Page 33 of Mafia King's Bride

I raise an eyebrow but say nothing. I don’t doubt that Yelena, with her infectious energy and warmth, brings out a side of Dmitri that no one else could. But me? I’ve only ever gotten the coldest, most brutal version of him.

“You don’t believe me, do you?” Yelena nudges me as we step out of the elevator.

“I don’t know,” I admit as we walk toward the parking lot. “From what I’ve seen, it’s hard to imagine.”

She slips into the passenger seat of my car. “Well, you’ll just have to take my word for it. Dmitri grew up without knowing what it felt like to be loved. All he understands is duty,” she says with a note of affection in her voice. “He was trained by his father to forge connections and to trust no one.”

I nod, letting her words sink in. Even if I want to sympathize with Dmitri’s tough childhood, it doesn’t erase the fact that he’s been nothing but a bully since the moment we met.

Two hours later,I’m practically dragging Yelena out of the car, her arm slung over my shoulder as she sways unsteadily.

“There we go,” I mutter, using my body to keep her upright. She’s had way too many drinks, but something about the sadness that hung over her all night made me let her. If she needed to drown whatever was haunting her, who was I to stop her?

Janet opens the door after the second knock, her eyes widening briefly when she sees the state Yelena’s in. She quickly steps in to help me, guiding us both inside. As we make it to the living room, Dmitri rounds the corner, his sharp eyes locking onto us.

His gaze flicks from Yelena to me, then back to her, his expression unreadable but tense.

“I’ll take Miss Romanov to her room,” Janet says quietly, clearly sensing the shift in the air.

I hand Yelena over to her, rubbing my sore shoulder from supporting her weight. As Janet disappears with Yelena, I feel Dmitri’s eyes still on me.

“What happened?” he asks, his tone flat, but there’s something probing in it—like an interrogation.

I resist the urge to snap back. “We went for dinner.”

His arms fold over his chest. “And she comes back like that?”

I shrug, trying to keep my tone neutral. “You saw her. If you want to know why, you can ask her in the morning.”

His gaze narrows, lingering on me in silence. I can feel the weight of it, the judgment, the questions he isn’t asking but wants to.

“I had a long day,” I add, taking a few steps past him. “Goodnight.”

But Dmitri isn’t done. “Did you drink?”

I stop, glancing back over my shoulder. “Yes. Why?”

He sighs, and for a second, it sounds like he’s disappointed. “You should’ve called a cab instead of driving.”

I turn to face him fully, trying not to roll my eyes. His words sound almost caring, but I know better. It’s not concern—it’s control. Dmitri doesn’t care if I’m safe; he cares about keeping everything and everyone in line.

“I had one drink,” I snap, keeping my voice steady.

His eyes bore into mine, searching for the truth. We stand there for a long moment, locked in a silent battle of wills. Finally, he breaks eye contact, running a hand through his hair.

“Thank you for bringing Yelena home safely,” he says, his voice softer than I’d thought possible.

And then he walks away, leaving me standing there, thrown off by the sudden shift in his tone.

Thank you? Since when does Dmitri thank me for anything?

I watch him retreat, still processing the exchange. Yelena’s words from earlier drift back into my mind.

All he understands is duty.

Could she be right? Is there a side of Dmitri I haven’t seen yet?

I rub my chin as I make my way upstairs. Maybe there’s more to him than the ruthless exterior he shows the world. But how deep would I have to dig to find it? And more importantly, do I even want to?

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