Page 48 of Dark Truths

Once we’re alone, I sidestep Dimitri and head straight for the ladies’ room to clean the blood from my hands and arms. Of course, the fucking cleaning crew has the women’s side blocked off, forcing me to use the family restroom instead. But before the door closes, a hand appears in the crack.

Dimitri steps in and closes the door behind him, the soft click filling the quiet air.“Are you okay?”

“Are you insane?” I say back, grabbing his eyes in the mirror. “You can’t be in here.”

“Why not? It’s a family restroom.”

I narrow my eyes at him before spinning around to face him, suddenly feeling exhausted and with a need to be alone.“Dimitri, I’m fine. You can go now. Dad left some of his men, so I’m safe here.”

Dimitri crosses his arms over his chest and levels me with a challenging look. “What part of I’m not leaving you…did you not understand?”

Any other day and I’d be up for the challenge, but I can’t find the strength right now. “Please, Dimitri.”

He drops his arms and slides his hands into his pockets. Like a switch, his entire demeanor changes and becomes physically less imposing, like that’s even possible.

“Did you mean what you said to your brother?”

“I said several things,” I remind him. “You’ll need to be more specific.”

“About us being friends.” He sounds almost hopeful and scared too, like he’s not sure which way he’d prefer.

I sigh hard and bow my head. I’m not mentally prepared to consider what my words meant or could mean. But I know one thing. “You’ll always be my friend, Dimitri.”

“But?”

My lips twitch at the memory of saying the same thing all those months ago. “But my focus right now needs to be on Enzo and getting Rose and Liam back safe and sound.”

Dimitri nods and steps even closer. His hand appears in my vision and then he’s lifting my face to his. At this angle, he towers over me. His unruly hair falls forward, throwing his face into shadows that make his brilliant blue eyes stand out with a fierce emotion burning in their depths. As he uses his thumb to swipe over my lips, his eyes follow the movement and catch on the sight of my throat when I swallow from the sensation his touch brings.

“Okay,” he says, and his timber voice fills my body, a feeling I've missed.

It’s clear he wants to say more, and I almost wish he would, but I can’t trust myself to be honest with him, especially when I don’t even know how I really feel. Having his support, his shoulder to cry on, and his arms to hold me…it’s everything I wanted months ago. The pain of that night lingers and his action, or lack thereof, the following day still hurts.

So why did he come to my aid tonight? Don't get me wrong, I'm forever thankful he did, but was it because of politics or something more? What’s changed? Has anything changed?

We need to talk, but it’s a conversation that doesn’t need to be had now. Not here in a hospital where I’m covered in the blood of my oldest friend while he fights for his life and not when my nephew and his mother’s safety hang in the balance.

“Thank you again for being here tonight,” I tell him, reaching up on the tips of my toes to kiss his cheek chastely. “We’ll talk soon. I promise.”

20

Dimitri

One Week Later

Sergei’s in a sour mood.

But I suppose losing your only brother in a gunfight would have that effect on a person. But when he chose to work with Patrick O’Leary behind everyone’s back, the dumbass signed his own death warrant. His act of betrayal led to multiple deaths, the destruction of a church, and almost cost Michael DiAngelo his life. If Patrick hadn’t shot and killed him, there's no doubt in my mind that Dante DiAngelo would have for putting his family at risk alone. And then Dante would have turned his gun on the Irish leader, but Patrick’s second, Connor Fraser, took care of him instead.

The old man’s descent into madness was so obvious that even a blind person could sense it. And there seems to be no love lost between the O’Leary brothers, because James O’Leary, the Irish mob boss in Dublin, hasn’t called for Connor’s head in retaliation for murdering his brother. Instead, he’s been supporting the new transition of power.

I know Jacob and Ford need to be updated on all of this, but Sergei has been consumed by his grief. He’s so devastated that he spends his days in that creepy mansion of his, growing increasingly paranoid. He insists that Patrick set up his brother, but with both men dead, it’s difficult to prove his theory. So finding a moment away has been near impossible and the last thing I need is Sergei turning his suspicions on to me.

Even right now, Sergei sits across from me in the car, drunk and sipping from a bottle like it’s water and not vodka. I understand the man is grieving, but he’s also the Pakhan of the Russian Bratva. He should act like it. The day I slap handcuffs on him can not come soon enough.

My phone buzzes, and I sneak a peek at it.

Angel: Michael is awake!

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