The Edge of Light ✔️

Chapter Twenty Eight

E L E N A

Unfortunately that moment didn't last as long as I wanted it to.

When the invitation from my father came, I knew something was off. It was a simple note, hand-delivered by one of his men, inviting Nikolai and me to dinner at the estate, claiming to have news. My father had always been distant, his relationship with me strained since I married Nikolai. He hated the Volkovs, had made it clear on more than one occasion, and the idea that he wanted to have us both for dinner? It didn't sit right with me.

Nikolai read the note over my shoulder, his jaw tight as he handed it back to me. "He's up to something."

I couldn't disagree. Antonio Rossi didn't make gestures like this. Especially not ones that involved welcoming Nikolai. My father barely tolerated his existence. The only reason he hadn't tried to get rid of him yet was because the Volkovs and the Rossis kept a fragile balance of power in the underworld. But for him to want Nikolai there? That felt like a warning.

"Do you think it's a trap?" I asked, the unease in my chest building.

Nikolai's lips thinned into a hard line, his eyes unreadable. "We'll be prepared either way."

We had to go. Saying no to my father would raise even more bad blood. But as we drove to the estate that night, my nerves refused to settle. Something about this felt wrong—like we were walking into a setup, and I couldn't shake the dread curling in my stomach. I glanced at Nikolai from the passenger seat, his face impassive, but I could tell he was on edge too. He hadn't said much since we left the house, which was a bad sign in itself. I knew he was on alert because there were more guards with us than usual.

When we arrived at the estate, the sprawling mansion loomed under the moonlight, just as grand and imposing as I remembered it. The memories of growing up here weren't necessarily bad—they were just distant. This was never a home; it was a fortress. And tonight, it felt more like a cage.

The moment we stepped inside, the tension became suffocating. My father's men stood around the perimeter of the house, more than usual. It wasn't lost on me—or on Nikolai. His hand rested lightly on my back as we were led into the dining room, his body coiled like a spring ready to snap. His other hand never left the gun strapped under his waistband. Oddly they had let him bring it inside with him.

Father was waiting for us at the head of the table, his dark eyes flicking between Nikolai and me. His expression was calm, but I knew him too well. There was something simmering beneath the surface.

"Elena. Nikolai." He gestured for us to sit, his voice smooth but clipped, like he was forcing pleasantries for the sake of appearance.

"Father." I nodded as I took my seat, my fingers gripping the edge of the table, trying to steady myself. I found Emilio's eyes on the other end of the table and he gave me a warm smile–which I returned–before he turned stone cold upon seeing Nikolai.

Nikolai sat beside me, his presence a constant source of tension in the room. My father's gaze lingered on him for a beat too long, the air between them thick with the weight of unspoken threats.

The dinner started quietly, the clinking of silverware the only sound in the room. My mother wasn't there, which wasn't surprising. She rarely got involved in these things, leaving my father to handle 'family matters.' But that made it worse somehow—like she knew to stay away from whatever was going to happen tonight.

"So," my father began, setting his wine glass down with a soft clink. "I wanted to discuss the future."

Nikolai's eyes flicked to him, cold and calculating. "What about it?"