Chapter 151 Chapter 151 Hot Anger
I am still fuming, the monster inside me clawing for air, still angry. My cousin separated us before I could do something worse than slap Ivan. Jax stayed back, holding me in place, his grip firm like he knew exactly how far I’d go if he let go. We talked—no, we fought. Words thrown like knives, some sharp, some poetic. Ivan has always been good with words. Sweet ones that pull you in, cruel ones that gut you. He knows exactly where to strike.
Even now, sitting here, I shake my head at what he said. Him and Dimitri, serious as hell, wanting me—together. Like I’m something to be shared. Passed back and forth like a fucking toy. I am not a toy. I don’t want to be shared. I don’t even understand how their minds work, how they can say that shit out loud like it’s normal.
His beautiful face is still red from where I hit him.
He’s sitting across from me now, not too close, not too far. Close enough that I can see every flicker in those eyes. Jax is on one side of me, Stanislav on the other, like they’re guarding something dangerous.
Like they’re guarding him from me.
Like I might lose my mind, jump across this table, grab the knife in front of me, and drive it straight into his chest.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
“Put the knife down and stop grinding your teeth,” my cousin orders, his voice cutting through my spiraling thoughts. “Elena was right. You and Ivan—same type of snake. You love and hate with your whole heart.”
I blink, realizing the knife is spinning between my fingers. I drop it onto the table with a quiet clatter.
Jesus.
I’ve lost it.
The anger came out of nowhere, fast and brutal, like something buried too deep finally clawing its way out. All the suppressed feelings, all the shit I never dealt with, it all finds him. Lands on him. Why? Why him?
I need therapy.
Or a fucking exorcism.
A laugh slips out of me, hollow and sharp. Get it together.
The server comes back with our food, placing plates in front of us. I barely look at mine before ordering a vodka on the rocks. Stanislav tries to intercept it, reaching across the table like he can stop me.
The glass hits my lips and I down it in one go. No burn. Nothing. It goes down like water.
The music shifts in the background. People start moving toward the small dance floor. The song hits hard—lyrics about a love triangle, messy, toxic, too fucking accurate. The singer basically tells someone to keep the asshole, like he’s a gift, like surviving him is the win.
How fitting.
Everyone gets up so fast I barely notice when the table empties out. Suddenly it’s just me and him again. Silence stretches between us, thick and charged.
Our eyes meet.
He smiles.
My jaw tightens so hard it hurts.
“Do you want to dance?” he asks, like we didn’t just spend half an hour fighting.
“I would rather eat razor blades.”
Ivan laughs, like I told a joke. “I am going to fuck the brat out of you tonight.”
“The only thing you’re fucking is your hand,” I shoot back.
“I love the fire in you,” he says, leaning forward slightly, voice dropping. “And I’m going to enjoy breaking you.”
I roll my eyes, stabbing my fork into my dessert. “That’s a lot of words for you. Don’t strain yourself.”
I dig into my baklava harder than necessary, like it personally offended me. Across the room, I spot Vince dancing with Vladimira. His hands on her waist, her body moving against his.
What the hell is that?
Do I even care?
I’m the one who pushed them together.
Ivan leans closer, his voice lower now. “Why are you this fucking mad at me? Where is this coming from?”
I don’t answer. I just look at him. Really look. I see it—the slight softening around his eyes, the tension he’s trying to hide. He masks it well, but I know him.
“It’s been a while since you got laid,” he adds, smirking, damn dimples showing. “A year, right?”
I laugh, sharp and humorless. “Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answers to.”
He leans back, unbuttoning the top of his dress shirt, slow. One button. Then another. My eyes follow despite myself, tracking every inch of exposed skin, every line of ink across his chest.
Fuck.
I cross my legs, trying to ignore the way my body reacts. The anger starts slipping, dissolving into something else. Something warmer.
I hate that he can do that.
I finish my dessert and signal for another drink. Gemma breaks away from the dance floor, Alek right behind her like always. They move as a unit, like they’re tethered together.
“Are you and the little mafia prince playing nice?” she asks, sliding into her seat.
I exhale. Ivan grunts. For a second, I almost laugh.
At least we agree on something.
“I see,” she smirks. “Well, that’s progress. I don’t know why you can’t make it work like Alek and I.”
There it is. Her favorite topic. Her perfect, fucked-up version of love. Open marriage.
My anger surges back, fast and hot. I force myself to breathe, slow, steady.
“You know what?” I mutter, already reaching for my phone. “I need a fucking vacation. Actually—”
Fuck all of you.
I pull up the airline website, fingers moving fast. First flight out tomorrow night. Booked. Then the train schedule—from Sofia to the village in the mountains. Two-hour wait. Fine. I can handle that.
Checklist forms in my head automatically. Clothes. Documents. Call my boss. Sky will understand—he always does.
“What did you just do to my cousin?” Stanislav asks as he and Tiana return, eyes wide. “Little Elena, why are you spazzing out?”
“I’m fine,” I say quickly, too quickly. “Booked a ticket. Checked train times. Made a list. I fly out tomorrow night. It’s what I need.”
“Where are you going?” he presses, something like concern flickering across his face.
“To my villa.”
“Where is it?” Ivan asks, his voice cutting through everything. Dimitri drops into the seat beside him.
Everyone slowly settles back at the table, the noise creeping in again. I ignore Ivan completely.
“She’s not going to tell you,” Stanislav answers for me. “I don’t even know. Our grandmother had it built just for her. It’s their secret place.” He looks at me. “No one else knows, right?”
I nod. No one.
I glance at Dimitri.
“She was going to take me there,” he says casually.
My stomach drops.
I see it in his eyes—he’s about to say more. Too much more.
“Don’t, Dimitri,” I warn, my voice sharp.
The Pavlovs laugh like it’s a fucking game. Dimitri joins them, leaning back in his chair.
“You don’t want me repeating your drunk girl secrets?” he teases.
“You won’t come back from it, I promise you,” I say quietly.
I don’t wait for a response. I pull cash from my purse and drop it on the table, the decision already made.