Submitting To The Devil - The Devil's Snare - Book 2

Chapter Thirty Five

Bianca

Our first proper fight after marriage entailed with me opposing Niko's need to protect me from coming along on his mission as Dimitri had stated I should.

It was heartwarming, even if I was creating distance where I definitely didn't want it.

I won, though, if that's something to be proud of.

I dressed in a little black dress supplied by Sven, an extension of Dimitri, that hugged my every curve, while Niko was dressed smartly in a suit. I hung on his arm as we were escorted to a private dining table in a back room that did nothing for my nerves at the most expensive restaurant chain on the mainland.

This is evidently where all the mafia eats, though, because soon after our arrival, other guests filled the room, dining with beautiful women and good-looking men. Everyone around us spoke in every language except English.

Italian, Russian, and even Lithuanian.

I could string a few conversations together with the few words I knew of those languages. Most weren't worth my efforts to decipher them, though, as most of the men were only appreciating the women's bodies around us, of whom were drugged up to their eyeballs and barely coherent at all.

"You shouldn't be here," Niko whispers to me as he brings his glass to his lips. He's drinking a beer, something that screams less sophistication than any of these men's pinkies. I tried to talk him out of ordering it, but he smirked and told me to be unapologetically myself.

"You can protect me," I whisper back in encouragement. In honesty, I was praying he could do that because I felt somewhat vulnerable.

"Never said I couldn't."

"Then what are you worried about?" I murmur through a sip of my own white wine.

He looks at me with adoration first and then sweeps his attention around the room while remaining facing me; I follow his gaze only to meet a couple of others, all men, of course. This deeply unsettles me as the weight of their gazes reaches into my soul and bones.

"Oh," I frown.

"Yes, oh, that's why."

"Would you like to keep me locked up for the rest of our lives? Shall I live in a country manor behind a perimeter wall surrounded by hundreds of men to keep me in with Emma as Luca wishes her to whilst popping you out, kids, whenever my body deems it suitable?"

He frowns, and yet I can see that he's not opposed to locking me up to keep me out of danger. God help me; I have an uphill battle to keep us happy.

"Don't tempt me, and for that matter, don't make me see Luca's point of view. Emma won't be too pleased that I've changed stances on her freedom."

I chuckle, which is the biggest mistake I've made since sitting down in this room full of my enemies. Each set of eyes turns my way with appraisal. Niko stiffens instantly, his hatred seeping from each pore he owns. I can almost smell the warning he's shedding in an attempt to get them to move their gazes. They don't, so I must buffer his hurt, ensuring we ignore the men around us.

"I'm sorry," I begin.

"Don't apologise for being yourself; it's my problem. I'll have to learn to ignore the heads you turn with something as simple as your laugh," he grimaces. "Or murder them, both or equally good choices."

"Let's not make more enemies than we can count, Niko."

"I think we have more than we can count already," he fails to smile with his joke.

"Perhaps I do, but you? Absolutely not," I disagree.

"This job has made me more enemies than I'd like to admit, Bee. All in the name of helping Dimitri with something he sees as a burden."

"Your mains," the waiter annoyingly interrupts us. He places two bowls of pasta before us, beef cooked perfectly and sliced on top. My mouth waters as I thank him quietly, reaching for my fork with fervour at having a real fillet of beef.

Again, I feel the weight of each gaze around the room. Are they seriously waiting for me to eat so they can perve on me some more?

I push aside my discomfort and begin to eat. My mind replays our conversation, and I get the intense feeling of needing to push Niko on the subject of his private work. What's their deal, anyway?

"There she is," I note, seeing one of Ivarni's sons holding onto a girl's bicep. She looks far from in perfect condition. Despite ample make-up, there's a noticeable darkened mark around her lip as evidence she's been maltreated unacceptably. Her blonde hair screams fake, especially against her tanned skin, and she looks highly dishevelled.

Niko tips his beer up, and now I see why he ordered a drink with such a big glass. His movements are half hidden by the fact that he's drinking, but of course, he looks back their way as I try to place the girl's face.

Her name is in the back of my mind, yet I struggle to recall it or who she is. But I recognise her, thats for sure.

"That's her alright, always dressed for others to enjoy," he spits angrily. Bringing my attention from her face to her skimpy gold dress.

"Huh?"

"They always have their girls dressed in derogative ways. Call it a type of sampling before their customers buy them. You see the goods, you want the goods."

I hate how he talks about her; I have the perfect view of this girl. She seems nervous.

But where I haven't, she's a girl, most likely with a family, someone to call her own. I look from her to Niko to see he's thoroughly assessing me and my reaction rather than looking at her.

He's trusting my judgement of her appearance; we're working as a team as instructed.

"She's hurt, a bruise covered by concealer," I reveal, ignoring his comment about her appearance.

"I didn't mean that to come across as derogatory. It's simply the truth. When their man walks in, they want to sell her as easily and quickly as possible. These changeovers usually take moments. So they need to show off the 'goods' with as little effort as possible. It also helps that women walking around in clothes worthy of the bin is second nature in this life."

"I hate that you're referring to a girl as the goods, Niko. Something we need to discuss..." but even with saying that, I can completely agree the skimpy dress does pack a punch by showing off her every asset, minus of course, except for her vagina. Not that men truly care about the appearance of a vagina, even I know any hole is a fucking goal where a man is concerned. Only women worry about their looks, in honesty.

My breath and sentence are taken away when I note Benjamin Desnsel entering the room at the far right. He's Franko's youngest brother, who is only seventeen. We've met a few times. I don't really know him, but from what I've seen of him, he's very reserved and eagerly quiet around others.

"Shit," Niko swears as I fume at the Densels having anything to do with this interaction. My gut instantly warns me that's the case, which isn't good.

Will Franko walk in and start something when he sees us, or worse yet, is their father here?

"What's he doing here?" I whisper quietly to defer my gut feeling that he will buy the girl tonight.

Niko's face betrays the fact that he knew he would be here, something I want to admonish him for but can't bring myself to. I'm shaking, yet his presence doesn't alarm me as much as his fathers might've. Then again, I'm flabbergasted when Benji sits at the Ivarni's table.

"Niko," I state with alarming exhaustion.

"I know it complicates things, but I need you to concentrate. We need to get her out of here before he leaves this hotel with her. I spent too long talking to you."

"Oh, so this is my fault?" I hiss.

"No, mine. I usually create a scene before the buyer arrives."

Nodding, I acknowledge that I did have Niko distracted and half the men in here, for that matter. And then it dawns on me.

I'm the only other lucid woman besides this girl. Do they think I'm for sale, too?

"So what do we do?" I ask, but I don't receive an answer; Niko just stares at his lap unwaveringly.