A Treacherous King- Dark Mafia Romance

fourteen

Maeve

I am awoken to the sound of a woman screaming. I sit bolt upright my heart slamming against my ribcage. I am instantly hit with a wave of dizziness. I wait for the spell to pass and then swing my legs over the side of the bed.

It's dark in the room. The only light provided, is by a slight sliver of moonlight peeking through the closed curtains. I reach over and feel around for the light switch on the lamp beside the bed.

I stand up slowly, feeling a rush of wooziness overtake me. I catch myself on the end of the bed waiting for the nausea to subside. When it does, I make my way to the door and peek out into the hallway.

It's empty, but I can hear the anguished cries of the woman more clearly now. Nadia. She's distinctively angry. Yelling at someone downstairs in Russian. Her voice, dipped in agonizing rage, is echoing throughout the entirety of the house.

As I make my way down the stairs, I quickly realize it's Caine Nadia is yelling at. They're both standing in the foyer, Nadia is slapping at his chest. Tears streaming down her face like sheets of rain. The pain so raw in her voice, it cracks my heart open a little. For a split second I wonder what she could be so upset over and then it hits me. Simon.

Two pairs of eyes lock on me. I realize too late that I had said Simon's name aloud. A gasp escapes from Nadia's lips.

"Maeve!" She rushes up the stairs towards me and grabs me by the face examining me. I realize I must look like death warmed over. I never washed my face and neck from when Caine had taunted me in the garden. My hands. They were covered in Simon's blood. Nadia was taking all of this in with a look of horror.

"Oh God!" She sobs. She whips around and points an accusing finger at Caine. "What did you do to her?" I've never seen her so angry before. She's visibly shaking with rage, all directed at Caine.

Before he can say anything I speak up. "I'm okay Nadia."

"Did he hurt you?" Her voice softening.

I glance down at Caine. He's watching me from the bottom of the stairs intently, his gray eyes unwavering. His arms are crossed over his broad chest, his legs set apart. His face a mask of stone half coated by darkness.

"No." I release on a breath. I glance away unable to look at him any longer. "Simon...is he..." I trial off.

A big tear rolls down Nadia's cheek. I reach up and swipe it with my finger. "He's okay." Nadia says, brushing my matted hair behind my ear. I release a pent up breath of relief.

"Come on. I'll help you get cleaned up." Nadia says ushering me back upstairs to my room. I glance behind me to see if Caine was still watching us, but I only find the foyer empty.

Nadia draws me a bath and helps me undress. I don't protest, I'm too tired to do anything. My modesty forgotten in the chaos that was tonight. Nadia scrubs my hands and face, ridding me of any lingering blood. She massages my scalp with shampoo and lathers me with honey and lavender soap.

She dries me off and helps me into a short satin camisole nightgown. The material is cool on my freshly scrubbed, hot skin. By the time I'm out of the bath and back in bed, the tightening of my chest has loosened a little. Its like the bath cleansed a part of my ailing soul. Nadia lays beside me, her green eyes bloodshot and puffy from crying.

"Caine told me what you did for Simon. He said you saved his life." More tears well up in her eyes. "Thank you Maeve. He would not still be here with me if you hadn't done what you did." She reaches for my hand and squeezes it.

The minutes of me trying to restart Simon's heart were some of the scariest in my life. It was like I was a tether attempting to keep Simon anchored to this world as I pumped his chest and breathed air into his lungs. The relief I had felt when I could feel a faint pulse had felt nothing short of a miracle.

Nadia's fingers were laced with mine, her eyes growing heavy. I couldn't imagine the pain she had felt at the prospect of losing her twin brother. I couldn't imagine it. I hadn't had any siblings growing up. I had never felt the love and bond that siblings like Nadia and Simon share. I always felt so alone. I always wondered what it would be like to have a sibling to shoulder the burden my life had brought me. Or rather the people in my life had brought me. I had shouldered all of it alone.

Eventually Nadia drifts off to sleep, her grip on my fingers loosening. I try to find sleep, but it won't come. My mind was still wired from the events of tonight. I had been put through a literal nightmare, I realized. Not even given a choice, but thrown into a war that didn't involve me nevertheless.

Things could have ended so differently. I could have been shot. Simon could have died. Whoever it was that attacked Caine's men could have taken me. I've had a glimpse of what Caine is capable of. I'd hate to know what his enemies were capable of.

Sleep was definitely not in the cards for me tonight. The thought of laying here any longer makes my skin itch. I decide sneaking down to the kitchen and grabbing me something to drink and possibly eat might not be the worst idea.

I tiptoe down the stairs and make my way through the foyer towards the kitchen. The house is dark and impossibly quiet. I don't dare flip any lights on, instead I use the moonlight filtering in through the bay window above the sink to navigate my way around.

I open a cabinet beside the sink and retrieve a drinking glass. Then I ease the fridge open scavenging for any signs of food. I find a carton of milk and what looks like a cup of uneaten yogurt on the bottom shelf. I tuck them into my arm and make to close the fridge.

I gasp when I am met with the sudden appearance of a figure standing right behind the refrigerator door. I almost drop the contents in my arms, catching them right before they hit the ground. Caine. He's watching me reproachfully in that unnerving manner of his.

Normally I would cower and allow him the upper hand, but I'm hungry and sleep deprived and I'm angry at him for subjecting me to a gun fight tonight. So I huff and turn on my heels and sit the milk and yogurt on the counter.

I notice a banana in a fruit bowl and I grab it too. I lift myself onto the tall barstool and dig into my food. Caine stalks over to the direction of the sink and grabs himself a glass from the cabinet. He reaches into another another cabinet, one filled with liquor and retrieves a bottle of bourbon. He sets his glass on the bar directly in front of me and pours himself a glass.

I try not to make any eye contact with him. The interaction is strange enough as it is. He leans across the bar, his toned biceps straining against his black cotton t-shirt. I realize that this is the first time I'm seeing him in anything other than his dapper suits.

He's got on plaid flannel pajamas pants and socks. The thought of him wearing normal clothes like pajamas to sleep in was hard to imagine. Not that I ever imagined what he might wear to bed that is.

He swirls his glass around while raking his gaze over me. I pretend to not notice as I peel my banana and take a large bite out of it. He's too close for my comfort. I have spent an unprecedented amount of time with him tonight and it was starting to fuck with my head. The silence stretches on as I feel my eye starting to twitch.

"Are you planning on pressing me into any dark corners tonight? If so, please allow me to finish my banana at least." I sound spiteful even to my own ears. He stares at me resolutely, shadows dancing across his angular face. His silence is deafening, his gaze causing me to squirm on the stool.

"Where did you learn to handle a gun?" His question takes me aback.

"What?"

"You handled my gun like someone who had used one before. How did you learn?"

His question unintentionally brings up old memories that I'd like to just forget but simply can't. My chewing of the banana slows as he patiently waits for my response.

I realize I don't have to tell him anything about my past. He's not privy to anything that happened to me before him. He doesn't have to know where the scars on my heart came from.

After all, he hadn't done anything to earn my trust. It was a piece of my life that fit into a lot of other jagged pieces. Ones that still stabbed me where it hurt.

Those types of memories were better kept buried.