Page 32 of Mafia King's Bride

I rest my chin on my hand, smiling faintly. The truth teases the edge of my tongue, but I hold it back. As much as I likeYelena, as much as we’ve bonded, she’s still Dmitri’s sister. There’s a line I can’t cross. And anyway, it’s not my story to tell. Not fully.

Still, a part of me wonders how she’d react if I told her that her dear brother forced me into this marriage. That I’m paying the price for a crime my father supposedly committed.

Yelena’s voice softens. “Or . . . is it true?”

I tilt my head slightly, studying her. “True?”

Her eyes dart around nervously, and for the first time since I’ve known her, she seems unsure of herself. She bites her lower lip, hesitating.

“I heard something through the grapevine. But it’s not my place to ask.” She scratches at her chin, clearly uncomfortable.

I keep my face neutral, but my mind is racing. Does she know? How much does she know? I don’t want to confirm or deny anything by accident, so I tread carefully.

“What is it?” I ask, keeping my tone light.

She shifts in her seat, her discomfort obvious now. “It’s probably nothing. You know how rumors can be. I must’ve had too much to drink one night and started believing the nonsense people talk about.”

I nod slowly, giving her a way out. “Right.”

Yelena waves her hand like she’s brushing off her own words. “Forget I said anything! Honestly, it’s just silly talk. You get back to work, and I’ll just sit here and enjoy my champagne.”

She picks up her glass, but the way her eyes avoid mine tells me she’s holding something back. There’s more she wants to say, but for now, she’s keeping quiet.

I glance at her as I try to refocus on the statement. There’s something about her expression that sticks with me—like she knows more than she’s letting on but doesn’t want to admit it. Maybe she’s heard whispers about my arrangement with Dmitri. Maybe she’s putting the pieces together.

She knows. Or at least, she suspects.

But she’s not ready to say it. And honestly, I’m not sure how I feel about that.

Grateful? Apprehensive?

I sigh softly, telling myself I’ll figure it out in time. For now, Yelena’s the closest thing to a friend I have in this house. I’m not going to risk that over a conversation neither of us is ready to have.

“Let’s go for a drink.”Yelena grabs my hand as we head out of the office.

“Are you sure you can have more?” I ask, giving her a sideways glance.

She nods enthusiastically. “Yup. I only had three glasses, and that was hours ago. You know,” she leans her head against my shoulder, her voice dropping, “when you go through something that messes with your head just enough, you build up a tolerance pretty quickly.”

Her tone takes on a strange wistfulness that makes me pause. I turn my head slightly to study her expression, but her gaze is far off, fixed on some distant point. There’s sadness in her eyes that I hadn’t noticed before, a heaviness she hides well under her usual brightness.

We stepinto the elevator in silence, and Yelena lets go of my hand, wrapping her arms around herself as if to ward off the weight of whatever thoughts are pulling her down. I’m no expert in reading people’s emotions, but even I can see that something’s bothering her—something she’s not ready to share.

“So, what do you say?” she asks, her voice picking up that false cheerfulness again. “Shall we get a nice drink and some food? You know, in case Dmitri’s written us off for the evening.”

I chuckle, taking her up on the offer. “I’m sure if he could avoid eating with us for the rest of his life, he’d be thrilled.”

Yelena giggles. “I know, right? But,” she lowers her voice dramatically, “it’s all a facade.”

“A facade?” I raise an eyebrow.

She leans in closer, her voice conspiratorial. “Between you and me, Dmitri likes to act all tough, but deep down? He’s a cinnamon roll.”

I nearly snort in disbelief. Dmitri, a cinnamon roll? The man who threatened my father, who forced me into this sham of a marriage? Yeah, right. That’s as likely as pigs flying.

“Are you sure about that?” I reply, trying to keep the skepticism from my voice.

Yelena grins, unfazed. “Oh, I know it’s hard to believe. But I’ve seen it. Under the right circumstances, with the right people, that gruff exterior melts away. Although,” she pauses for effect, “I might be the only one who’s ever seen it.”

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