Total pages in book: 148
Estimated words: 147734 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 739(@200wpm)___ 591(@250wpm)___ 492(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 147734 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 739(@200wpm)___ 591(@250wpm)___ 492(@300wpm)
It’s been years since I last saw him—four, to be exact—and it’s as if time is still trapped in the nooks of that humid, drafty, and absolutely miserable cave.
On second thought, it’s not.
He’s taller now, still taller than me, and he’s grown ridiculously bulky—as big as Nikolai, who loves building muscle for sport.
Seems Yulian has gone down the same path as Niko. His muscles are so defined, he’s about to rip out of his white shirt.
While all men here, including me, are dressed in suits or tuxedos to fit in with the upscale event, Yulian’s only wearing a white shirt with the first few buttons open, and black slacks that frame his tall legs. His hair falls in haphazard strands on his forehead, making him look every bit a gangster.
In reality, so am I, but I dislike the stereotype he’s embracing so openly.
“Please come in, come in. This is a lovely surprise.” Donatelli is personally leading Yulian to one of the tables opposite me. We have two tables between us, but I track his movements as he flops onto a chair, an arm flung over the back and his legs stretched out in front of him, the usual grin on his face, the same boredom in his blue and brown eyes.
“I wasn’t expecting you, but it’s my honor you’re able to make it to my humble restaurant.” Donatelli grabs the menu from a staff member who looks to be sweating.
“My father sends his regards along with the basket of…delicacies.” He winks at Donatelli, whose eyes widen.
Yulian wasn’t supposed to be here.
Of course he wasn’t.
This is as far away from their backyard as possible. It’s like if I were to show up at an important restaurant opening in Chicago uninvited.
It’s wrong.
Everything about Yulian is wrong.
“Hon?”
I’m jerked back to my table as Danika frowns. I release her hand as slowly as possible, realizing I’ve probably been tightening it in my grip the entire time.
“Yes?” I smile and have to physically stop my gaze from straying behind her, to where a huge complication has dropped in like a bomb.
“Can you order me tiramisu for dessert? I’ll go to the ladies’ room real quick.”
“Will do,” I say absentmindedly as she stands up.
Danika rounds the table so that she’s standing beside me and drops a kiss on my cheek. “You’re the best. Love you.”
“Love you, too…” The last bit gets stuck in my throat because I’m being targeted.
It’s not with weapons or anything similar, but a set of contrasting eyes that are zeroing in on me—Yulian’s.
His gaze is sharp enough to cut; all of his grins have vanished and so has his easygoing demeanor. He’s sitting upright in his chair, his body warring with tension as he stares.
No.
Glares.
What the…
As Danika sashays away, he stands up. I sit taller in my chair, holding his gaze with a glare of my own as I communicate.
Stay the hell away from me.
I still despise Yulian Dimitriev, maybe even more than before he took a bullet for me.
After the cave, I downright loathe the guy.
I hate him with every fiber of my being.
So I’ve always been glad we’ve never had to cross paths again, considering the major fallout that happened between our fathers following the attack.
But deep down, a part of me knew we’d eventually have to meet again.
In theory, it’s better that this is happening in my territory so that I have complete control over the situation.
Now, if my muscles would stop tightening with every step he takes toward me, that would be terrific.
I could just stand up, walk away, and not talk to him, but that would be no different from running away, and I don’t do that.
Not anymore.
Yulian stops by my table, his fingers resting on the white cloth, and I catch a hint of a tattoo that looks like a wing on the slope of his thumb and sliding to the inside of his wrist.
He taps his index finger twice, his hand looking thicker than I remember, veins stretching on the back of his hand and disappearing under the rolled cuff of his shirt.
I try to look away, but he’s right in front of me, his presence seizing my entire attention. His black slacks contrast against the white drape as he taps his fingers on the table again, right in front of my plate of unfinished gnocchi.
“Why, hello, stranger. Long time no see.”
I stab my fork into the gnocchi but don’t bring anything to my mouth as I crane my head back to look at him.
His face definitely looks older now, having lost all the boyish traits that still lingered in his features four years ago. He looks positively menacing.
Not to me, but in general.
Yulian used to have a quiet type of beauty, even if his presence was loud as hell. Now, even his looks are striking.