Page 44 of Mafia King's Bride

Her eyes widen. “You do? Why haven’t I met him?”

“He doesn’t live in the country,” I say, pausing to admire the bag’s craftsmanship. “We don’t have the same mom. My father had… well, I guess you’d call it a ‘past life’ with Viktor’s mother. She never wanted anything to do with the Bratva, refused to raise her son anywhere near it. So she stayed in Europe, kept Viktor with her in London, away from all this.”

Yelena strokes her chin thoughtfully. “And your father let her? That doesn’t seem… typical.”

I let out a soft laugh, glancing at her. “No, it’s definitely not. But he let them go when he met my mother. He was so wrapped up in her, he didn’t fight it. He just… left them both alone.”

“Wow. That’s…” She trails off, clearly trying to process it.

“We talk regularly,” I add, offering a small smile. “But Viktor’s world is different from mine. He’s always been the one who got away, the one who wasn’t marked by all this. Sometimes I think he got lucky.”

She gives me a curious look, as if trying to see beneath the layers I don’t often show. “Do you ever wish you had that option?”

I shrug, glancing away as we start toward the shoe section. Her question hangs in the air between us, making me wonder about her own family. Dmitri doesn’t talk much about their shared history, and it leaves a lot of blanks.

“What about you?” I ask, turning the focus back on her. “Does Dmitri talk to your mom?”

She snorts, holding up a pair of kitten heels. “My mom? She wishes. She’s obsessed with the idea that Dmitri is somehow her son by default, just because she had an affair with his father.”

She rolls her eyes, but there’s something underneath the nonchalance—something heavier.

Before I can dig deeper, a voice interrupts us.

“Hi.”

Yelena and I turn, and my gaze lands on a blonde woman dressed in pink with a sneer that could cut glass. Her hand is on her hip, and she’s staring right at me.

“Hi,” I say slowly, unsure of what this is about. “Can I help you?”

The woman smirks, her tone dripping with condescension. “Oh, darling. I doubt you could help me with anything. I just thought it was time we met.”

What the hell?

“Um, okay? I don’t know who you are, so?—”

“I’m Lucia,” she says, her voice sickly sweet. “Lucia Bianchi. Dmitri’s lover.” She rolls her eyes as if the title bores her. “Well, ex-lover. That’s the downside of falling for a man who’d rather stay in a loveless marriage than enjoy life.”

My stomach tightens.Lover?I’ve never heard of this woman, but the jealousy that stirs in me is undeniable.

Yelena steps forward, her tone ice cold. “Get lost.”

Lucia smirks, unbothered. “Oh, Yelena. Still bitter about the man who used you? How’s your broken heart? And your body?”

I see Yelena’s fists clench, and I step in, gently pushing her aside.

No one talks to Yelena like that.

Not while I’m around.

Lucia wants to play games? Fine. Let’s see how she handles it when I’m standing toe to toe with her.

“Look,” I say, my voice low, steady, a tone I reserve for moments when I refuse to be rattled. “I don’t care about your past or present relationship with Dmitri. That’s between you and him. I don’t see you as competition, and frankly, you’re not even worth my time.”

Lucia’s sneer deepens, her chest puffing out as she tilts her head back like she’s about to deliver a crushing blow. “Oh really? You think I don’t know the reason why he married you? Yourfather—” she scoffs “—a pathetic man, lost his daughter in a game of chess. My father and Dmitri are business partners, and there’s more respect between them than Dmitri will ever have for your family.”

Her words hit hard, right in the chest, like someone took a swing and found my weakest spot.

Papa.A reminder of the weight I’ve been carrying, the guilt, the constant uncertainty about whether Dmitri sees me as more than just a pawn in some elaborate game. But I refuse to let her see how deeply she’s cut. I lock my jaw, steady my breathing, and force my expression into something cold and distant. She won’t see how much it stings.

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