Page 44 of Marrying the Mobster
“It’s nice,” I say nonchalantly.
Diego doesn’t get the chance to reply, because we’re suddenly surrounded by people wanting a word with us. I spend the next several hours smiling, sipping champagne, and making small talk. Diego and I separate at some point, him gathering with the men and leaving me in the company of the women. I do my best to answer questions about the wedding details and keep from looking as annoyed as I feel.
Dinner is served and I eat light, my stomach too upset to handle much food—even if it’s some of the best I’ve ever tasted. The party goes into full swing once the meal is finished, and everyone heads for the dance floor. Of course, Diego leads me through several dances, surprising me with how skilled and graceful he is. But then, I shouldn’t be surprised. I haven’t yet discovered a thing that the man is bad at. It wouldn’t be annoying if he weren’t also so good-looking and hung like a fucking horse.
After hours of champagne, I whisper to him that I need to use the restroom. He directs me to a side door leading to a set of bathrooms and tells me to hurry back. While I make my way there, I start turning over various plans of escape in my head. I’m determined to get out of this house come hell or high water. If caught, I’m prepared to die for it. I no longer have anything else to lose.
I linger in the bathroom for several minutes, pacing the floor and trying to figure out which of my plans has the best chance of success, and thinking over all the ways each one can go wrong. None of them are foolproof, but each one is better than passively accepting my fate.
I’m halfway back to the ballroom before I spot a sliver of light from a door farther down the hall. The murmur of a male voice comes from beyond it, speaking a foreign language. As I edge closer, I recognize the voice as Viktor’s, but the language isn’t Russian. It isn’t Spanish either, which makes me curious about who he’s talking to, and whether all mafia men are multilingual. In their line of business, it would certainly make sense.
Sure enough, when I peek through the crack in the door, I find Viktor pacing the floor and talking on his cell phone. Diego’s warning about Viktor echoes in my mind, and I can’t ignore it. When the scariest man I’ve ever met tells me I should be afraid of another scary man, it makes sense to listen.
I’ve just decided to go back to the party when Viktor glances up and notices me hovering in the doorway. A wolfish smile spreads across his face, and he says a few more terse words in the foreign language before ending the call.
“Elena,” he purrs, motioning for me to come inside. “I’m sorry to be so rude, leaving your party like this, but the call was important.”
I take a step into the room but leave the door hanging open in case I need to make a quick exit. “It’s no problem. Honestly, I wouldn’t blame you if for needing a break. The parties and events, all the mingling and smiling … it’s exhausting.”
Viktor laughs, taking a few steps closer to me but keeping a safe enough distance. Apparently, Diego’s threat was taken seriously. “You must really love Diego, to put yourself through all this for him.”
I hold his gaze, answering the clear challenge in his words. “I do. He’s worth it.”
Viktor’s smile is knowing, like he knows I’m lying through my teeth. “Well, I shouldn’t hold you up. Wouldn’t want your fiancé to get jealous. Not that I fault him for it. If I had such a precious jewel in my hands, I would want to protect it, too.”
I’m just about to accept the out he’s given me and run, when my gaze falls to the phone in his hand. He’s had it out this entire time, idly spinning it in one hand. Suddenly, my rudimentary plans don’t seem good enough. Not without assurance that I’ll find help once I’m off this island.
“Actually,” I reply, coming farther into the room and pushing the door behind me. It doesn’t close all the way, but it’s enough to make me feel safe from intrusion. “Do you mind if I use your phone? I left mine upstairs and I just need to make a quick call.”
Viktor doesn’t seem to find my request odd, and I nearly cry with relief when he extends the phone to me without question. “Of course. Anything for the lady of the house.”
The phone is unlocked, and as I open the keypad to dial Tracy’s number my hands begin to shake. I feel like I’m going to faint from the shock of how easy this is. I haven’t touched a phone aside from the messages Diego has allowed me to send, and here Viktor has just placed one in my hands—a lifeline, a way out.
I never get to dial. Just before I do, a crashing sound scares me nearly out of my skin. I jump and spin, the phone clattering to the floor as I find Diego and two of his men filling the doorway.
My fake fiancé looks a lot like the man I first met those few months ago, his face tight and strained with fury, his bulky frame seeming to eclipse the light and take up all the space in the room. His eyes are black and glittering as he glares at Viktor, then sets his sights on me.
“What’s this?” he says, his voice giving no hint to the rage I see sparking in his eyes. “Here I was worried that my fiancée wasn’t feeling well, and when I come to check on her this is what I find.”
Viktor is oblivious to the danger we’re both in, striding forward to scoop up his phone. “Relax,moy drug. Your lady only asked to use my phone. Nothing happened.”
Diego is staring at me now, ignoring Viktor and choosing to pin me to the spot instead. I’m trembling, fear smothering the confidence I started the evening with. There’s no way out of this for me, and we both know it. It might have been better for Diego to find me naked and straddling Viktor rather than catching me with a phone in my hands.
“Elena has her own phone, and she can use mine if she needs to make a call,” Diego says without taking his eyes off me. “Get the fuck out of my house. I don’t want to see your face again for the rest of the night.”
Viktor scoffs and rolls his eyes but obeys without argument. He’s smarter than me, knowing not to rattle a pissed-off tiger’s cage.
“Elena has a headache and needs to go lie down,” Diego says to his men. “Escort her to our room and make sure she stays there.”
Even with no one else around to witness this, he’s talking as if everything that’s happening here is normal. As if he’s really sending his sick fiancée off to bed. I can’t stand it.
“Diego.”
“Be quiet,” he growls. “Don’t say a word right now, or you’ll make this worse on yourself. Go upstairs and wait for me. I’ll deal with you when I’m ready.”
A quick flash of defiance shoots through me, but I smother it. I’ve never seen Diego like this, not even the night I tried to shoot him. He’s at his most frightening when containing the monster behind the thinnest veil.
Without a word, I follow the men into the hallway. The music and laughter of the ballroom fades away as we walk toward another door that leads into the main part of the house. Being out of Diego’s sight offers me no relief. If anything, it spikes my anxiety higher not knowing what’s coming and when to expect it. For all I know, Diego plans to finish out the party, passing around the lie of my headache.
