Page 4

The bathroom light buzzed faintly, casting a sterile glow over the small, tiled room. Ilya gripped the edge of the sink with one hand, his knuckles a ghostly white, while the other hovered near the angry bruises blooming across his ribs.

He glared at his reflection in the mirror—a hunk of a sweaty, disheveled mess trying to catch his breath. His reflection stared back at him, shadowed eyes and the faintest tremor in his jaw revealing his anger.

He dragged his fingers over the raw, jagged scrape along his neck. It wasn’t a deep wound, but it throbbed with a sharp sting every time he moved, a reminder of how close the blade had been.

The memory of the scuffle was fresh: the watching eyes in the restaurant where Mikhail had sent him to handle some minor business, the glint of a knife as it slashed past his throat, grazing the skin just enough to draw blood, the hot hiss of threats spat through clenched teeth, the metallic sting of blood in his mouth.

Fists had collided after that, blows landing like a dance of hammers. Somehow, he had twisted free, landing a lucky blow that gave him enough time to take off in his car.

What was supposed to be a simple fifteen-minute meeting with an alias turned out to be an ambush. He had sensed an odd vibe in the air while the meeting went on.

Then, a waiter ‘accidentally’ spilled wine on him. The red-faced man had gotten to his knees, pleading for mercy— distracting him —until Ilya felt the cold sting of a blade against his throat.

He’d had no time to process it then, no time to acknowledge the searing pain in his side or the gash on his neck. Now, in the quiet of his bathroom, several thoughts ran through his mind as his adrenaline depleted, leaving behind the dull ache of bruises and the sting of torn skin.

Ilya winced as he dabbed antiseptic onto the cut with a piece of gauze, the sharp smell tickling his nose. The makeshift bandage he pressed against the wound on his ribs felt clumsy, but it’d have to do for now.

The men who jumped him were definitely not friends with the Nikolais. He couldn’t help but wonder who was behind it. As far as he knew, Aleksander, their major threat, had been hiding under the radar for months now, doing the mob well by not stepping out of line.

A notification from his phone echoed in the bathroom. He slid the device out of his pocket, the screen broken from the altercation half an hour ago.

His sister’s name flashed with a text.

Irina: You’re late. Everyone’s asking where you are .

“ Blyad,” he cursed under his breath as he checked his watch. He hadn’t realized just how much time had passed.

He was running suspiciously late now, and as much as he wanted to bail and soak his muscles in warm water, the last thing he wanted to do was alarm his family in any way.

Tossing his gauze into the trash, he strode to his closet and grabbed a new crisp white shirt. He hurried to button it, the movement tugging painfully at the tender skin along his neck.

He was in the foulest of moods when he entered the hall, which was a stark contrast to the warmth and life that buzzed around. He stepped inside, shoulders squared despite the throbbing pain radiating from his neck and ribs.

The crisp collar of his shirt pressed against the neck wound. It did a good job of concealing it from the public eye but did a poor job at cushioning it. He hissed quietly but ignored the discomfort.

Mikhail spotted him from across the room, his sharp eyes narrowing as he assessed him. Despite the wicked throbbing in Ilya’s body, he maintained his composure as he approached his cousin.

“You’re late,” Mikhail said, his tone a mix of irritation and curiosity. He knew something was wrong, but he wanted Ilya to tell him himself.

“Got held up,” Ilya muttered, keeping his voice steady as he grabbed a glass of champagne from a nearby waiter. “Check the restaurant’s footage.”

“Mm,” Mikhail nodded. He signaled to his consigliere with a subtle flick of his wrist, and Ilya used that opportunity to leave.

He wasn’t in the mood to talk about it. Mikhail would sort it out like he always did.

Around Ilya, the warmth of family swirled—easy laughter, clinking glasses, and the smell of home-cooked food. To anyone else, the smell would make them hungry. But his guts twisted with unease. Even the white wine in his mouth was tasteless.

It seemed like every light move he made caused his shirt to scrape against the wound. He clenched his teeth in annoyance, desperately trying to keep his cool.

In the mirrored walls of the hall, he caught a glimpse of himself—sharp suit, composed expression, and not a hint of the chaos he had left behind just an hour ago.

“Good,” he muttered to himself as he finished the contents of his glass. That was exactly what he was going for.

Despite the fire in his neck and the storm in his head, he managed small, polite smiles at every familiar face who greeted him. His midnight blue eyes searched the room for a familiar brunette.

He needed an effective distraction, and Valentina’s sharp remarks were enough to do the trick.

His eyes did a good job of finding her. She was just across the hall, smiling at something a woman half her height said to her. She looked like pure sin in a sheer black lace gown, every delicate pattern and hole teasing glimpses of her fair skin beneath.

If he was being honest, she looked like she was having a great time. Too bad he was about to ruin it for her. He was too selfish to let her go tonight, especially after the sudden run-in.

The smoky makeup she had around her eyes made her look even more seductive than ever, and they narrowed in on him as he approached her.

The lift of her chin already soothed the burn in his chest. He could almost physically feel his insides cooling the closer he got to her. He could taste a pleasantness in his mouth as hers prepared to fire an insult at him.

But she paused, her brows furrowing as she leaned close to him. “What’s that?”

“What’s what?”

She lifted a finger and lightly traced the cut in his neck. He stiffened immediately, his body going through two different kinds of reactions to her touch. The first was a rush of electricity that made the hair on his skin stand at attention. The second was an instinctive urge to stay as far away from her as possible.

He was surprised she could even notice the cut because he was sure as hell that no one could see it.

“It’s nothing,” he muttered, already angling his body away from her. Maybe coming to her to improve his mood was a bad idea tonight.

But she was persistent. “That doesn’t look like nothing.” Her gaze locked on his neck and there was a softness to her voice that he had never heard before. “What happened, Ilya? Who did this?”

Ilya’s jaw clenched, his hand fisting at his sides as he fought to keep his face neutral. Her voice was a calm to the storm brewing in his head, but it grated on him in a way he couldn’t explain.

He had grown up the hard way. Everything he learned, he learned brutal and rough. His brothers didn’t coddle him either, and most people outside his family only cared for him when they needed to use him.

Genuine concern was foreign to him—especially concern directed at him.

“It’s none of your business,” he snapped, his voice harsher than he intended.

The brunette straightened, surprised but undeterred. “If someone hurt you—”

“Will you just fucking drop it?” he cut her off, his voice cold as ice. He had set fire to the moment between them. It didn’t matter now that he was pouring gasoline. “Don’t piss me off by acting like you care. Isn’t this what you people do? Stick your nose where it doesn’t belong, not minding your own fucking business?”

Valentina blinked, taken aback by the venom in his voice. It was always meaningless banter between them, but this , this was serious.

As concerned as she was, she quickly grew irritated by his tone. “I’m just trying to help.”

Ilya chuckled, the sound bitter and hollow. “What do you know about help?” He was closing the gap between them, sneering at her beautiful face. “You’re nothing but Daddy’s little pawn, Valentina. Just another piece on the Romano’s board. Don’t pretend like you’ve got a mind of your own. Everything you do, every bullshit you say, it’s all for him, isn’t it?”

Her expression shifted, the clear hurt flashing across her face too quickly for her to mask. His words had hit the exact spot he was aiming for, and for a moment, he felt the satisfaction of shutting her out.

But almost immediately, it turned into something heavier, burning even more than the ache in his ribs. The hurt in her eyes left a bitter taste in his mouth, like vinegar being shoved down his throat.

Valentina stiffened, rolling her shoulders back with a frown. “You’re a real piece of shit, you know that?” she said quietly, her voice steady now despite her eyes burning through his.

“Fine,” she said through gritted teeth. “Keep whatever you’re hiding and die with it. I don’t give a flying fuck.”

After that, she turned on her heel and walked away, leaving him standing there, his hand still tugging at his tie.

Ilya exhaled harshly, his chest tight as he watched her retreating figure. The room was loud, buzzing with chatter and laughter, but all he could hear was his heartbeat pounding in his ears.

He didn’t know what he hated more—her concern or the fact that he’d pushed it away.

For the rest of the night, Valentina did a perfect job of ignoring him. At some point, his siblings sidled next to him, smirking in amusement as they watched him stare at her from a distance, a frown on his face.

“I think you really did it this time,” Kostya tsked, following Ilya’s line of sight. To Ilya, Valentina looked like a goddess, laughing and clutching her belly in response to whatever Irina and Rhi said to her.

Unconsciously, her eyes strayed to Ilya and his siblings, and his fists clenched when the smile faded from her face with the speed of light.

“I wonder what he did this time,” Viktor chuckled, responding to Kostya like Ilya wasn’t there. “She seemed genuinely pissed.”

Fedya frowned. “I’ll admit that watching you two bant and bicker can be amusing, but there’s a limit to these things. I don’t know what you did, but she was trying too hard to smile.”

“Val is stronger than most women I’ve met,” Viktor grinned. “She’ll get over it.”

Ilya spared his brothers a glance. They were amused by what had happened, but he silently wondered if they noticed the cut on his neck like Val had.

The incident with her stayed on his mind. It bothered him, tickling every inch of his brain like an itch he so desperately wanted to scratch away.

He was suddenly overwhelmed with the need to apologize. His outburst wasn’t part of their usual games and he feared that he might have genuinely hurt her feelings, even though she tried to hide it.

He ignored his brothers, searching the room for her, when he found the spot she was occupying earlier, empty.

Ilya excused himself from his brothers and went over to his sister. She was unimpressed, her lips pressed into a thin line as she downed her glass.

“If you’re here to be an asshole to her again, then I’m pleased to inform you that she just left.”

“Left,” he reiterated, like he had never heard the word before.

Irina frowned. “Don’t expect me to tell you where she is.”

Ilya lifted a brow, his curiosity piqued. “So, she’s not home?”

But Irina refused to answer. She walked past him, trying to escape the conversation, but he grasped her elbow and pulled her back.

“Don’t walk away from me when I’m talking to you,” Ilya scowled. Sure, she was Valentina’s close friend, but she was his sister first. And he was not about to tolerate any disrespect from her, especially not in the mood he was in.

Irina’s frown deepened. “She wouldn’t like me to tell you.”

His grip around her elbow tightened. “You tell me where she is right now, Irina.”

Her jaw grew taut, and after a hot minute, she ripped her arm away from his grip. “Fine. She has a condo outside the Romano estate where she hides away when she wants privacy. Only Rhi and I know about it.”

Ilya stepped closer to his sister. “And where is this condo?”

Irina folded her arms, lifting her chin defiantly. “Westside, near the marina,” she said. “Top floor. But don’t even think about showing up unannounced, Ilya.”

His brow arched, a smirk flashing on his lips. “Wouldn’t dream of it,” he replied, though the glint in his eye said otherwise.

With a destination in mind, Ilya slipped out of the hall, the hum of the crowd fading behind him as he flipped his car keys in his hand. He still wasn’t sure what he would do or say when he saw Val, but one thing was clear—he needed to get to her first.

His car roared to life as he sped down the quiet streets, the city lights a blur against the windows. Heading west, just as Irina had told him, his mind raced fast with the wheels.

He thought of Valentina—of the hurt in her eyes when he lashed out, of the silence that followed, a bridge widening between them. He clenched the steering wheel tighter, the leather groaning under his grip. Never had he felt more like an idiot than he did tonight.

The glinting lights of the marina came into view as he crested the hill, the sleek silhouette of the condo cutting through the night. But as his car lumbered to a quiet pause, his focus sharpened and his stomach dropped.

Shadows moved outside the building—too many shadows. Men clustered near the entrance, their postures tense, their movements purposeful. His jaw tightened as he recognized a few of the faces, the same men that jumped him at the restaurant.

Ilya’s hands gripped the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turned white. His blood boiled at the thought of Valentina walking into an ambush. The memory of their last exchange stung, but it was nothing compared to the rage now surging through him.

They weren’t men of peace—the cut in his neck and the bruises scattered across his ribs proved it. And just the thought of them laying a finger on Val made his hands thirsty for their blood.

Ilya cut the engine, his car rolling to a silent stop at the edge of the street. His mind sharpened, calculating every move as he popped open the glove compartment and retrieved his gun—a sleek, black piece that felt heavy and cold in his grip.

Next came the silencer, which he screwed on with a familiarity he knew too well. He pulled out a spare magazine Irina had left in his car months ago and slid it into his pocket before chambering a round.

The metallic snap echoed through the car, finalizing his resolve.

With one last glance at the condo’s entrance, his jaw turned to stone. They had been lucky when they came at him at the restaurant, but their luck had run out now.

They wouldn’t see him coming—but they’d sure as hell feel it.