Page 3 of Nikola
I shot her an exasperated look. “If this is you helping, please stop.”
She let out a chuckle.
“Nikola.” Dad looked even more annoyed than before, if that were possible.
“Yes?”
“Put a fucking shirt on,” he thundered, and Mom patted his hand, hoping to calm him down.
“What’s with this ‘look’ of yours, Nikola?” Mom asked, bracketing the word with her fingers. “Do we need to order you?—”
Marietta cut her off. “He does it to impress Skye.”
My dad shook his head, muttering, “I’m sure there is some sense in that statement somewhere, but I don’t see it.”
Mom sighed. “It must mean we’re getting old.”
“You twoareold.” My sister waved her hand as if she didn’t just insult our parents. “Skye made a passing commentyearsago that she likes her men either in suits or shirtless. Nikola opted for the no-shirt option.”
“You’re a pain in my fucking ass,” I hissed.
She grinned. “But you love me.”
“God help me,” Dad grumbled. “You both know I’d kill for you, but some days I’m tempted to put an end to the misery myself.”
“Speaking of, I’m bored. Want me to help you kill someone?” Marietta asked, twirling a strand of hair between her fingers.
Yeah, the Nikolaev family was one of a kind. A different shade of disturbed.
1
SKYE
A Month Ago
The Den of Sin Club, New Orleans
Iloved New Orleans and took advantage of any opportunity to spend time here, especially because it was Nikola’s home. Although I wouldn’t admit that to anyone else.
I was visiting Sasha and Branka with the excuse that it was Halloween. Truthfully, I didn’t need an excuse. The Nikolaevs were my second family, my adoptive family before my birth parents found me. Sasha and Branka, as well as the rest of the Nikolaev family, made it clear that I’d always have a home with them. So I visited often. When traveling back to Italy was too long for short holidays or days off, I’d come here.
New Orleans flashed its color like a mask, hiding a city steeped in secrets, sin, and the kind of thrill that left a mark. My papa—the formidable and slightly unhinged Dante Leone—thought so too.
Hence why he despised my presence here.
My relationship with my family was complicated to say the least, made even more so by our history. I loved my parents, but I also loved my other family—the Nikolaevs—who were my adoptive parents for three short months. My life before the Nikolaevs adopted me was foggy. Sometimes a memory flashed through a thick curtain, but before I could cling on to it… poof. It was as if my life began on the day that Sasha and Branka adopted me.
Like I said, complicated.
Standing on the aged cobblestone in the heart of the French Quarter, my eyes scanned theWelcome to The Den of Sinsign fastened to the door that led to all types of salacious happenings.
My face was hidden behind the harlequin mask, so I wasn’t at risk of being recognized. Many patrons chose to wear masks, and my reasons for this particular one were rooted in my Italian ancestry. I’d always been fascinated with commedia dell’arte and resonated with its representation of the poor, misunderstood Harlequin.
My outfit, on the other hand… There was no chance of anyone misunderstanding. The pink strapless dress, lace bodice, and a ruffled white tutu paired with pink pumps screamedpromiscuous.
Papa would blow a gasket if he knew I was out dressed this way, and so would Sasha. It would probably be the only thing those two larger-than-life men agreed on.
The door to the club opened and the heat from inside beckoned me, as did vibrations from a loud bass I couldn’t hear. The bouncer at the door did a double take, causing my heart to trip over itself, before I got myself together and handed him the VIP invitation I’d stolen from Sasha.
