lean down, my lips brushing the air near her cheek. “I should’ve been kinder,” I breathe, hoping somehow the words will reach her, even in her sleep. “I’ll deal with Lucia. I’ll fix this. I promise.”

I stay there for a while, watching her. It’s strange how the simple rise and fall of her chest can bring me a sense of calm I haven’t felt in years. She reaches out in her sleep, her hand brushing against mine, and my heart stumbles in my chest.

“Dmitri,” she whispers my name, her eyelids fluttering briefly as if she’s caught between the dream world and reality.

A rush of emotions surges through me—things I can’t explain, things I don’t want to explain. I gently pull my hand away from her grip, retreating like the coward I’ve become when it comes to her. Standing by the door, I look back at her one last time. She’s already settled back into peaceful sleep, unaware of the storm inside me.

It’s a shame, really—a damn shame—that I’ll never be able to say these things to her when she’s awake. Because men like me don’t get to have peace. We make promises in the dark, and they disappear with the daylight.