Chapter 130: Dracula, Come Collect Your Neglected Husband!

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By the third day of lockdown, I realized the Castelli estate had transformed from a home into a rather expensive prison. At least, in a prison, inmates get to walk down corridors without a heavily armed guard tailing them like a shadow.

I tried to be understanding about the whole situation...after all, someone had bombed a ballroom and kidnapped me, turning my life into an unfortunate field test for criminal behavior. Given the circumstances, I saw why Lorenzo wanted extra security. Still, knowing the reasons behind it didn’t make it any less annoying to have a guard outside the bathroom while I brushed my teeth.

The first morning, I put up with it.

By day two, I started greeting the guards when I saw them, partly out of politeness and partly to see if I could make them uncomfortable enough to ask for a different assignment.

By the third morning, I was considering giving them names.

The guard outside our bedroom could be Captain Stares-a-Lot, the guy following me through the corridor could be Sir Footsteps, and the poor soul by the dining room earned the title of Lord Doesn’t-Blink. I didn’t share this brilliance with Lorenzo, thinking he’d either ignore me or, worse, create ID badges for them.

The security measures had escalated to absurd levels. Every window was scrutinized, every visitor grilled, and every meal examined before I was allowed to eat it.

Breakfast had turned into a process with more inspections than a busy international airport. Even the staff was under watch, and I noticed familiar servants growing uncomfortable when guards grilled them about their whereabouts.

I missed Paris, but more than that, I longed for the version of home I had started enjoying before the bombing turned everyone into a walking security protocol.

Lorenzo had also become busier than ever, spending most of his time with business meetings and investigations. He still checked in on me every so often, sometimes bringing food himself or dropping by to ask about my injuries, but the constant closeness we’d had during our trip home had started to fade as work took over his attention.

I got it, though.

Unfortunately, understanding didn’t stop me from missing the man who had previously acted like letting me sit three feet away would cause a catastrophe.

I never thought I would miss being coddled half to death, especially by Lorenzo, whose style of affection resembles a security operation.

But here I was, looking forward to his visits or when he came home at night, which felt embarrassingly significant. I even started to measure time by how often he checked in on me.

That third morning, I woke up feeling unusually warm. After tossing the blankets aside, I laid there staring at the ceiling, puzzled about why my bedroom felt stiflingly hot, like a poorly ventilated kitchen.

My skin felt warm under my clothes, and there was a hint of restlessness beneath my ribs that made it hard to settle against the pillows comfortably.

I hadn’t been sleeping well either, waking up multiple times at night and getting irritated by the smallest shit, including the empty space on Lorenzo’s side of the bed at times.

I blamed it on the weather, the stress from the bombing, and the overall misery of living in a house where even the windows seemed to need permission to open.

As far as I knew, there was no reason to suspect anything else.

After washing up and getting dressed, I headed downstairs to find Lorenzo had already left for another meeting.

Apparently, he’d told the kitchen to whip up a proper breakfast for me, which was nice. I started eating while Lord Doesn’t-Blink watched from the doorway, and I nearly considered throwing a piece of toast at him in frustration when a message arrived saying I was finally cleared to start light training.

I almost hugged the messenger!

Instead, I thanked him with the dignity expected of a recently bombed married man and hurried towards the training grounds before someone changed their mind.

I spotted Nikolai, standing by the equipment rack, arms crossed and that same serious look on his face he always wore whenever he thought someone had done something stupid.

Since I was usually that someone, his expression didn’t surprise me at all.

"OH SNITCH SENSEI!" I called out, smiling as I approached. "Guess who’s back to torment you again!"

His gaze flicked over me, checking my face and the bandage on my arm before landing on my expression. "You look better, I tried to come see you when you first arrived from Paris but I couldn’t without permission from the Don. How are you feeling, Donna?"

I blinked, slightly taken aback by the concern in his tone, then decided to tease him. "Aww, were you worried about me, dear Snitchy?"

Nikolai’s ears turned a bright shade of pink, making me forget my injuries for a moment. "I was not worried."

"Oh really? Then why do you look at me like a concerned mother finding out her kid snuck cookies before dinner?"

"Because you were injured."

"And?"

"And you’re the Donna, and I’m responsible for your training and safety." He rattled that off with such speed I figured he must have practiced it in front of a mirror while denying it.

I clasped my hands against my chest, feigning shock. "So, you were worried about LIttle Ol’ me?"

"I already explained and--"

"You missed me."

"Sir."

"You couldn’t sleep because your favorite student was gone!"

"Are you planning to train today, or just irritate me?"

I grinned so wide it hurt my cheeks. "Both, obviously. I’m a man of many talents."

Nikolai shook his head, but I saw the hint of amusement in his eyes before he turned toward the track. "Alright, let’s get to work."

We started with some light stretches, then moved into laps around part of the estate. I figured the guards would follow us, but didn’t expect five of them to be positioned within sight at almost every point along the route, turning the whole thing into a spectacle that felt less like training and more like a public performance by the Castelli organization.

After the second lap, I glanced back and found two guards trailing at what they probably thought was a tactful distance.

"Do you think they’d follow me into a grocery store?" I asked Nikolai.

"Yes."

"What if I went to buy toothpaste?"

"They’d follow."

"What if I went to the bathroom?"

"They’d wait outside."

I sighed dramatically. "I miss the days when my biggest issue was having a husband who wouldn’t sign divorce papers."

He gave me a flat look but slowed his pace when he saw I was breathing harder than usual. I thought I’d tire easily from the previous day’s injuries, yet the warmth under my skin was growing uncomfortable, and I wanted to find a shady spot for a break.

When I finally asked for one, Nikolai studied me closely before nodding at a bench. "Sit and hydrate."

"I was going to, but I appreciate your contribution to the decision-making."

"Your sarcasm is improving faster than your stamina."

"Maybe you should stop with the exercises and start giving me compliments. That’d be much more effective for my recovery."

"Drink your water, sir."

I obliged, making sure to sigh loudly enough for the guards to hear.

The short sparring session that followed was easier than the running, partly because Nikolai adjusted the exercises for my injuries and partly because he wouldn’t let me use recovery as an excuse to go easy.

He corrected my stance when I got lazy, reminded me to protect my injured side, and made me redo a movement until I could do it without aggravating my bruises.

When he finally called it a day, I was sweaty, mildly offended by my lack of stamina, and utterly convinced Nikolai had been waiting for a chance to torture me under the guise of physical rehabilitation.

He handed me another water bottle, and we strolled toward the lake, settling on the grass under a tree’s shade.

The guards stayed visible along the path but finally gave us enough space to feel like we were having a private conversation instead of just being watched.

The lake was calm in the afternoon light, reflecting the trees and pale sky above. For the first time in three days, I felt like I could breathe without someone asking where I was headed, what I was doing, or if the bench I chose had been checked for suspicious items.

I stretched my legs in front of me and watched the gentle movement of the water against the shore.

"I really hate what happened in Paris," I finally admitted.