Page 4 of Nikola
I didn’t even feel guilty about it either.He wouldn’t need it, what with the romantic evening he had planned with Branka.Not unless Damien ratted me out, but again, I knew he wouldn’t. My brother was a lot of things, but a snitch wasn’t one of them.
The bouncer’s lips moved, but I didn’t need to read them—I took his nod and the hand he swept to his side as a sign that I was allowed in.
Oh my gosh, it worked.
The thought derailed me as I strutted my Salvatore Ferragamo heels past him, making my way toward the bar of the most popular club in New Orleans. My eyes darted left and right, trying to soak it all in.
The place was darker than I’d imagined—steeped in decadence, swathed in red velvet, the very embodiment of sin.
The music shook the neon light hanging above the dance floor, and judging by the beat reverberating the floor and the way people were moving, it was something sultry, seductive.
The dance floor wasn’t large by any means, but that came as no surprise. The Den of Sin wasn’t exactly known for dancing. The room boasted mirrored walls, and despite it, there were quite a few couples sequestered in alcoves and tucked away in corners, their hands feverishly exploring.
If I squinted, I was sure I could spy a fair few people having full-blown sex. The brunette next to the hallway leading to the restrooms bounced on her man’s lap as he sat reclining on a chaise lounge. Thankfully, her vintage costume hid their shamelessness from view—although they didn’t seem affected by the onlookers gawking at them.
There were people who gesticulated wildly, deep in meaningless conversation, where they sat on red leather stools by the long black-marble bar.
I smoothed a hand over my outfit, resisting the urge to touch my mask while I scanned my surroundings for my victim.
Nikola Nikolaev.
The asshole had underestimated me today. He made it clear that I was blacklisted at his father’s club for no other reason than that I was a “fragile, sheltered mafia princess”—his words. There was nothing fragile about me.
I knew there was more to Nikola’s whole overbearing protectiveness, but I could never figure out what.
Nikola treated me with indifference dipped in disdain. Whenever I was around, he barely acknowledged me, often straight up looking past me. Like I didn’t even exist.
I’ll prove to him he won’t have a choice but toseeme, I thought smugly.
A man appeared next to me, but I ignored him. He must not have been happy about that, because he moved to block my path.
My brows furrowed when he nodded in the direction of a set of stairs leading to God knew where. I peered at him and caught something that looked like “Want to go…?” and gathered that this guy wanted me to follow him.
I raised my palm, cutting him off. I rarely vocalized, sticking mostly to signing or, when the situation called for it, typing notes on my phone or scribbling on a piece of paper. Speaking made me self-conscious, so whenever I preferred not to reveal my disability, I stuck to universal gestures to scare people off.
“But—”
This time I wrinkled my nose beneath my mask and flipped him my middle finger. The message was clear enough to send him running, and I breathed a sigh of relief.
Pulling my shoulders back and raising my chin, I strode to the bar and perched myself on a stool. Tonight I was prepared to do something reckless, dangerous, and stupid. I’d make sure Nikola knew that being deaf and a mafia princess sat at the very bottom of what made meme, and I didn’t appreciate being reduced to such qualities.
I was a woman with needs, and it was high time he saw that.
However, he didn’t see me as such. Much like the other men in my life—Papa, Sasha, Uncle Vasili, and Alexei—Nikola never saw my strengths, he focused only on what made me different and the ways in which I needed protecting. He didn’t see my persistence or determination, my resilience.
He definitely didn’t see my craftiness; otherwise, he’d have been in the bouncer’s ear earlier, sending me back from where I came.
And to make matters worse, I’d started to like Nikola somewhere along the way. Infatuation was probably not the right term, but it was close. It was becoming a nuisance, this crush.
I couldn’t pinpoint when or how it happened. Maybe the day he saved me from the bullies. Or maybe even before that. I just knew that Nikola had always been my safe haven. Yes, Papa and Sasha always had my back, but they also instantly resorted to putting me into a protective bubble. Not Nikola. He gave me all the freedoms while ensuring nobody fucked with me.
I’d grown up around Nikola. We circled each other at dinners, family events, parties, school. What I did know for sure was that he thought he always needed to save me, but would never let me do the same for him. As if my hearing impairment made me weak. Or maybe it was all in my head.
I didn’t like this feeling, like I wasn’t enough. I’d worked too hard on accepting myself, flaws and all, to be sidelined by a guy who didn’t deserve me. And I knew better than anyone what requited love looked like—I’d grown up around it.
Branka and Sasha—Nikola’s aunt and uncle—remained a large part of my life. My mama was a surrogate for them, birthing Damien, who I considered my baby brother. In fact, the entire Nikolaev family was closely intertwined with ours whether my papa liked it or not.
Despite seeing Nikola all the time, he never really gave me the time of day. We’d had very little to do with each other, so when our paths did cross, it was a bittersweet experience that only worsened as we got older.
