85. Chapter 85

85

Dimitri

3 months later

" Suka , that's the tenth one today," I hiss.

I spit the gum wrapper to the side, adding it to the growing pile beside my chair. "Nicoblock," or whatever the hell it's called, this gum's supposed to help me quit. Instead, it's got me chewing like a damn cow while the sting of nicotine withdrawal gnaws at my insides.

Hell, I'd trade it all for a cigarette right now, but promises were made—Alex's big blue eyes staring up at me, asking if I could "stop making the stinky smoke."— Yeah, that promise.

THWACK!

The sound of a fist striking flesh, followed by a groan of pain, pulls me out of my thoughts.

I glance over, seeing Oleg charging forward, fists raised, his face twisted in frustration. Erik's laugh rings out, light and mocking, as he dodges another blow.

" Blyat ', stop jumping around like a fucking grasshopper!" Oleg growls, his voice carrying across the gym.

"Come on, Oleg, you can do better than that," Erik taunts, his feet barely touching the ground as he moves, always one step ahead. "Or are you really just that slow?"

"Shut your mouth before I break it," Oleg snaps, swinging a heavy right hook. Erik ducks, slipping out of reach, his grin infuriatingly wide.

WHIFF!

Erik dodges, weaving like a damn cobra, a sly grin on his lips. Oleg's fist crashes into air, and the guy's fury skyrockets. His face is blood-red, jaw clenched, eyes crazed with rage, lips pressed in a razor-thin line.

I snort. "Oleg, stop trying to punch his head off and go for the gut," I call out. "The bastard's too quick for you to hit up top."

Oleg grunts in response, shifting his stance, his eyes narrowing at Erik. Erik, of course, keeps up his shit-eating grin. "Aw, come on, D. Where's the fun if he doesn't try?"

"Fun?" Oleg spits the word out like it's poison, lunging at Erik again, his movements tighter, more focused. "I'll show you what fun really is."

"That's the spirit," Erik says, ducking another swing; quicker than a goddamn cheetah on crack, he steps in close, jabbing Oleg in the ribs and dancing back before Oleg can retaliate.

I chew another piece of gum, the taste still bitter but at least it keeps my jaw busy. I watch them fight as I stay planted in my seat.

"Don't even think about stepping in." I can hear Wren's voice in my head, bossy as fuck and hotter than hellfire. She knows how to make my dick stand at attention with just a look.

She's right.

My body's not ready yet, not after everything. Besides, I promised Alex. Today, we're hitting the trails, my boy and I. Just me, him, and the horses.

No more brawls, no more black eyes.

I glance at the ring, at the fists flying, the sweat and grunts and adrenaline crackling like electricity, and something's different.

It doesn't pull me the same way it used to.

I don't feel that rush, that need to jump in and dominate, to put someone on the ground and feel that sharp satisfaction. Instead, I feel… hollow ?

Like something's missing from it all. And then I think of Alex, his little laugh, the way his tiny hands grab at mine when he's excited. The way he looks at me like I'm someone he can count on, someone he's safe with.

It makes me… softer. But not weak.

Soft in a way that brings peace instead of chaos. A kind of warmth I've never known before, one that makes the violence feel empty, pointless. I never thought I'd be the kind of man who'd trade a fight for a day with a kid, but here I am, chewing this goddamn gum instead of throwing punches because I promised.

Maybe it's because I've started to realize there's more than this. More than fighting for the sake of it, more than violence just to feel something.

My lips curve up, my heart swelling at the thought of my boy.

The kid's got a way of changing things without even knowing it. A promise to ride horses shouldn't mean more than stepping in that ring, but somehow it does. Somehow, I'd rather be out there, seeing Alex's face light up, feeling that small, unexpected warmth in my chest.

"Focus, Oleg!" I shout, more to pull myself away from those thoughts than to help. Oleg swings, his face a mask of frustration, barely missing Erik's smug grin.

Erik winks at me, narrowly avoiding another punch. "I'm always playing, D."

"One day, Erik, that mouth of yours is gonna get you killed," I mutter, shaking my head. He laughs, but I catch a flicker of something more serious in his eyes before he turns back to Oleg.

I chew the gum, the taste sour now, but I keep chewing. For once, I'm content to watch, to let that thrill stay distant.

Maybe I'm changing.

Suddenly, Erik bounces right in front of me, his breath ragged but his grin wider than ever. I blink, taking half a second to process the fact that he's standing here, smirking, while Oleg is flat on his back in the ring, cursing up a storm.

"Did you just take down Oleg?" I stare at him.

Oleg is a fucking mountain of a man—raw power and muscle. But Erik… Erik's got the brain. And to win a battle, you need both. He always calculates each move like it's a goddamn chess match, a smug bastard who knows he's five steps ahead.

" Blyat' , that was pure luck," Oleg growls, getting up slowly, wiping sweat from his forehead. Erik just shrugs, looking every bit the asshole that makes Oleg want to wring his neck.

"Oh, luck, sure," Erik drawls, bouncing on the balls of his feet, his eyes flickering with that cocky glint. "Or maybe I just know where your slow ass is gonna swing next, Frost."

WHAM! Erik slams his heel into the mat, mimicking the movement he used on Oleg. The take-down was smooth, precise—a kick to the back of the knee, a twist, then down went the big guy. I shake my head, a laugh rumbling in my chest.

"You cheated, didn't you?" I ask, not really needing an answer. I know him too well.

Erik puts his hands up, mock surrender, the smirk never leaving his lips. "Me? Cheat? Come on, D, where's your faith in me?"

I snort. "Faith, my ass. You cheat every time."

Oleg climbs back into the ring, glaring daggers at Erik. " Durak, " he mutters, giving Erik a not-so-gentle shove.

"Alright, alright, chill," Erik laughs, stepping back, his gaze slipping back to me, still amused but suddenly more focused. He leans against the ropes, looking at me, his grin shifting into something almost… curious. "Speaking of cheating… How's that new role treating you, D?"

"What role?" I grunt, even though I know exactly what he's getting at.

He tilts his head, gray eyes twinkling with that dangerous mix of curiosity and amusement. " Papa Dimitri ," he says, "Three months in, and look at you. Chewing gum instead of breaking bones. Soft, but in a cuddly bear way."

"Fuck off, Erik."

He laughs, that irritating cackle that only Erik can pull off. "Yeah, yeah, but seriously—look at you. No fights, no chaos. Riding horses with your boy instead of smashing heads in. You're going soft, man. Next thing I know, you'll be putting John in a nursing home."

I chew the gum harder, the bitterness almost comforting. He isn't wrong. Wren agreed to send the old man to rehab—he can't walk without the chair now, so at least that's one less thing to worry about. The bastard's getting clean. Maybe.

"Actually, this whole papa thing… isn't too bad," I say, the hint of a smirk forming as I push myself up from my seat. "You should try it yourself sometime." I crack my knuckles, the sound echoing in the gym. "Oh yeah, I forgot—you have a runaway bride." I toss the words over my shoulders.

The suka just flashes me a smile, like he's unfazed by my insults. Hair perfect, teeth gleaming, he steps out of the ring like he's stepping into a goddamn ballroom.

I spit the gum into the bin next to me, my jaw aching from all the grinding. Erik peels off his gloves, mouthpiece clinking as he tosses it onto the bench. He reaches for a water bottle, takes a long gulp, and wipes his mouth on his arm like he's been for a casual afternoon stroll.

"Yeah, and when I find her," he starts, looking right at me with that cocky grin that makes me want to throw something at his head. "She'll get her punishment . Lucia di Fuoco ." He pauses, letting her name hang in the air. "Little runaway heir of the Angeli di Fuoco crime family."

I snort. "Yeah, I remember. Didn't think you'd still be obsessed with her."

Erik's expression shifts, eyes darkening as he looks down for a beat, then back up at me. "Because no one runs away from my proposal," he says. A bead of sweat slides down from his temple, and he wipes it with the back of his hand, that damn smirk already forming again. "Besides. Why not ? She's the last one standing for the Angeli di Fuoco. Chicago outfit. Big legacy, lots of enemies. Daddy's dead, thanks to Uncle Aleks."

Lucia di Fuoco, I remember her name. A jewelry designer. Thirty-four this year. Living her life without the blood, without the noise. But Erik's not gonna let that last. He'll drag her right back into the fire. No doubt.

"And you're gonna make her your wife?" I snort. "What? You planning on wearing suits and going to jewelry expos next, Erik?"

Erik barks out a laugh, stepping closer, leaning into the ropes. "Nah, D. More like dragging her back by her hair, reminding her exactly what her last name means." He winks, that twisted humor in his eyes. "Then maybe I'll put a ring on it if she's lucky. But first, she's got a lot to make up for."

Typical Erik.

Never letting anyone see past that wall of his. He's serious, though—I know it. He's not just talking. He'll find her, and she's gonna learn what kind of man Erik Volkov really is. She's no princess, not anymore. Not with him.

I shake my head, spotting Oleg stepping out of the shower, his glare still fixed on Erik. I nod at him, then wave Erik off with a flick of my wrist.

"You want a round, too?" Erik throws me a smirk, leaning back, his hair still perfect, not a bead of sweat on him. "I promise I'll go slow."

I snort, standing up. "Not today, brat . Got more important things to do."

Like keeping a promise to a little boy who means more to me than this damn ring.