Chapter 5 - Chapter 5: Grounded and genuinely screwed

💜Nicole

I collapsed onto my ridiculously soft, oversized bed, instantly burying my face in the pillow. I didn't crawl to it; I mentally executed a dramatic, slow-motion dive, aiming for maximal impact. I swear I felt a residual headache from the sheer volume of trouble I'd just created.

Okay, plan:

1. Disappear. Flee the country. Change my name to something boring, like Brenda.

2. Go back in time and duct-tape my mouth shut the moment I saw Leonardo's "god who scheduled a layover on Earth" face.

4. Pray my father remembers he loves me more than he hates incidents happening when he is trying to secure an alliance.

5. Become a shrub or Pretend to be a ghost.

I bounced up and started pacing the Persian rug, muttering to myself. "I told him my father would have his head on his table! I pointed! I told him he was acting like God! And he was just... amused?!"

I executed a final, desperate flop onto the mattress. I really was magnificent at self-destruction.

Knock, knock, knock? No, more like BOOM, BOOM, CRASH. The door didn't just open; it was practically assaulted by my father's entry.

I scrambled up, trying to arrange my face into a look of casual innocence, a look that said, Me? Create trouble during an alliance deal? Never!

"Papa!" I chirped, smiling wide enough to blind him.

"Don't, Nikolayushka," he cut me off, the use of the pet name laced with heavy, frustrated Russian affection. He was furious, yet the fury was still fighting against the protective instinct. He took a heavy, looming step into the room.

(Nikolayushka: His nickname for Nicole)

"Papa, I didn't know!" I pleaded, the panic real now. "How could I have known my rude, heartless boss was the heir to the Italian Mafia? I thought he was here begging you for a favor, honestly!"

"A favor?" His voice cracked with disbelief. "Leonardo Greco was the only guest you knew we were expecting this week, and you insulted him, his mother, and his character! Even if no one told you his name, you should have used your brain, my girl!"

I melted back onto the bed, physically sliding down the mattress until only my eyes were visible above the duvet. "I really don't have one sometimes, though. I think it's broken."

He stood there, a mountain of rage and helplessness. "You… you, this girl!" He pivoted abruptly, fixing his glare on Sergei, who had followed him in and was standing near the door, visibly shaking under the Pakhan's scrutiny.

"Sergei, didn't i tell you to lock her in?" Papa asked, as if the question itself might solve the problem.

Sergei stammered, trying to explain. "I—I did, Pakhan. I—"

"Ne bylo," Papa snapped in Russian, quick and final.

(Ne bylo :It wasn't done.)

"It was my fault!" I yelled, instantly jumping to Sergei's rescue. "He was following orders! I only just outsmarted him and didn't listen, Papa, so it's my fault, okay? Don't look at him."

Dimitri ignored the guard, turning his full attention back to me. "You are still so calm, malyshka! Anything could have happened down there! That man could have had you killed, especially after what you told me happened in the office!"

(Malyshka: baby girl)

I looked at him, wide-eyed, then gave a reassuring, dramatic grin. "He can't! You would kill him first, Papa!"

That was it. Dimitri Ferraro threw his hands up in utter defeat. "Ty eto devochka." He sighed, the fight draining out of him. "You know what? Hand over your phone. No going out for you anymore. No more stupid cooperate jobs. You are grounded for a month."

(Ty eto devochka: You this girl.)

My jaw dropped. "What?! Papa, you can't do that to me!" I protested, but he stretched out his massive hand, unwavering. Defeated, I pulled my phone from my pocket and slapped it into his palm.

"But can I still go to my drawing classes tomorrow evening? Please?" I asked hopefully.

"No. You are not to leave the premises. In fact," he paused, looking at Sergei. "She is not to leave this room. Lock her in, Sergei. And stand at that door to make sure she doesn't play games. Food will be brought to her."

My brain short-circuited. Lock me in?

Sergei nodded solemnly. As my father turned to leave, Sergei hesitated. "Boss, should I leave her sketchbooks and drawing materials? I don't think she would feel the punishment if she can draw."

I spun on him, pointing my finger accusingly. "Sergei! That is a line!"

My father paused, his eyes narrowing. "No, you are right." He called for the maids. "Take out every drawing equipment she has. Now!"

I genuinely begged him, a small whimper escaping. "Papa, please! I can't be locked in! You know I'm scared of dark rooms! What if the power goes out?"

He looked at me like I had just confessed to plotting a coup, then the corner of his mouth tipped up. "The power won't go out. And if you find a way to make it go out just to avoid the punishment, I will bring you a torch."

I scoffed. As he reached the door, I breathed a sigh of relief. At least he forgot my laptop.

But Dimitri Ferraro didn't become the Pakhan by forgetting things. He spun back, eyes locking onto the corner of the room. He walked over, smoothly grabbed my laptop and iPad off the desk, and turned back to the door.

"Papa!" I screamed in genuine agony. "It wasn't even intentional!"

Sergei let out a small, suppressed chuckle. I glared at him. "This is your fault!" Then, remembering my strategy, I gave him my most charming smile and stood up. "Sergei, come on, please, let me sneak out tomorrow night? I can't miss this Friday night, even if it's just for a little bit?"

He just shook his head, his face apologetic but firm, and closed my door, the distinct click of the lock echoing the finality of my doom.

I covered my head with a pillow, ready to explode. Just then, I heard the lock click again, and I instantly threw the pillow off, sitting up, convinced my father had relented.

It was Grace. She was still dressed like she was earlier, difference was she was now holding her heels. Sergei closed the door behind her and locked it again. Grace looked at my defeated posture, tossing her expensive heels onto the floor, and started giggling uncontrollably as I fell back onto the bed, pulling the pillow over my face again.

She lay down next to me, facing the ceiling.

I couldn't stay silent. I pulled the pillow down. "I had no clue, Grace. I genuinely thought the Leonardo Greco, the mafia heir, would be Papa's age or maybe a bit younger. Maybe even a 100 years old dying man. Not… not our age group."

"He's twenty-five," Grace chipped in, her voice sounding unexpectedly dreamy.

"He was so rude and heartless and—"

Grace cut me short, her voice far away like she could see him in her head. "Extremely good looking."

I chuckled darkly. "Good looking, my foot."

She turned her head so fast her hair flipped. "Are you serious? You don't think he's good looking?"

"Okay, fine, maybe he's good looking," I conceded, knowing I was lying, because he was mad good looking. "But not very good looking. I've seen finer men."

I swallowed, then looked at my sister, who was still staring serenely at the ceiling. "What do you think about him, really?"

Grace smiled, a genuine, soft curve of her lips. "I think he's such a manly man. He has complete control over situations, and he's so interesting."

I almost choked. "Interesting? Grace, you must have hit your head against something."

She ignored me. "I think we would make a lovely couple, Nicole. I actually look forward to the wedding."

I clapped the pillow over my head again, making a muffled, gargling noise that was supposed to translate to kill me now, please. Grace giggled and started tugging the pillow off my head, and I yelled, "Sergei! Rescue me! Take Grace out before she kills me with Leonardo Greco nonsense!"

Maybe I should really move to Siberia...