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Apparently,you have to check out before leaving clinics. I didn’t know this since the one time I saw a practitioner was when the birth control device was implanted.
I’ve only been sick a few times in my life, and during those events, I was confined to my bedroom at my great-uncle’s house with his head housekeeper left to check on me. She wasn’t the motherly type, so I was often left caring for myself. I’m used to that.
Others taking care of me—I don’t know what to make of it. Though, I wouldn’t necessarily say that was Tony’s goal with today’s checkup. I think that had everything to do with ensuring I won’t give his son a disease. I can’t blame him for that. There was a part of me that wanted to know those results too, but also a small part that was scared to hear them. The doctor informing me that everything came back normal was a relief.
Domenico ushered me out of the building and into his SUV ten minutes ago. I didn’t expect him to follow me to the passenger side of the vehicle, nor was I expecting him to open the door for me. Nothing about the way he carries himself, how he speaks to me, or the way he eyes me and others would make me think he’s a gentleman, yet that was the way it came across. He even made sure I buckled my seatbelt when he slid into the driver’s seat moments later.
He isn’t a crazy driver either, at least not that I’ve seen so far. He comes to complete stops, lets pedestrians cross the road, and doesn’t gun it when the light turns green. Giovanni and even Tony are more aggressive behind the wheel than Domenico.
“How did I end up in your bed last night?” I finally work up the courage to ask again since he never answered my initial question this morning. “Because I don’t sleepwalk, and I know I didn’t stumble into the wrong room,” I add.
“Why do you have night terrors?” he counters.
“I don’t,” I say far too quickly to sound believable. Is that what happened? It’s plausible. Likely even, if I give it thought, which isn’t something I want to do. “If I were dreaming, how would you even be able to hear me?” I was in the pool house, though I know his bedroom faces the backyard. I noticed his window open.
“Your screaming woke up the whole fucking house.” His eyes leave the road as his head turns to face me. “People don’t typically have night terrors unless they experienced trauma. So, I’ll ask again. Why do you have them?”
“I don’t,” I repeat, this time slower and with a bite to my tone, hoping he’ll drop it.
“You’re a liar too.” His eyes leave mine to flick back to the road as he accelerates before he cuts to the left lane and passes a slower driving vehicle. After a few seconds, he moves back into the right lane, and then his speed decreases to match the speed limit.
“Why did you move me to share a bed with you and your boyfriend?” I ask, not arguing with him. I’m not a liar, not really, but I know that there are things you have to keep to yourself. Otherwise, they can be used against you in the cruelest ways. “Did you do anything to me?”
“Krishna isn’t my boyfriend, pet.”
“Sure, he isn’t.” When he doesn’t open his mouth to answer my other question, I prompt again. “So, did anything happen last night that I should know about?”
He smirks but doesn’t look at me. “Baby girl, if I’d fucked you last night, your thighs would still be aching.” After a beat of silence, his head rolls towards me, his gaze locking on mine. “Had K and I both fucked you, you wouldn’t be able to stand, much less walk straight.”
“Is that what you plan to do? Sharing me when each other isn’t enough to satisfy either of you?”
He steps on the brake pedal, the tires squealing as the car comes to an abrupt stop in the middle of the road. In less than a heartbeat, he slams the gear shift of his SUV into park, then his dark, devilish eyes lock with mine. “You talk too fucking much.” His gaze dips, briefly eyeing my mouth before his long lashes flick up. “I liked you more when I thought you were a mouse without a tongue.”
Car horns sound in all directions, but Domenico doesn’t seem to care. He continues to watch me instead of the street, the traffic at a standstill.
“I told you once,” he says, relaxing his back against the driver’s door as the upper half of his body faces me. “I’m not into captured prey. If you want to leave, I’m not stopping you. Run your fucking heart out, sweetheart.” He leans forward, his face stopping so close to mine that I could jut my tongue out and touch his lips. Pretty sure they’re the only soft part on Domenico’s body.
“In fact, as I’ve already told you, you should run. Now’s your chance, Ciera. Otherwise, you have an appointment for a dress fitting for our fake as fuck wedding. Sasha is inside waiting for you.” His chin juts up as he glances out the passenger side window to my right. “I have other places to be, and babysitting isn’t part of my job description. Ride’s over, little girl. Get out.”
CHAPTER 12
KRISHNA
I’ve known since I was Sienna’s stepdaughter’s age that I would one day assume my father’s duty as Pakhan of the U.S. Bratva brotherhood. Every day since my childhood, I have observed my dad with the knowledge that I would someday fill his shoes. I trained with that in mind. I put everything I had into mastering every skill possible, from hand-to-hand combat to weaponry and even hunting.
Multiple times a year, my father would send me to the coldest and hottest terrains in the U.S. and outside its borders. I spent a week in Siberia once when I was a teenager while he attended a meeting in Moscow, and every second of that trip, I was convinced it would be my last day on Earth.
When we boarded a plane to come home, I told my father if he ever sent me back there, I’d shoot him myself. And I meant it. That place was Hell on Earth, yet I find myself contemplating a trade out spending the rest of my life there if it would get rid of the constant ache in my chest.
The discomfort has been present for the last year, but ever since Tony announced Ciera Fitzgerald as Domenico’s soon-to-be-wife a few days ago, it’s as if there is a semi-truck parked on top of me, and I don’t have the strength to push it off.
The reality of what I’ve yet to acknowledge pisses me off. I shouldn’t want Domenico the way I do. I don’t want to want or need him. Those feelings and that kind of bullshit will cause me more problems than I care to deal with. I’ve already had to funnel Sasha’s marriage crisis. My dad may have planned her happily-ever-after out with Tony Caputo, but he sure as shit didn’t address it with the other Bratvas.
Granted, Mischa Nikolayev thought he was above answering to anyone. Hell, even I think that about myself, but the truth is, shit in my culture is done a certain way. Anyone that puts a ripple in calm waters is subject to backlash—or death.
I haven’t squashed the rumors that it was my father that took out the Canadian Pakhan, and I’m not going to. I want it known. I want every brother to know what we’re capable of doing. WhatIwill do should someone fuck with a Nikolayev or anyone else that’s part of my brotherhood or my inner circle, because God knows the goddamn Caputo’s managed to nestle their way to the fucking center of that motherfucker.
