Chapter 150 Chapter 150 The Green Door
I sit at the back of their room. I don’t need to be close. Vince spots me anyway—of course he does. This red dress stands out like a fucking signal flare. I sip my drink, watching him undress her.
And I feel…nothing.
Even with the alcohol, even with the weed softening the edges of everything, there’s just this hollow space inside me. The little bursts of desire I’ve had lately—those flickers—they’re gone again. Temporary. Nothing sticks. Nothing stays.
It feels like it all died with Nick.
Will I ever feel anything real again?
Vince is bare. She’s bare. He drops to his knees, burying his face between her legs. Wet sounds fill the room, echoing off the walls. She moans, gripping his hair, pulling him deeper.
I sit there and wait.
Wait for something to hit.
Anything.
Nothing.
After she comes, he lays her down, climbing over her slowly, kissing up her legs, over her stomach. A child I’m supposed to raise grows inside her. The thought should hit harder than this.
Vince glances up mid-kiss.
Our eyes lock.
Vladimira grabs his head, forcing his attention back to her, and then he pushes inside her.
Still nothing.
He looks incredible fucking her—he always has. He knows exactly what he’s doing, every movement controlled, deliberate. From this distance, detached, he looks like a fucking god, pulling sound out of her like it’s his job.
“Damn, he looks good,” Tish says, dropping into the seat next to me.
I didn’t even notice her come in.
My whole row starts to fill—one by one, the girls take seats around me. Gemma and Tiana are the only ones missing.
“Are you okay?” Tish whispers.
“I feel nothing,” I admit quietly.
Vince cuts right through our conversation.
“Elle, join us?”
I blink at him.
He’s lost his fucking mind.
I shake my head. I don’t care how high or drunk I am—that’s a line I’m not crossing. What happened to all that talk about respect? About Nick? Should’ve known better. It’s Vince.
He turns to Tish.
She doesn’t hesitate.
Of course she doesn’t. She’s always loved the way he fucks her. She slips down there with them like it’s second nature. Mia glances at me, giggling softly.
I smile back. I know that look.
Petia moves beside me, her hand brushing lightly against my arm. There’s something in her eyes—curiosity, maybe more. She leans in, pressing soft kisses to my neck.
Oh.
She’s into me.
I don’t know how I feel about that.
She’s beautiful, no question. But I’m not looking for that. Not tonight. Not like this. Her lips are soft—but cold. The kisses feel empty, like everything else.
She pulls back slightly, studying me. “Nothing, huh?”
I lean into her just enough to answer. “Nope.”
She stands, offering me her hand.
Something in me says go.
So I do.
We make it back to the bar, grabbing drinks before taking seats. It’s still packed, still smoky, bodies pressed too close together. I don’t see anyone from our group.
“Where did the feisty girl go?” Petia asks, watching me over the rim of her glass. “The one who yelled at Dimitri in front of all his guys?”
Italy.
That feels like another life.
“That girl grew up,” I say with a shrug. “She was in love. Now she’s just bitter. Broken.”
Before she can respond, a familiar warmth settles at the back of my neck. A large hand, soft but firm.
I close my eyes for a second.
I know that touch.
I’ll always know that touch.
“Cousin, are you hitting on Elle?” Dimitri’s voice cuts in.
My eyes snap open. Of course. This fucking family.
“I failed,” Petia says lightly, sliding off her chair. “She’s got it bad. Hasn’t moved on at all.” She smiles. “I saw a Mediterranean place nearby—open all night. We should get food soon.”
“She’s right,” Dimitri says, taking her seat. “We should eat.” Then, softer, leaning in close—too close—his lips brushing my ear. “You having a good night? Watching you whip that cop, call him a pig… fuck, you got me all twisted up.”
I can’t stop the smile that spreads across my face.
Until I see Ivan across the bar.
Two women flanking him, trying to get his attention.
I turn back to Dimitri immediately.
“Why would you tell my father about… the three of us?” I lower my voice. “Our… dynamic?”
“He asked,” Dimitri says simply. “He already knew. They want it. All of us. Together.” His eyes flick toward Ivan.
“I’m not enough for Ivan,” I snap.
I know Ivan can read lips. I catch him rolling his eyes.
“He was angry. He didn’t mean it,” Dimitri says. “Are you ever going to forgive him?”
I raise my glass toward the bartender for another drink instead of answering.
He already knows.
“Why did you ask Mason about the ‘mess’?” he presses, leaning closer.
I shake my head. That’s not his. That’s mine.
I slide off the stool, downing my fresh drink in one go, and push through the crowd toward the exit.
I need air.
Outside, I lean against the building, trying to steady my breathing. My Pavlovs follow, of course they do. I light another joint. Tomorrow is going to be hell.
Everyone else trickles out behind them.
“When are you going to stop pouting about the stupid shit I said?” Ivan snaps. “Stop acting like a child.”
That does it.
That fucking does it.
He ripped me open and watched me bleed—and now I’m a child?
Anger hits fast. Sharp. Unstoppable.
“Move!” Sergey barks.
Too late.
I swing with my right hand—he catches it.
“Idiot,” Sergey says, amused.
But my left comes out of nowhere.
It connects hard, snapping Ivan’s head to the side.
“She’s a lefty when she fights,” Alek mutters.
The guys snicker.
Ivan doesn’t.
He’s holding his face, eyes dark, furious in a way I’ve never seen before. His hand shoots out, fingers wrapping around my neck.
Not where they should be.
Not safe.
His grip tightens.
I see Alek grab Sergey, holding him back.
Dimitri pulls his gun.
“Let go of her,” he says coldly, pressing the gun to Ivan's gut. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
Ivan drops his hand immediately.
Just like that.
He looks…defeated.
“Did that make you feel better, you pussy?” I snap, stepping back. “Feel like a big boy now?”
I shove him.
Then shove him again.
I’ve completely lost it, pushing him harder each time, daring him—waiting for him to snap.
Because it would take nothing.
Absolutely nothing—for him to kill me.
Nothing feels better than pushing someone as big as Ivan over the edge.