Mafia King’s Bride

26. Dmitri

TWENTY-SIX

DMITRI

I stop in front of a florist shop, parking my car and staring at the flower arrangements sitting prettily in the window. “She finds roses ordinary,” I say to Yelena on the phone. “I’ll get carnations.”

She laughs. “Are you sure she likes them, or is it because you bought them that one time? Did you ask her if they are her favorite?”

I shake my head, already annoyed. “She’s my wife, Yelena. You’d think I’d know a thing or two about her by now.”

“Right.”

I roll my eyes, more at myself than her. “That was sarcasm.”

She clicks her tongue, the playful attitude still there. “I knew it. Are you delivering them yourself, or will you let your ego get in the way of showing up at your wife’s office?”

“Yelena,” I say, the impatience clear in my voice, “I’m hanging up now. I’ll call you back in two hours.”

“Wait, I?—”

I hang up, tuck my phone in my pocket, and get out of the car, grabbing my coat as I step out. The florist shop door swings open easily, and the warmth inside contrasts sharply with the cold gnawing at my skin.

“Hi,” a man with an apron and a name tag that reads “Aaron” greets me immediately. “What can I help you with today? Would you like to order a custom bouquet or to select one from our collection?”

My instinct is to ask for a bouquet of white carnations, but I stop myself. I never actually asked Ana what her favorite flowers are. How many assumptions have I made about her?

“Can you suggest something for a lover?” I ask, my voice as cold as usual, adding quickly, “Not roses or carnations.”

He strokes his chin thoughtfully. “Hmm. Maybe something that matches the color of her eyes, then? It could symbolize true love—mixing something personal with something meaningful.”

True love?

The thought hits me hard. Do I love her? I’m not sure if that’s what this is. But I can’t deny that whatever I feel for Ana is stronger than anything I’ve felt for anyone else. I want her. I want her more each day.

“Her eyes are blue,” I say, a bit softer this time.

“Forget-me-nots,” he suggests, walking me over to a section of delicate blue flowers, petals soft like velvet, the color just like her eyes—deep and unforgettable.

They’re perfect. Like she is.

“I’ll take them,” I say.

I watch as he carefully picks the bluest ones, their light veins almost transparent in the right light. He arranges them with precision, but as I watch, I decide not to take them to her myself. Maybe it’s better this way. The flowers can speak for me. At least they won’t betray my inner turmoil.

I hand over my business card with Ana’s office address written on the back of it. “Have them delivered. Call me when she receives them.”

As I leave, I can’t help but wonder what she’ll think. I hope she understands the gesture. I don’t say the right things when it comes to her. Hell, I don’t even know what the right things are.

I’m back in my office, my mind half on Bianchi and the unfinished business I have with him, and half on Ana. I haven’t heard from her since last night, and though I should be focusing on Bratva matters, my mind drifts back to her.

Jakob knocks and enters, dropping an envelope on my desk.

“This came for you, sir.”

I glance at it. A butcher shop logo. Not just any butcher shop—a front for one of the Bratva’s more unsavory operations.

I smile, tearing it open and reading the note inside:

How would you like your meat handled?

I think of what I told Ana the other day and her agreement to stand by me.

I grab my pen, scribbling on the back of the note:

Home delivery. Make sure it’s well received.

Once Jakob leaves to handle the message, I try to return my focus to work. But my phone rings, and I see an unknown number on the screen.

Probably Bianchi, I think, ready to listen to whatever pathetic offer he might have.

“Is this Mr. Orlov?” The voice on the other end is unfamiliar. “This is Aaron, from the florist shop. You asked me to send a bouquet to your wife?”

“Yes,” I reply, already irritated.

“She wasn’t in the office.”

I stop, my gut twisting. “Did you leave it with someone?”

“No, sir. They said she hasn’t been in today. No one would take the flowers on her behalf there, so I thought I’d call.”

My stomach tightens, a gnawing sense of dread building in my chest. Something’s wrong. I stand up abruptly, heading for the door. I need to tell Jakob to start looking for her. My pulse quickens, and it feels like I’ve just been hit in the gut.

“Sir? What would you like me to do?” the florist asks, his voice fading into the background of my thoughts.

“Are you still at her office?” I ask, striding through the lobby.

“Yes, sir.”

“Who told you she wasn’t there?”

“I spoke to a guy named Maxwell. Said she hadn’t been in all day and that her car wasn’t there either.”

I hang up, bolt for my car, and start the engine. I speed out of the parking lot, my mind whirling. She wouldn’t just disappear. Would she?

Ana’s strong—tougher than most—but that doesn’t stop the fear creeping in. I’ve pissed off enough people to know how vulnerable she could be if someone decided to use her against me.

I punch the accelerator, my mind stuck on the thought that Ana might be in danger.

She can’t be gone.

Not the woman I’ve started to fall for, despite everything inside me telling me to stay cold, to stay ruthless.

Trying not to panic, I dial Ana’s number, but as I feared, her phone’s switched off.

The only other time her phone was off was when she went drinking, and it died on her after a full day. But it’s not even noon; I saw her this morning.

Somebody must know where she is.

After hours of driving, calling my men and asking them to look into people of interest, I find myself in front of Nikolai Petrov’s building. Ana said she hadn’t spoken to him in months, but I know he must be plotting something—maybe he’s finally decided to carry out his plan. Maybe he’s taken her, blaming my enemies, forcing me into a war.

I stride into the building, fury driving my steps.

His secretary, the same woman I saw the day I demanded Nikolai give up his daughter, stands at the entrance. She frowns when she sees me.

“Mr. Orlov, to what do we owe this pleasure?”

“Is he in? And don’t lie to me,” I growl, the threat hanging between us. “My wife is missing. Anyone who makes it harder for me to find her will regret it.”

She glances behind her, her voice less sure now. “Anastasia is missing? Why would you think that?”

“She hasn’t been in her office today,” I bite out. “Now, is he here, or do I have to find out for myself?”

Her eyes flicker with hesitation, but she steps aside. “You think he kidnapped his own daughter? He hasn’t seen her since she moved in with you. Why would he take her now?”

I don’t answer, pushing past her and striding straight into Nikolai’s office.

He’s mid-conversation, but I don’t wait for an invitation.

“Dmitri,” he snarls, glaring at me. “How dare you?—”

“Where’s Anastasia?” I demand, my voice like ice. “Where’s my wife?”

He scoffs. “How should I know? You took her. Why ask me?”

His arrogant face shows no fear. No concern. Suspicion lodges itself firmly in my gut. Where’s the father who begged me not to take his daughter? The one who supposedly loves her?

“Do you even care what happens to her?” My voice drips with disgust.

Nikolai shrugs. “She’s your wife, isn’t she? You gave her your name. Whatever happens, you’ll be blamed for it. Throwing her to the wolves of your world was your decision.”

My fists clench, rage boiling just beneath the surface. Every muscle in my body tenses, aching to tear him apart.

He sighs, sensing the danger. “I don’t have her, Orlov. If you think I’d harm my daughter, then you know nothing about the love of a father, even a pakhan .”

I sneer. “If I find out you’re behind this, I’ll be back to make you pay.”

I storm out of his office, barely keeping my anger in check. The moment I’m in the hallway, my phone buzzes. I yank it from my pocket. It’s a message from one of my men.

Bianchi has your wife.

I see red.

I dial Lucia without hesitation.

“If you’re with your father, leave,” I say, my voice hard and final. “This is my only act of mercy. There won’t be a second one.”

There’s silence on the other end of the line, but I don’t need her response to know the tip is real. Bianchi has her.

I hang up, fury consuming me.

She’s in danger, and this isn’t just business anymore.

Ana isn’t just a pawn.

And if Bianchi touches her, he’ll wish he’d never been born.

I drive like a man possessed, my hands gripping the wheel so hard it feels like I’ll snap it in half. The thought of putting a bullet through Bianchi’s head is the only thing keeping me from losing it completely. I want to burn that bastard’s entire operation to the ground, but innocent people would get caught in the crossfire, and I won’t have that.

I pull up to the meet point, barely killing the engine before I step out. Leonid, a hulking man covered in tattoos, approaches immediately, bowing slightly.

“Leonid.” I nod. “Where are the others?”

He points to the building behind him. “They’re ready, sir. I gathered them as you instructed. But word is Bianchi’s fortified his place. At least ten men inside. We’re only six.”

I bare my teeth in a smile that doesn’t reach my eyes. “Six is enough. I’ll go in first, and you’ll follow. The only order is to shoot on sight. No one walks out.”

“Understood, boss.”

I slide back into my car, reaching for the glove compartment. The cold metal of the gun feels familiar in my hand, comforting.

Ever since I was young, my father drilled one lesson into me: Don’t kill unless it’s personal.

Well, this is personal.

By the time I reach Bianchi’s place, his men are already outside, their guns trained on my car. I step out, my hand resting on the butt of my gun, calm but coiled, ready to strike.

“Bianchi!” I yell, voice cutting through the tense air. “You want your men to die like pigs? Or do you want to come out and face me like a man? Let my wife go, and we’ll settle this between us.”

No movement, just a dead-eyed thug guarding the door.

I hear the hum of engines behind me as my men pull up and exit their cars, weapons drawn.

Bianchi’s men shuffle nervously, inching forward. Then gunfire erupts, and I duck just in time, shouting for Leonid to cover me as I make a run for the house. Bullets zip past me, one grazing my ear. I take down the guy to my right before I’m at the door, kicking it open.

Inside, the chaos quiets. A man leaps up from behind a chair, but he’s too slow. I shoot him in the shoulder, then the hand as he tries again. He drops, screaming. Another one steps out around a pillar. I duck to the right, firing straight into his gut. He goes down with a groan, and just as I’m about to take another step, Leonid’s booming shot echoes behind me.

“Go, boss,” he calls. “I’ve got this.”

I stride up the stairs, my blood pumping with one goal in mind: Bianchi. Every door I kick open reveals nothing until I reach the one that won’t budge.

He’s in there.

I press my ear to the wood, catching faint footsteps. Someone’s about to ambush me. I pretend to pound on the door, feigning ignorance, and just as the knob turns, I drop low. The second the door swings open, I kick the guy’s legs out from under him, disarming him in one move. His gun clatters away as I slam mine against the back of his head, knocking him out cold.

Then I see him—Bianchi.

He stands in the center of the room, holding a gun. Behind him on the bed, Ana’s tied up, her eyes wide with fear, though she hides it well.

Oh, you should have untied her before I got here. I might’ve let you live.

I step forward, my eyes locking on his.

“Did you like the present I sent?” I taunt, my voice low and mocking. “How did it taste?”

Bianchi snarls. “You think you can send me a corpse and call it a message? Well, message received. But here’s one for you—your wife’s mine now.”

The bastard actually has the nerve to gloat.

“You sold me out,” I growl, stepping closer. “You tried to stab me in the back after my father died. You teamed up with Igor and Alexey, and now you want to pull this shit again?”

He shrugs, his tone as smug as ever. “Why not? We aren’t brothers, Dmitri. You’re a pakhan , and I’m an Italian capo . I worked with your Bratva because I saw an opportunity. Now I see a bigger one.”

I’m closing the distance between us, my gaze darting to Ana, who’s struggling to free herself. She’s terrified but trying to stay strong. My heart clenches for a moment—a feeling I’m not used to.

Bianchi waves his gun at Ana, his smile sinister. “Drop your gun, and I’ll let her walk. Or I’ll blow her brains out right here in front of you.”

I smirk, dark and cold. “Go ahead. Do it.”

Bianchi’s eyes narrow in surprise, but he’s not ready to back down. He points the gun at her, trying to call my bluff.

“Don’t think I won’t.”

“I never said you wouldn’t.”

I pull my gun, aiming straight at his chest. “But if you want to die like a man, you face me. Man to man. Using women as bargaining chips? That makes you an even bigger coward.”

“Fine.” He grins, points the gun at me and pulls the trigger.

But I’m faster. My bullet tears into his chest, even as his grazes my shoulder, sending a sharp, searing pain through me. I stagger but stay on my feet. Bianchi crumples to the floor, gasping for air, the life draining from his eyes.

I don’t spare him a second glance.

Rushing to Ana, I press my fingers to her neck, relief flooding through me when I feel her faint pulse. She’s fainted but is alive.

Scooping her into my arms, I turn my back on Bianchi’s dying form.

This was never his game to win.