Nikolai: A Mafia Prince Romance (Russian Mob Chronicles Book 1)

Roman leaves me standing in the kitchen, slack-jawed and opened mouthed. Nikolai is under my skin, but in a crazy, demented way I can’t explain. I guess it’s like drug addicts trying to explain their addictions. There’s no sense or reason why someone is the way they are. Maybe I have a deep chemical imbalance in my brain encouraging me to seek a more adventurous lifestyle?

My thoughts drift back to the present when the water heater switching off booms into my ears. Recalling why I’m standing in my kitchen, I push off my feet and continue with my original mission before I lose the chance.

A string of illicit curses topples from my mouth when my hunt for the electronic device results in my spilling a year’s worth of rice onto the floor in my walk-in pantry. When I fail to locate the black box in its original position, I search every nook and cranny in my pantry.

I’ve only just delved my hand into the second shelf when a deep voice asks, “Are you looking for this?”

I straighten my spine and peer out of the pantry. Nikolai is standing at the opening, his grin as enticing as the food sitting in my oven, begging to be devoured.

Spotting the surveillance device in his hand, I say, “No. I was looking for the maple syrup.” I shift my eyes back to the pantry shelves, praying he won’t see the deceit clouding them.

My breathing shallows to a pant when Nikolai leans over my shoulder to seize the bottle of maple syrup sitting on the third shelf. Although his chuckle is soundless, the shaking of his torso advises of its arrival.

“Thank you.”

I accept the bottle from his grasp and spin around. My change in position awards me with the scent of Nikolai’s freshly showered skin. Not thinking, I snap my eyes shut and inhale deeply, relishing the smell of my soap on his skin. I forgot how intoxicating it is smelling yourself on another.

My eyes pop open when he mumbles, “Imagine how good we will smell when our scents are intermingled the old-fashioned way.”

My pulse quickens when he drags his nose down my neck, his whiff of my skin more undignified than mine. A low, simpering growl rolls up his chest as he peers at me sideways, spearing me in place with his lusty gaze. “You smell like me.”

My heart rate spikes as I swallow harshly. “Yes.” My short word is incapable of concealing my heightened state. “I should probably shower?”

I don’t know why my declaration came out sounding like a question.

When I attempt to sidestep him, he steps into my path, foiling my endeavor. Pretending I can’t feel the need brewing in my gut, I narrow my eyes and step to the left. The girth in Nikolai’s jeans brushes my excited core when he moves into my path again.

“Nikolai. . .” I growl in warning.

“Justine. . .” he replies, his one word as groggy as mine. It sounds just as I imagine it will during ecstasy—all virile and hot. “I just came in my hand recalling the taste of your lips. What I wouldn’t give for another taste.”

Jesus Christ. How am I supposed to reply to that?

Mercifully, he continues talking, saving me from issuing a blubbering response. “A kiss for a pass,” he suggests, his playful tone colored with lust.

My eyes rocket to his. He can’t be serious, can he? I’m not five. This type of childish negotiation doesn’t work on me. I grew up with four older brothers. I’m well-rehearsed on the tricks boys use to get what they want. The instant I kiss him, he’ll devise another ruse to keep me holed up in the pantry.

Ignoring how the carefree glint in Nikolai’s eyes makes me want to forget the world, I fold my arms over my chest and return his hankering stare. For every second that passes, the lusty gleam in his eyes doubles.

“A kiss for the device,” I request a short time later, nudging my head to the surveillance instrument in his hand.

My eyes bulge, stunned my IQ dropped so low I’m negotiating with him instead of demanding he move out of my way.

He licks his lips as he contemplates my suggestion. “No. A kiss for a pass, or you remain trapped in the pantry. With me. For Eternity.”

He takes a step closer to me, filling the microscopic snick of air between us as his tongue delves out to replenish his lips again.

The reasoning behind his obsessive lip licking comes to light when he says, “Your taste is fading from my mouth, and I’ll be fucked if I can wait another two days to replenish it. Just a quick nibble. A little sample. I’ll even keep my tongue in my mouth.”

I glare at him when he doesn’t attempt to hide the deceit in his tone.

“I’m your attorney, Nikolai. Our interactions are crossing a very clear line we’re not supposed to cross,” I mumble, using the only plausible defense I have. I inwardly sigh. My voice couldn’t be laced with more ambivalence if I tried.

He steps even closer to me, stealing the air from my lungs with his impressive body. “You witnessed me stabbing a man without calling the authorities. The line has already been crossed.”

“Who said I didn’t call the police? I could have been doing that while you were seeking release in the shower.”

I inwardly curse. Why did I bring that up again? Oh, that’s right. Because just the thought of Nikolai stroking his cock sparks a wild recklessness to rip through my body.

It’s the fight of my life not to lean into his embrace when his finger follows the heat creeping up my neck. “Do you know your neck flushes every time you lie? Coincidently, it always happens when you deny my advances.”

“Who said it’s a lie? Maybe I’m embarrassed at your pathetic attempts of schmoozing.” I snap my mouth shut, mortified at my snarky response. I’m so sexually frustrated, I’m letting it drag down my mood.

Thankfully, he isn’t the least bit deterred by my snarky comment. “Is that what you want, Ahren? You want to be wined and dined? You want me to treat you like a princess?”

I lock my eyes with his, wanting to ensure he doesn’t miss the honesty in my eyes when I shake my head.

My first two dates with Dimitri were out of this world. He wined and dined me in the most elegant restaurants and showered me with expensive gifts. That should have been my first warning sign. Only now do I realize having a suit laundered and getting a fresh haircut are adequate ways to express an interest in your date, whereas booking out an entire restaurant and lavishing your date with custom jewelry is borderline possessive.

Don’t get me wrong. Away from his family, Dimitri is a pleasant man, but just like Nikolai, he was raised by a monster. It’s lucky my introduction to his family happened early in our courtship. One meeting with his father was all it took for me to recognize I didn’t belong in his world. I ended things amicably. Well, so I thought at the time.

Dimitri’s father didn’t take my rejection as well as Dimitri. He classed my refusal to date his son as a direct insult to him. He swore to make me so unattractive, no man would ever want me. In some ways, he did. Although the bite marks on my skin will fade, the damage done to my confidence will never be repaired.

Dimitri and Nikolai share a lot of qualities. Both are Mafia Princes. Both are handsome and unique in their own right. The only difference is Nikolai defended me when I was being attacked; Dimitri stood by and watched it happen.

“Then what do you need, Ahren?” Nikolai asks, drawing my attention back to him. “Tell me what it will take to get another taste of you, and I’ll do it.”

I stare at him, void of a response. He wants me so bad he’s willing to do anything to have me?

“Don’t play stupid, Ahren. I know you want this as much as I do. I can feel it in my bones. Smell it in the air. Taste it on my lips.” His minty breath wafts into my flaring nostrils. “I won’t stop until I have you beneath me, so tell me what you need so I can achieve that.”

“A less dangerous job title.” I smack my lips shut, stunned I said my inner monologue out loud.

When he throws his head back and laughs, I use his imbalance to my advantage. I slip under his arm and hightail it into the kitchen. Groaning, he adjusts the thickness in his jeans before shadowing me in the fragrant-smelling space.

Although my brain is begging for me to place distance between us, I keep my feet planted on the ground. Ignoring the insane connection bursting between us has gotten me nowhere fast, so it’s time to face the music by confronting the issues head on.

“During breakfast, I’d like to ask you some questions,” I advise Nikolai while bobbing down to gather the food warming in the oven.

The hairs on my nape prickle when he asks, “What type of questions?” He once again snuck up on me so agilely, I didn’t hear his approach.

He scoops the stainless steel dish out of my hand, his movements so sleek, he somehow manages to brush my inner thigh on the way past. With a cocky wink announcing he heard my quick breath from his touch, he heads to the table we ate at yesterday.

“Some are pertaining to your case. . . Others are more personal.” I rush my last sentence.

After grabbing two plates and a set of forks from my kitchen cabinets, I mosey to the dining nook. My steps freeze halfway across the tiled floor when I realize how pointy my forks are. They’re sharper and more pronged than the butter knives confiscated Friday afternoon, so why didn’t I consider using them to protect myself yesterday?

I shrug off my query. If forks were classed as a dangerous instrument, the sheriff’s department would have confiscated them along with the rest of my utensils.

“Twenty-six seconds,” Nikolai advises, talking through the piece of crispy bacon he is nibbling on.

“Hmm?” I ask, setting our plates on the tabletop before taking the seat across from him.

He drops his eyes to the forks sitting between us. “Twenty-six seconds. That’s how quickly I can kill a man with a fork.” He snags a fork off the table, points it at his jugular, then twists. “If the strike doesn’t kill him, he’ll soon choke on his own blood.”

I push my empty plate out of my sight, no longer hungry. Nikolai chuckles at my sickened expression.

“No remorse at all?” I ask, traumatized at his nonchalant response to a potential loss of life.

He shakes his head. “No. The men I punish are villainous, vile men who deserve to die.”

“Kill, Nikolai,” I correct. “It’s not punishment when they’re dead.”

He shrugs, neither denying nor agreeing with my assessment.

While loading my plate with pancakes, he grumbles, “I don’t like being interrogated, so let’s get these questions over as soon as possible, then we can enjoy the rest of our day.” A waggle of his brows dampens the haughty arrogance in his tone.

After covering my pancakes with syrup and butter, he locks his eyes with mine. He doesn’t speak—he doesn’t need to. His commanding gaze relays his every demand. I am to eat every bit of food in front of me without reservation. If I refuse, our exchange will be over.

I start our conversation on one fact that hasn’t left my mind the past thirty minutes. “Did you arrange for my brother’s transfer to Harborview?”

He nudges his head at my plate of food, demanding I eat before he’ll answer my question. I roll my eyes, feigning annoyance at his bossy demeanor. I’m not annoyed—I’m far from annoyed. I grew up with four older brothers. Dealing with bossy, testosterone-fueled men is as second nature to me as salty water in an ocean.

If I so much as mentioned the word “diet” in front of my brothers, I was interrogated until I gave up the source responsible for my slump in confidence, then every meal I ate was scrutinized to ensure it gave adequate nutrition for someone of my age and height. My brothers’ gazes were void of the lust Nikolai’s eyes are carrying, but his stare is one I’ve been given many times previously.

When I pop a big chunk of pancake into my mouth, bending to Nikolai’s unbreakable demand, he finally answers, “No, I didn’t set up your brother’s transfer.”

My eyes rocket to his, certain I heard him wrong. I didn’t. His eyes are open and honest. He didn’t arrange for Maddox’s transfer to Harborview.

“I asked Roman to do it. He did as instructed,” he adds on when he spots my baffled expression.

I ball up an unused napkin and hurl it at his thrusting chest. He chuckles as his focus returns to his overflowing plate of food. His chin is tucked into his neck, but I don’t miss the curve of his lips when I follow his lead. I’m starving, but not all my hankering is for food.

A short time later, while pushing chunks of melting butter around my half-empty plate, I ask, “Why did you help Maddox, Nikolai? Your opinion on his case was highly notable last night, so why the sudden change of heart?”

“You asked for my help. I looked into it,” Nikolai answers, like it’s no big deal.

“I asked for your help? When?”

Remaining quiet, he pushes the surveillance device to my side of the table. I run a napkin over my hands, removing the sticky residue from my fingers before lifting it from the tabletop. Seemingly aware of the direction our conversation was going to take, the surveillance footage starts in the minutes leading to my fainting spell.

My swaying movements are just as compelling in playback as they felt in real life. I am as white as a ghost and as wobbly as a drunk. Although Nikolai’s crusade to catch me before I fell was impressive, the heaviness of my head plummeting to the ground was too swift for him to prevent, meaning my right temple brutally made contact with the floor.

After scooping my slumped frame into his blood-stained chest, Nikolai exits the kitchen, leaving a white-faced Sergei withering on the floor. The crowd of mostly men covering every inch of my living room part when they spot Nikolai’s approach. Some stare at him in admiration, whereas the rest peer at him in shock.

“That’s Dok,” Nikolai advises when he is followed into my bedroom by a man not much older than him.

I’m shocked. When Nikolai advised my bump was inspected by a doctor, I anticipated a man in his mid-sixties with gray strands of hair and a rounded tummy, not a strikingly handsome young man with snow-white locks hanging past his ears and a fit, cut body.

“Fast forward an hour,” Nikolai requests before shoveling a forkful of scrambled eggs into his mouth.

I raise my eyes to his. “Why? So I can miss you spiking my drink?”

He smirks but doesn’t deny my claim. I fast forward the tape as suggested. Thank god, as the entire hour was filled with me passed out on my bed with an ashen-faced Nikolai sitting at my feet.

Although Nikolai’s obvious agitation weakens the more the footage rolls, his protective stance never falters. No one gets within three feet of my bed—not even Dok and Roman—when I wake up dazed and confused.

After cradling my jaw to assess me as if he’s a doctor, Nikolai hands me two white tablets. My brows furrow when I down the tablets without a snick of hesitation crossing my face.

“Is there any sound?” I ask Nikolai, who is eating his breakfast across from me.

Hearing our conversation may explain my willingness to trust so quickly. Usually, it takes a lot to gain my confidence, so I’m stumped at how cooperative I’m being.

Nikolai removes the device from my hand and fiddles with the buttons. When he hands it back to me, there has been a significant jump in the timeline. The sun that was setting through my curtains has been replaced with an inky black sky.

My pupils expand when, “You’re soooo pretty,” booms through the speakers of the surveillance device. My voice is void of the drunken tone I have after too many shots of tequila, so I’m confident I’m not drunk.

“I wish I had your lashes. They’re sooooo long they could reach the stars.” I inwardly gag, mortified at the seductive purr of my words. Even not seeing who I’m schmoozing, I know it’s Nikolai. He has the world’s longest lashes.

Nikolai and I enter the frame in the far-right corner. My brows furl when I’m forced to recant my earlier statement. I’m clearly intoxicated. Even Nikolai’s arm curled around my waist can’t prevent my stumbling.

When we reach my bed, I break out of Nikolai’s hold. “Woo!!” I squeal as I dive onto the mattress.

I squirm up my bed, removing my clothing as I go. The Nikolai on screen watches me like a hawk, not once discouraging my impromptu strip.

I snap my eyes to Nikolai seated across from me, consuming his breakfast as if it’s perfectly normal for his attorney to undress in front of him.

“I thought your bump and grind on the coffee table an hour earlier topped any burlesque show I’ve seen, but your little strip-tease in your room was ten times better,” he playfully growls, his words heating my cheeks more than embarrassment.

The grin on his face enlarges when I kick him in the shin.

My attention returns to the surveillance device when my drunken self pleads, “Don’t go. Please.”

Although peeved at my lack of self-worth, I will admit, I wear drunk well. The unique color of my eyes is even more noticeable with the width of my dilated pupils, and my pasty white skin is accentuated with a golden hue from the alcohol warming my veins.

“Stay with me,” I beg to a frozen Nikolai stuck halfway between my bed and the door. “I don’t want to be alone. I’m sick of being alone.” I whisper my last sentence.

My pleas are childish but true. I grew up in a rowdy house of seven before bunking in a dorm with four roommates. Silence has never been an available commodity until I moved to Vegas. Although, at times it’s nice to relish snippets of quiet, more often than not, I hate it.

The beat of my heart kicks into overdrive when I spot the expression on Nikolai’s face. Even seeing through a monitor can’t detract from its impact. For the first time ever, he looks hesitant.

After a beat, Nikolai says, “Climb under the sheets. There’s no fucking way I can lie next to you looking like that and not touch you. And considering I won’t take anything not willingly given, you need to get your fine ass under the sheets.”

“Yet, I wake up with you naked in my bed,” I grumble under my breath, glancing at Nikolai sitting across from me.

“The less clothing I had on, the more chance your scent would imbed into my skin,” he replies, revealing he heard my mumbled statement.

Ignoring my heart kicking out a mad beat, I return my eyes to the surveillance device. After dropping my lip into a pout, I slip under the sheets as requested. Noticing I’m covered, Nikolai heads to the opposite side of my bed to remove his boots and jeans. I crassly smile when he lies on top of the bedding instead of underneath it as I am anticipating.

Not reading the silent prompts his body is projecting, I scoot across the mattress until we meet eye to eye.

“A perfect fit,” I mumble, my voice not as slurred as you’d expect from my earlier stumbling. “See?”

I thrust out my chest until my breasts flatten on Nikolai’s shirt-covered torso. A hiss of air parts his mouth when my crotch quickly follows the lead of my chest.

“Other than your extra-long legs, we’re a perfect match.”

My eyes sneakily return to Nikolai sitting across from me. His smirk is barely concealed by the large portion of scramble eggs narrowing in on his mouth.

“You can’t trust a drunk,” I mumble softly.

Nikolai’s smile grows. “No, you can’t. But you can trust the word of a drunk. People are most honest when they’re void of anxiety.”

With no defense to his reply, I refocus on the video footage. Over the next twenty minutes, I blubber nonstop. I tell Nikolai stories of my childhood, my dreams of being an architect, and the circumstances behind Maddox’s arrest. Nikolai remains quiet the entire time.

He doesn’t need to speak to convey his thoughts, though. His tightening fists, clenched jaw, and movements of his brows are all I need to hear his inner monologue. He doesn’t blame me for Maddox’s arrest, but he knows I am the reason he is incarcerated. And surprisingly, he finds my drunken tirade cute.

Flapping gums must be exhausting, because not long after I’ve given Nikolai my life history, my eyelids start to droop. Within minutes, I’m sound asleep, shamefully snoring.

Nikolai remains lying next to me for several minutes. He doesn’t move or speak; he just stares at me as if he is categorizing every inch of my face in dedicated detail.

My breath catches in my throat when he reaches his hand out to gently circle the small bite marks on the top of my arms. His touch is brief but potent enough to wake me from my sleep.

“You have to help him, Nikolai. Maddox doesn’t deserve the life sentence he was served any more than you deserve the one you were issued at birth.” Although I am groggy, my words are concise and without fear. “If he could just serve his time at Harborview, my guilt wouldn’t be so intense. He wouldn’t be free, but at least he’d be safe.” My words crack with emotion at the end.

Nikolai stiffens when I draw myself into his torso so I can burrow my tear-stained face into his pecs. Warmth blooms across my chest from the hesitance crossing his face. My heart isn’t pumping extra blood because he doesn’t seem like the snuggling type of guy, it’s from him running his hand down my unruly red hair, encouraging my closeness.

Only once I am in a deep slumber does he peel me off his chest. His soundless steps out of my room stop just outside my bedroom door. He peers up at the camera for several seconds before his eyes drop to scan my room. Two seconds later, the camera lens is covered by a pair of hot pink yoga pants.

Deciding I’ve seen enough, I switch off the surveillance device and hand it to Nikolai. “What was in the white pills? If it’s anything illegal, I need to know. Regular drug testing is mandatory at my firm.”

Although I have a million questions running through my mind, I must start at the most critical one. If I lose my job, I lose any chance of having my brother’s conviction overturned.

“You have nothing to worry about. Anti-anxiety pills are exempted from every test,” Nikolai answers, his tone informative, like he researched his answers.

“They were anti-anxiety pills?” I cringe when my girly voice bounces off the walls of my kitchen before shrilling back into my ears.

“Yes,” he replies with a chuckle. “You’re quite entertaining when you let go of your worries.”

I burrow my head in my hands, wishing I could vanish from the world. I’m well overdue for a weekend bender, but I wish I had chosen a better set of circumstances.

“Okay,” I breathe out slowly as I lift my eyes to Nikolai. “First, thank you for arranging Maddox’s transfer to Harborview.” When he attempts to interrupt me, I talk faster, wanting to express myself before I lose the chance. “You may not have directly initiated it, but if you hadn’t asked Roman to look into it, it would have never happened. So, thank you.”

He bows his head, accepting my gratitude with a sincerity I was certain he didn’t hold.

“Second, I am attracted to you. . .” The shit-eating grin spreading across his face makes what I am about to say so much harder. “. . . but nothing can come of it. I am your attorney, Nikolai.”

“That can be fixed.”

“I am also not a girl who does casual sex. I don’t necessarily need commitment, but I need feelings,” I continue, pretending I didn’t hear his snapped remark.

The smile is wiped straight off his face. “You need a heart to feel, Ahren. I don’t have one of those.” His admission is so quiet, if he hadn’t said my name, I would have assumed he didn’t want me to hear it.

After setting his fork onto his half-eaten plate of food, he connects his eyes with mine. He stares straight into my eyes, showing me what he sees inside himself. A chill runs down my spine from the desolate cloud swamping his alluring gaze. He truly looks like a lost soul. He is dark and haunted, but also real.

“Any man can be a monster, Nikolai, but only a monster who knows right from wrong can turn into a man. You were born in your lifestyle, but it only became your life when you let it.”

He shakes his head, dismissing my claims. “No. This life was not my choice. It was my destiny. This is who I am, Ahren. I am my father’s son.” He stands from his chair, his chest puffed high. “I am the devil reincarnated to rule my empire and slay the weak. I am Nikolai: Prince of the Russian Mafia.”

He couldn’t shock me more if he slapped me in the face. It isn’t his arrogant words that have me choking back tears; it’s the desolate brokenness of his voice. If that wasn’t a rehearsed line, I’m not a Catholic.

Although frightened by his response, my campaign to alter his viewpoint doesn’t falter. “Your family are not gods, Nikolai. They’re mere men who’ll meet with their creator on their final day just like every other person on the planet.”

His icy glare sends a chill down my spine. “You need to watch your tongue. Respect is a highly valued commodity in my family. It’s more worthwhile than life itself.”

I nod. “Respect is valued, but when it’s gained with integrity it far exceeds respect gained by force.”

“Respect without fear is worthless.” Nikolai’s hot breath hits my lips.

“No. Respect derived from fear is worthless. Fear is forcing people to bow at your feet. Respect has them bowing of their own free will. They’re two completely different things, Nikolai,” I continue to argue.

When pain flashes in his eyes from my snarled comment, I lower the severity of my tone. “You know this. Deep down inside, you know what I am saying is true. Values are not taught. We are born with them.”

My heart hammers so fast, I’m afraid it’s going to explode when the anger in his eyes fades for vulnerability. “That is easy for you to preach when you’re not the one forced to toe the line. Shadowing his reign is the only thing keeping me alive. If I don’t do that, I’ll be buried right alongside my father. You don’t have to understand the rules of this lifestyle, Justine, but I must abide by them.”

I stare at him with confusion smeared on my face. His father isn’t dead. The countless reports of him wreaking havoc on families from Las Vegas to Florida ensures I can’t mistake this, so I’m truly at a loss as to what Nikolai means by his comment. Maybe he means it in a metaphor? Like he will become as heartless as his father?

The moisture brimming in my eyes doubles when my gaze briefly collides with Nikolai’s. His comment wasn’t a metaphor. It was a statement relayed directly from his heart.

“Leave, Nikolai. Walk away and don’t look back.”

“I can’t!” His arm flies across the table, sending our plates of food sailing onto the floor. “Disrespecting Vladimir carries the penalty of death. If I leave, it will be at the cost of my life.”

With that, he exits the kitchen, leaving me dumbfounded.