Chapter 139 Chapter 139 Turning 21
“How’s my boyfriend?” I ask Grant, tilting my head slightly looking up at him.
He laughs softly, the sound warm. “Ryan starts school this fall. First grade.” His face lights up when he says it. “He’s good, though. His mom’s been coming around more often.”
There’s something else there—something he wants to say—but he holds it back. This isn’t the place. His gaze softens, lingering just a second too long before his hands settle on me, moving with the rhythm.
Heat sparks under my skin.
I fight it.
Don’t lean into him.
I don’t.
But he smells amazing, and that gray suit fits him just right, hugging his frame in a way that makes it hard not to notice.
“Are you single, Grant?”
He spins me smoothly, pressing my back against him, his chin resting on my shoulder.
“Sure am,” he murmurs. “You looking to be a step-mom?”
I laugh, the sound surprising even me.
Am I?
“Maybe,” I say.
Grant rolls his hips into me, and—
Yeah.
That’s… a lot.
Before I can react, Mason cuts in. Grant catches my hand, pressing a quick kiss to it before stepping back as Mason takes his place.
My eyes flick, involuntarily, toward the booth where Ivan and Dimitri are sitting again—back with Vladimira.
Fuck them.
Assholes.
The thought hits me hard and fast—do they take her together like they did with me?
Jesus, Elena.
Stop.
But I can’t help it. The memory flashes, sharp and vivid, sending a slow, delicious shiver down my spine.
At least it’s something different than thinking about Nick.
Shut up.
Dimitri is staring at me now, his gaze sharp—almost angry.
Mason pulls me closer, arms wrapping around me, pressing me flush against him again.
What is this, some kind of audition?
“I thought you didn’t dance,” I say, raising a brow.
“I don’t,” he admits, grinning. “But you’re worth making myself look like an ass.”
I take him in—really look this time. No tie, his dress shirt open just enough to reveal that deep olive skin. My eyes close for a second as memory takes over—the feel of him under my fingers, his lips, his body, the way he moves when there’s nothing between us.
Everything.
“Hey,” he says, voice dropping, “we should have that talk. You wanted to ask about…”
“Yes,” I say, suddenly sober for a second. “I want to know what happened.”
“Shit… your father walked in,” he blurts, panic flashing across his face.
It’s almost jarring, seeing a man like Mason crack like that. Makes something twist in my chest.
What the hell did they do to him?
My eyes dart to the entrance.
And there he is.
My father.
Taking up space like he owns the air around him, Illia Sr. beside him.
“That’s Ivan and Dimitri’s dad,” I say quickly. “The mafia boss. My godfather.”
The word feels ridiculous even as I say it.
Godfather.
My father’s eyes lock on me—and he does not look pleased.
Mason’s hand comes up, warm and large, cupping my cheek as he searches my face. For a second, I want to kiss him.
Bad.
What the hell is wrong with me?
“Tomorrow,” he says quietly. “Afternoon. My place?”
I nod.
He doesn’t hesitate—just turns, grabs Grant, and disappears into the crowd.
I turn to leave too, needing space, needing air—but a hand grabs my wrist and yanks me back.
I slam straight into Sergey.
I glance over around him at Mike. He lifts his glass toward me.
I shake my head.
“Sergey?”
“Elena.”
“Why are you here?”
“I told you,” he says, grinning as he glances toward Ivan. “God, I love this view. That asshole over there looking sad in a club.”
Sergey leans in closer. “I’m here for you. I love you. I always have. And I know things changed, I know… but tell me you don’t think we can get back to that sweet spot.”
“I know we can,” I say, steady. “I just don’t know if I want to.”
My eyes sting—I can feel it.
“I’m here,” he says softly, placing his hand over my chest.
I push it away.
The look on his face—almost heartbreak—flickers there for a second before his hand comes up, cupping my face as he leans in.
I turn my head.
He kisses my cheek instead.
Then—
A sharp throat clear.
“Move, Federov.”
Dimitri.
I step back as Sergey’s fists clench, his knuckles whitening.
“Which one of you assholes is cutting in?” he spits.
“Both,” Ivan answers, stepping into view. His voice cuts through everything—low, velvety, dangerous.
I roll my eyes. “That’s enough. I’m done.”
I try to walk away.
Sergey shifts, but Ivan grabs my wrist—too tight.
I swing my free hand, aiming to slap him, but Dimitri catches it mid-air.
Our fathers watching.
“Let me go,” I snap, my voice sharp. “Or one of you is getting a foot straight to the balls.”
They laugh.
“I would like to see you try, dushichka,” Ivan snaps.
They pull me between them, closing in—too close, way too close. Hands on my hips, bodies pressing in. More hardness.
Friends. Family. Their father. My father.
Our fathers.
Laughing.
I glance over.
They really are.
What the hell?
“My dad loosened up his grip on me,” Dimitri says casually.
Good for you.
I don’t say it out loud.
“How do you explain this?” I demand, motioning between him, Ivan and I.
He hesitates for half a second. “Ah… I might have talked to him. And your dad. Maybe I mentioned our… relationship dynamic.”
My hand flies to my mouth.
What.
The.
Fuck.
They both step closer.
He told them?
He told our fathers about the three of us?
I’m going to be sick.
Why has my father not killed me?
Without thinking, I shove them both back and slap them—hard.
“We do not have a relationship dynamic,” I snap. “Fuck off.”
I turn to leave again—
And run straight into Jax.
“If you’re going to lecture me, don’t,” I warn immediately. “I’m not in the mood. I just want to go home.”
“What’s wrong, doll?” he asks, easy but watchful. “Too many guys hitting on you tonight? We’ve been watching the show.” He gestures toward his brothers.
They all wave.
Like children.
I can’t help it—I laugh.
“I just wanted to check in,” Jax continues, his tone softening. “I heard about your friend. The one you were close to. Ivan said you took it hard.”
I should know better.
It’s Jax.
But something about the way he says it—gentle, careful—it gets through.
“I’m fine,” I say automatically. It slips out before I even think about it.
He gives me a look.
“Yeah. I’m sure you say that to everyone,” he says quietly. “But if you ever need to talk… I’m here. Me and my woman. Anytime. I’ll text you—I got your number from Taylor.”
“Thank you,” I say, meaning it.
He pulls me into a hug—the kind that lingers, the kind where he doesn’t let go first.
“Anything for you, doll.”
Then he glances over my shoulder and smirks.
“You might want to get out of here. The knuckleheads are coming back—and they’re still holding their faces.” He laughs.