Ava
There’s only one word I can use to describe the sinking feeling that settles in the pit of my stomach, twisting in my gut, sharp and unrelenting, as it grips tighter around the muscle before releasing it and finding its way upwards to my chest where it sinks it’s vicious claws into the beating organ that resides behind my ribcage.
Dread.
Dread is the only word I can use to describe the feeling that surges through me at the sight of Nikolai leaning against a black BMW in my school’s parking lot. One of his hands is shoved into the pockets of the dark leather jacket he’s wearing, the other loosely holding a cigarette. He takes a drag from it, and I watch as faint puffs of grey smoke curl upwards before hitting the dark lenses of the sunglasses on his face and disappearing into the afternoon air. Dissipating like a ghost around him.
He is wearing a fitted white dress shirt with the sleeves casually rolled up to just below his elbows, showcasing his forearms and tattoos for anyone within a two-mile radius to see.
From the corner of my eye, I see two girls whispering and giggling to themselves while stealing glances in his direction. If things were different between us, I probably would’ve been among the group of adoring girls hoping to gain the attention of the hot mysterious stranger who doesn’t look at all bothered in the slightest by all the attention he’s getting.
But it isn’t.
Don’t get me wrong, I am very aware of the level of attractiveness Nikolai possessed to us mere mortals but that doesn’t mean that I am immune to the shivers that dance along my spine whenever he’s near.
He sees me almost instantly and the hand around my heart further tightens as he removes his sunglasses and casually slips the accessory into the collar of his shirt, his gaze now fully on me, sharp and assessing.
My breathing shallows as the storm behind those forest green eyes I’d grown accustomed to over the last couple of days, latches onto me, the fury behind them undeniable.
Pissed would be an understatement to describe the way he was looking at me, enraged would be too simple of a word.
“Who is that?”
Cara’s voice cuts through the fog Nikolai’s presence has caused in my brain and I snap my eyes towards her. The corners of Her nose are slightly wrinkled as she looks between me and Nikolia.
Shit, I forgot she was still there.
“Huh?” I respond, my voice coming out hoarse as I quickly glance back at my redhead best friend, who looks partially disturbed by my inability to put together a sentence.
“He’s been looking at you all weird and shit since you got here, and you’ve also been looking at him all weird and shit since you got here. Do you know him by any chance?”
Sometimes I forget how perceptive Cara can be.
Since she has never met Nikolai I don’t expect her to guess who he is immediately. A Lot of the people in the parking lot, including the girls who are still gawking in his direction, have probably never seen him before. His presence here doesn’t stir the same reaction as it would’ve if it were Antonio or Alessandro in his place. While the Moretti’s have already made their mark as one of the most feared groups in Chicago, The Russian mafia was still somewhat new to the scene, especially since Nikolai, the estranged heir of it all disappeared three years ago.
“It’s – um- I”
Cara’s expression slowly morphs into one of realization as she takes in my dishevelled response.
“That’s him isn’t it?” She asks and my reaction to her question is all the confirmation she needs.
“Holy shit, He is hot”, she adds, her eyes widening as she takes in the shrouded figure that is my husband leaning against a car, looking only slightly unbothered now.
I side-eye her, not knowing whether to feel annoyed or embarrassed by her words, and she shrugs nonchalantly.
“What? It’s the truth” she says, shoving her hands into the pockets of her jacket.
“He isn’t supposed to be here.”
I say, and I feel the claw around my heart sink further. How the hell did he find me?
I was sure I covered all my tracks when I left this morning.
Getting up at the ass crack of dawn for someone that isn’t a morning person isn’t exactly how I wanted my morning to go, but it had to be done.
I was ready at exactly five fifteen this morning because I knew that around five twenty, the night guards would be switching shifts with the day guards, and it would give me the perfect opportunity to sneak out through the service entrance undetected.
I used the service entrance because it was the one place in Nikolai’s mansion that didn’t have a camera or motion sensor installed and wasn’t exactly guarded. Since Cara so kindly agreed to wait for me at the end of the street outside the estate, getting to school was not a problem.
Everything had gone great and I thought I was in the clear. I thought I had won, but now, seeing him there, standing in the parking lot with that cold, calculating gaze of his fixed on me, I realize how stupid I was to underestimate him.
He’s the head of the Russian Mafia, for goodness sake. How dumb was I to think that he wouldn’t find me if he really wanted to?
Apparently, very dumb.
“I don’t think he knows that.” Cara says, still looking at him, “He looks pissed”, she says, and I swallow.
If only she knew.
“Are you going to go over to him?” She asks and I hesitate. Every instinct in me screams at me to stay beside Cara and pretend like I don’t see him but I know that’s impossible.
“I don’t think I have a choice,” I say. Nikolai is here, and something tells me that he isn’t going to leave until I am seated in the car with him.
“Why did I let you talk me into this again?”
I turn to my best friend who limply shrugs her shoulders, “Hey, don’t look at me,” she says, holding up her hands defensively. “I warned you not to go through with it if you weren’t ready. But you were the one who insisted you had to do it. Going on about how you needed to take back control of your life, or some shit like that.”
I squeeze my eyes tightly, exhaling sharply. She had a point. Cara had given me plenty of opportunities to back out last night while we were plotting my escape plan but unfortunately, I was too stubborn to back down.
I couldn’t back down. I missed school, I missed walking through the hallways and smelling the faint scent of oil paint and charcoal dust mingled with a hint of wood.
And more importantly, I missed art. I missed staring at a blank canvas until the burst of creativity was too much to contain inside me, and I unleashed it in the form of bold strokes and colours that didn’t always make sense but at the same time felt true at that moment.
I thought I could give it up but after today, after reliving every one of those experiences again, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to let it go again, not even if he says so.
“Oh, no he’s coming this way,”
I snap my gaze in the direction Cara’s pointing at and sure enough, Nikolai is throwing the butt of the cigarette onto the floor and stomping on it. He strolls towards us, each step measured, and he gets closer and closer; his eyes are fixed on me in a way that makes my heart stop beating in my chest.
He stops in front of me and I have to tilt my head back to meet his gaze.
His eyes lock with mine, then slowly drift down my body. He takes in every detail from the crown of my head to the curve of my top lip. His eyes trace my form, lingering on the red sweater I’m wearing, then moving to the green skirt that cinches at my waist before resting on the black boots that cover my feet.
Finally, he works his gaze back up meeting mine once more. The heat in his stare is unmistakable, making my skin prickle under the intensity of it all. There’s no mistaking the way he’s looking at me and I don’t miss the slight relief that crosses his features once he is finished with his appraisal.
The relief that flickers in his eyes causes my stomach to twist and I suddenly feel guilty for leaving in the first place.
“Hi” I squeak, and he blinks at me.
I wait for him to say something, but he doesn’t. Instead, he remains mute, with only the tick in his jaw serving as an indication of his anger.
“Say something” I demand softly. I’m not sure I like this part of him. Sure, I’ve made him angry before, countless times. But never, not once did he refute my tactics with silence.
I hate that he’s doing it now.
How worried was he when he found out that I was gone? Did he think something had happened to me? And if he did, was he scared by the possibility of me never returning?
I can’t tell.
But I have to admit, the thought of him being mad and restless with worry fills me with a surprising sense of satisfaction.
Why did the thought of him being worried about me make me feel so… happy?
I’m sure if I’d dwelled on that a moment longer, I probably would’ve come up with an answer but I didn’t.
Because the next thing I know, Nikolai tosses me over his shoulder, as if I weigh nothing, and the world is upside down.