Chapter 29 Chapter Twenty-nine
Elena's POV
"Are you expecting someone?” I asked, turning toward Nikolai, who was finally decent.
He looked just as startled as I felt. His brows pulled together as he stared at the door, as if the fellow was already standing behind it, and then he slowly shook his head. “No.”
That answer only made my frown deepen. My gaze flicked between him and the door, unease curling in my stomach. This house was enormous, isolated, guarded but the sound of that bell made everything feel suddenly fragile. And to think I was in the home of a notorious gangster. Then my mind races, hoping it's not Rafael. Then again, why would he come here? I didn't tell him; I was with Nikolai, and I don't think he had gotten to the mansion and realized that I wasn't there.
Then realization hit him.
“Damn,” he muttered under his breath.
I blinked. “What?”
He rubbed a hand over his face, exhaling sharply, tension easing from his shoulders. “Food. I ordered food earlier. Completely forgot.”
The relief I felt was embarrassingly strong.
“Oh,” I said, letting out a small breath. “That explains it.”
He straightened, visibly pulling himself together, slipping back into that controlled, composed version of himself before he grabbed his gun, which was lying on the dresser. My brows furrow.
If it's just delivery service, why does he need a gun? “Stay here,” he said, already heading toward the door of his room.
“I’ll come with you,” I replied without thinking.
He hesitated, glancing over his shoulder at me, then nodded once. “Alright, but stay by my side.” I nodded
We walked side by side down the hall, neither of us speaking. The silence wasn’t heavy exactly but it was aware. Like the house itself knew what had happened earlier and was holding its breath along with us.
He opened the door, accepted the neatly packed food bag from the delivery driver, exchanged a brief word, then closed the door again. Simple. Normal. Yet when he turned back toward me, something in his expression was still tight.
In the dining area, he set the bag down and began unpacking it, movements efficient but stiff. Plates, containers, and cutlery. He avoided looking at me, and I noticed the way his jaw clenched slightly, the way his shoulders stayed just a little too rigid.
He wasn’t comfortable.
And suddenly, I was tired of that. He didn't have to feel so uncomfortable simply because I walked into him jerking off.
“Nikolai,” I said gently.
He paused, his fork hanging midair.
“You know, you're overthinking it.”
His hands stilled. Slowly, he looked up at me. I understand the feeling but he is taking it too far. Fine, I walked into him jerking off, but I don't think it's a big deal.
“We’re even,” I continued, forcing a small smile. Like a practice one. The type Shannon would put up, to ease the tension. “You don’t have to keep replaying it in your head.”
He stared at me as I’d just said something outrageous. “Even,” he repeated.
“Yes. You know what I mean.”
He snapped his head fully toward me now, disbelief clear on his face. “So I should just assume we’re even because I saw you nude… and you saw me nude?”
I shrugged, heat creeping into my cheeks despite myself. “When you say it like that, it sounds dramatic. But… yes. No big deal. C'mon, we see nude men and women every day, on the street, on TV, and even on our phones. So cut yourself some slack.”
For a long moment, he just studied me.
Then something in his expression shifted. The tension loosened. His shoulders dropped slightly, and the corner of his mouth twitched.
“So,” he said slowly, “you’re… cool?”
“As ice,” I replied, lifting my chin in mock confidence.
He let out a quiet breath, half laugh, half surrender, and nodded. “Alright.”
Just like that, the air felt lighter.
We sat down to eat, the conversation cautious at first, then gradually more natural. The food was good, comforting, and familiar, and I realized how hungry I’d been. Being angry had let me forget to feed the monster in my tummy. Even when I try to be prim and proper, the uncivilized side of me keeps crawling to the surface. I was expecting him to comment on my poor eating habits, but he didn't. One thing I noticed he did was keep offering me napkins; at least he wasn't shouting at me. Unlike Rafael, who could be irritated with just a piece of food hanging on the side of my lips.
Rafael always says I make a mess of myself when I eat and that I eat like a starving homeless child.
But with Nikolai, I didn't have to worry about it. Every now and then, our eyes met across the table, and each time it felt less awkward, more normal.
When we finished, Nikolai gathered the plates and stood. “I’m going to turn in,” he said. “Long day.”
I hesitated. “I don’t feel like sleeping yet.”
He paused, considering. “Then… do you want to see something?”
I followed him up another set of stairs, curiosity replacing fatigue. When he pushed open the final door, cool night air rushed toward us.
The rooftop.
The city stretched out below, lights glittering like scattered stars. The breeze tugged gently at my hair as I stepped forward, awe settling in my chest.
“It’s beautiful,” I whispered.
“I come up here when I can’t sleep,” he said quietly. “Or when my head won’t shut up.”
We stood side by side, leaning against the railing. The silence here felt different comfortable, shared.
I glanced at him. “Can I ask you something?”
“Elena…”
He said my name softly, suddenly tense.
I smiled at him. “Relax. I’m not going to ask why you jerked earlier.”
“Elena!” he groaned, burying his face in his palm.
I giggled. “Stop. It’s not funny. It’s embarrassing.”
“You’re the one making it embarrassing,” I said, folding my arms across my chest and giving him a teasing look. “All I said was Can I ask you a question? ' and your mind went straight there.”
“My mind wasn't thinking that,” he admitted, trying and failing to steady his voice.
“Shit,” he muttered, shaking his head. “You are something else.”
I caught the smile he tried to hide as he looked away.
“I know,” I said lightly. “Has anyone ever told you that you have a really nice smile?”
He tilted his head toward me, a smug grin spreading across his lips.
“Are you flirting with me?”
I laughed and lightly hit his shoulder.
“Don’t want to die young. I wouldn’t want your girlfriend coming after me. What is her name again?”
He stared at me, completely unreadable.
“Come on,” I pressed. “Tell me.”
“I told you, I don’t have a girlfriend.”
“You’re lying. The godfather said you do.”
“And you believe him?”
“Of course I do,” I said, grinning. “And you know you do too. So remind me of her name.”
I reached for his waist and tickled him.
“Stop, Elena.”
His voice dropped, low and warning.
“Oh right,” I said innocently. “I remember now. Gianna. That is the name of the hot girlfriend of the mafia boss.”
“Elena!” he said again but this time he was laughing.
I loved the way my name sounded on his lips. It sent butterflies straight to my stomach. I watched his face soften as he laughed. He is very handsome more handsome than Rafael. I know I shouldn't be comparing the two of them. If ever there is anyone I should call hot, it should be Rafael, not Nikolai.
“So,” he said, eyes glinting, “you think I’m hot?”
I leaned lazily against the railing.
“You are hot. Hotter than Rafael.” The words slipped out of my lips without warning.
“Wow,” he said, clearly pleased. “Hotter than Rafael?”
I nodded. “So yeah. You’re a good catch.”
“So you think I’m A good catch?” He winked at me, flexing his chest playfully, and I giggled.
“You’re trying to change the topic,” I said, laughing.
“I’m not.” He denied
“If you’re not, then tell me,” I said. He laughed throwing his head back. His laughter filled the rooftop. “Come on, tell me.”
“Fine.” He sobered slightly. “Gianna isn’t my girlfriend. She’s just someone I go to when I need to…”
He pressed his lips together. “You know.”
My eyes widened as realization hit. I smacked his chest playfully.
“You’re a bad boy.”
“Hey,” he protested, “now you’re judging me for telling the truth?”
I bit my lower lip.
“I’m not judging. It’s just that...”
“You want me to say she is my fiancée, that I love her, and we’re heading for a happily ever after?” He paused, then added, “What would you rather hear: the truth or lies?”
“Yes,” I said quietly. “I would.”
He nodded.
“Good girl,” he murmured. “So what did you want to ask?”
“You’re really going to answer?”
“Depends,” he said, pulling a cigarette from his pocket and lighting it. He took a deep drag, exhaling smoke into the night air.
“Why do they call you Draco?”