SKYE
A Month Ago
The Den of Sin Club, New Orleans
I loved New Orleans and took advantage of any opportunity to spend time here, especially because it was Nikola’s home. Although I wouldn’t admit that to anyone else.
I was visiting Sasha and Branka with the excuse that it was Halloween.
Truthfully, I didn’t need an excuse. The Nikolaevs were my second family, my adoptive family before my birth parents found me.
Sasha and Branka, as well as the rest of the Nikolaev family, made it clear that I’d always have a home with them.
So I visited often. When traveling back to Italy was too long for short holidays or days off, I’d come here.
New Orleans flashed its color like a mask, hiding a city steeped in secrets, sin, and the kind of thrill that left a mark. My papa—the formidable and slightly unhinged Dante Leone—thought so too.
Hence why he despised my presence here.
My relationship with my family was complicated to say the least, made even more so by our history.
I loved my parents, but I also loved my other family—the Nikolaevs—who were my adoptive parents for three short months.
My life before the Nikolaevs adopted me was foggy.
Sometimes a memory flashed through a thick curtain, but before I could cling on to it…
poof. It was as if my life began on the day that Sasha and Branka adopted me.
Like I said, complicated.
Standing on the aged cobblestone in the heart of the French Quarter, my eyes scanned the Welcome to The Den of Sin sign fastened to the door that led to all types of salacious happenings.
My face was hidden behind the harlequin mask, so I wasn’t at risk of being recognized.
Many patrons chose to wear masks, and my reasons for this particular one were rooted in my Italian ancestry.
I’d always been fascinated with commedia dell’arte and resonated with its representation of the poor, misunderstood Harlequin.
My outfit, on the other hand… There was no chance of anyone misunderstanding. The pink strapless dress, lace bodice, and a ruffled white tutu paired with pink pumps screamed promiscuous .
Papa would blow a gasket if he knew I was out dressed this way, and so would Sasha. It would probably be the only thing those two larger-than-life men agreed on.
The door to the club opened and the heat from inside beckoned me, as did vibrations from a loud bass I couldn’t hear. The bouncer at the door did a double take, causing my heart to trip over itself, before I got myself together and handed him the VIP invitation I’d stolen from Sasha.
I didn’t even feel guilty about it either . He wouldn’t need it, what with the romantic evening he had planned with Branka. Not unless Damien ratted me out, but again, I knew he wouldn’t. My brother was a lot of things, but a snitch wasn’t one of them.
The bouncer’s lips moved, but I didn’t need to read them—I took his nod and the hand he swept to his side as a sign that I was allowed in.
Oh my gosh, it worked.
The thought derailed me as I strutted my Salvatore Ferragamo heels past him, making my way toward the bar of the most popular club in New Orleans. My eyes darted left and right, trying to soak it all in.
The place was darker than I’d imagined—steeped in decadence, swathed in red velvet, the very embodiment of sin.
The music shook the neon light hanging above the dance floor, and judging by the beat reverberating the floor and the way people were moving, it was something sultry, seductive.
The dance floor wasn’t large by any means, but that came as no surprise. The Den of Sin wasn’t exactly known for dancing. The room boasted mirrored walls, and despite it, there were quite a few couples sequestered in alcoves and tucked away in corners, their hands feverishly exploring.
If I squinted, I was sure I could spy a fair few people having full-blown sex.
The brunette next to the hallway leading to the restrooms bounced on her man’s lap as he sat reclining on a chaise lounge.
Thankfully, her vintage costume hid their shamelessness from view—although they didn’t seem affected by the onlookers gawking at them.
There were people who gesticulated wildly, deep in meaningless conversation, where they sat on red leather stools by the long black-marble bar.
I smoothed a hand over my outfit, resisting the urge to touch my mask while I scanned my surroundings for my victim.
Nikola Nikolaev.
The asshole had underestimated me today. He made it clear that I was blacklisted at his father’s club for no other reason than that I was a “fragile, sheltered mafia princess”—his words. There was nothing fragile about me.
I knew there was more to Nikola’s whole overbearing protectiveness, but I could never figure out what.
Nikola treated me with indifference dipped in disdain. Whenever I was around, he barely acknowledged me, often straight up looking past me. Like I didn’t even exist.
I’ll prove to him he won’t have a choice but to see me , I thought smugly.
A man appeared next to me, but I ignored him. He must not have been happy about that, because he moved to block my path.
My brows furrowed when he nodded in the direction of a set of stairs leading to God knew where. I peered at him and caught something that looked like “Want to go…?” and gathered that this guy wanted me to follow him.
I raised my palm, cutting him off. I rarely vocalized, sticking mostly to signing or, when the situation called for it, typing notes on my phone or scribbling on a piece of paper.
Speaking made me self-conscious, so whenever I preferred not to reveal my disability, I stuck to universal gestures to scare people off.
“But—”
This time I wrinkled my nose beneath my mask and flipped him my middle finger. The message was clear enough to send him running, and I breathed a sigh of relief.
Pulling my shoulders back and raising my chin, I strode to the bar and perched myself on a stool.
Tonight I was prepared to do something reckless, dangerous, and stupid.
I’d make sure Nikola knew that being deaf and a mafia princess sat at the very bottom of what made me me , and I didn’t appreciate being reduced to such qualities.
I was a woman with needs, and it was high time he saw that.
However, he didn’t see me as such. Much like the other men in my life—Papa, Sasha, Uncle Vasili, and Alexei—Nikola never saw my strengths, he focused only on what made me different and the ways in which I needed protecting. He didn’t see my persistence or determination, my resilience.
He definitely didn’t see my craftiness; otherwise, he’d have been in the bouncer’s ear earlier, sending me back from where I came.
And to make matters worse, I’d started to like Nikola somewhere along the way. Infatuation was probably not the right term, but it was close. It was becoming a nuisance, this crush.
I couldn’t pinpoint when or how it happened.
Maybe the day he saved me from the bullies.
Or maybe even before that. I just knew that Nikola had always been my safe haven.
Yes, Papa and Sasha always had my back, but they also instantly resorted to putting me into a protective bubble.
Not Nikola. He gave me all the freedoms while ensuring nobody fucked with me.
I’d grown up around Nikola. We circled each other at dinners, family events, parties, school. What I did know for sure was that he thought he always needed to save me, but would never let me do the same for him. As if my hearing impairment made me weak. Or maybe it was all in my head.
I didn’t like this feeling, like I wasn’t enough. I’d worked too hard on accepting myself, flaws and all, to be sidelined by a guy who didn’t deserve me. And I knew better than anyone what requited love looked like—I’d grown up around it.
Branka and Sasha—Nikola’s aunt and uncle—remained a large part of my life. My mama was a surrogate for them, birthing Damien, who I considered my baby brother. In fact, the entire Nikolaev family was closely intertwined with ours whether my papa liked it or not.
Despite seeing Nikola all the time, he never really gave me the time of day. We’d had very little to do with each other, so when our paths did cross, it was a bittersweet experience that only worsened as we got older.
I twisted slightly on my stool, doing my best to be discreet as I peered around, and it didn’t take long for me to zero in on the man I’d come to see.
I watched Nikola move through the club confidently, looking at ease among the eclectic crowd.
Which was fair, considering he owned it.
Or, at least, his family did. His muscled body, etched with so much ink there was hardly any skin left unmarked, flexed with each stride.
I vowed a long time ago that I would study every inch of him and memorize every tattoo on his skin. Maybe that would finally happen today.
He didn’t bother with a Halloween costume, opting for a white muscle shirt, black jeans, and a pair of combat boots. His pale blond head shone beneath the multicolored lights that flickered above us, but it was his eyes I craved. They were the palest of blue, reminding me of a tropical oasis.
He turned toward the hallway in the back and I almost tumbled off the stool in my haste to follow. My heart strummed erratically as I rushed after him, pushing past strangers and staff without so much as a sorry.
I crept down the hallway bathed in red lighting, bracing my hand against the rough wall. Nikola had disappeared, but he couldn’t have gone far.
I ran my fingers along the endless row of padded leather doors, not daring to find out what lay beyond them.
I’d heard whispers that members could rent them for hours at a time, and something told me I wouldn’t want to witness the goings-on.
My money was on kink marathons, but I’d kept those thoughts to myself.