Page 120 of Bleed with Me

The creepy, tall house gave me goosebumps. Everywhere I looked, darkness stared back. But then I remembered where the brothers grew up. The estate their mother built would make Dracula come in his pants.

“I’m vigilant,” I corrected him, secretly wiping my sweaty palm into my long burgundy skirt.

Lucas brought me clothes and news about the Carlile family. Unfortunately, he found nothing useful, only reports of losses at high-stakes poker tables.

“It’s going to be fine.” Dorian placed a hand on the small of my back and leaned closer. “Zyon is in a terrific mood. Malin couldn’t have set a better date.”

“Why?” I asked, suspicion hitting me like a wave. Ruthless crime bosses weren’t happy often.

“Can’t tell.” Dorian smiled cryptically. “But we need to use this opportunity and persuade him you’re not a threat.” He kissed my cheek gently and pushed me toward the front door, guarded by a deadly Cane Corso and two men who looked like butchers in suits. “You’re not a threat, right?”

“Oh, c’mon.” I rolled my eyes, ignoring the cramps in my stomach. “I’m not going to blow up this house with a bomb in my bag.”

“Well, that’s comforting.” He grinned, nodding to greet the guards.

While he shook hands with them and asked about their day, I stepped into the spacious entry hall that flowed seamlessly into the living room. Black dominated the space. A gothic sofa and matching armchairs surrounded a black marble fireplace, while charcoal-colored walls and a staircase in the same dark shade stretched toward the upper floor. Behind the seating area, a floor-to-ceiling glass wall overlooked a perfectly manicured garden and a fountain illuminated by soft lights. The whole place looked like a shrine dedicated to bad moods.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if he slept in a coffin,” I mumbled under my breath. I lightly touched the armchair's backrest; the leather felt cool against my fingers, soothing my tense nerves. My body was in fight mode, every muscle ready to throw punches and kick my way out of here.

“Aaaaaaah.”

A high-pitched scream almost made me jump out of my skin. My hand instinctively went for a knife attached to my thigh when a girl sprinted inside the living room, her long curly hair flying around her head, and her grey eyes darting behind her.

“Run!” she yelled at me. “Before he sees you!”

“Who?” I asked like an idiot, searching her face for clues.

“The monster!” She pointed with her index finger toward the door she had just dashed from, another scream flying from her mouth. I blinked, glancing at the man in all black with a zombie mask covering his face, unimpressed.

“Uncle Dory!” the girl squealed, breaking my staring contest with the man in the mask.

“Hey, princess.”

I turned around just in time to see Dorian spin her in his arms. She laughed like crazy, her giggles bouncing off the walls while I momentarily lost myself in admiring Dorian’s behavior around her.

He was such a natural with kids. Whether with the blonde girl he saved at the hospital or this one, the same happy smile possessed his lips.

Oh, fuck. I loved seeing him this happy.

“Nina.” Dorian interrupted my thoughts as he set the girl down. “This is Zara. My niece.”

“Oh, you’re Kellerman’s kid,” I blurted out without thinking, realizing too late the absurdity I'd let slip. Dorian froze, but my attention was stolen by the little girl whose steel-grey eyes threw daggers at me.

“My name is Zara Christina Zhumagulov,” she said with an unmatched confidence for a seven-year-old, shocking me even more than my own stupidity. “But you can call me Miss Zee.”

She stretched her tiny arm toward me for a shake, her brows lifting slightly when I didn’t take it right away.

“Nina,” I said, introducing myself and shaking her hand. “Nice to meet you.”

Zara flashed me a polite smile and let go of me. Stepping aside, she peeked behind me at the man in the mask.

“Was it good?” she asked expectantly, eagerness reflecting on her beautiful face. Gone was the steely gaze and severe expression. She was the little girl again.

“Perfect,” the man replied, lifting his mask. Exactly as I thought, the same face as Dorian’s was hidden under it, and by the emotionless expression, I would bet my money that it was Malin.

“I’m going to tell Mommy,” she chirped, running toward what I assumed to be the entrance to the kitchen.

“Are you teaching her to freak people out?” I asked, my eyes drifting between the two identical men. Dorian shrugged, smiling innocently, while his brother wore his perfect stoic facade.