Nikolai: Taking Back What’s Mine (Russian Mob Chronicles Book 2)

“I was beginning to think you were avoiding me.”

My eyes dart up from the mountain load of paperwork I’ve been filing the past three hours to the person accosting me. Although I’m glad for a distraction from the most mundane task I’ve ever completed, my heart slithers into my gut when I see who is approaching me.

Mr. Fletcher’s impressive frame fills the doorway, blanketing the room with even more darkness than its dingy, cramped environment already offers. He is wearing the same suit and tie he had on this morning when I snuck into his office to make sure Nikolai’s threat of harm went without execution.

Thankfully, he was both unharmed and uninjured. From the half-empty bottle of whiskey on his desk and the paper crinkles in his cheek, it appears as if he headed straight to the office after our near-kiss and never left. Although a little voice in the back of my head told me I should have never doubted Nikolai, I can’t contain my glee that my intuition was right. Nikolai may be a Mafia Prince, but leaving Mr. Fletcher uninjured means he knows right from wrong.

When Mr. Fletcher coughs, wordlessly requesting my focus back to him, I stammer, “Umm. . . not at all. I’ve just been busy.”

I pray for the poor lighting in the room to hide my flaming cheeks. I’ve never been good at lying. That is more to do with my face turning the color of beetroot than my poor choice in excuses.

“Did you need me for something?” I ask, my tone hopeful, wishing he will save me from an intern’s hell.

Mr. Fletcher loosens the collar of his shirt as he saunters into the room. “I think we should discuss what happened last night.”

I exhale sharply, unnerved by his tone. This is the exact reason I’ve been hiding in the records room the past four hours; I wanted to avoid the awkward conversation many colleagues have after work functions that include alcohol. Mercifully, our exchange was more innocent than ones I witnessed when working in New York, but it is just as uncomfortable.

“Do we need to say anything? Can’t we just let the alcohol speak on our behalf?” I inwardly sigh, grateful my voice came out with the witty edge I was aiming for.

Mr. Fletcher’s shoulder lifts into a shrug. “I was planning on taking my rejection like a man—with half a bottle of whiskey—but after discovering this on Mr. Schluter’s desk this morning, I decided a more drastic step was required.”

He hands me a folded-up piece of paper before continuing, “If you’re worried I will harbor anger over our exchange, I can assure you I will not. I am a man, Justine, one who has no fear of rejection.”

Confused by his statement, my face screws up. Nudging his head to the document in my hand, Mr. Fletcher suggests that I open it. My confusion intensifies when my eyes absorb the exponential amount of a check I’m now clutching for dear life. Whoever wrote this check must be living on easy street, as there is no hesitation in the elaborate flair on the seven-digit number scrawled across the crisp, fresh document.

“When I agreed to counsel your brother’s case, it wasn’t for a one-way ticket to retirement. I did it for you.” Mr. Fletcher places his hand under my dropped chin and raises my head. “Because you’re my friend, and I admire and respect you.”

Moisture glistens in my eyes, humbled by the honesty in his eyes. ‘The feeling is mutual, Mr. Fletcher.’ Pretending I didn’t hear him groan at the formal use of his name, I continue, ‘But I don’t understand what this has to do with me or my brother’s case.’

Mr. Fletcher takes a step back, as if shocked by my reply. “You wrote the check, Justine. You left it on Mr. Schluter’s desk this morning.”

I shake my head, my brain scrambled even more hopelessly. “I snuck into your office this morning to make sure you were okay. I didn’t go anywhere near Mr. Schluter’s office.” I snap my lips shut, suddenly mindful I’m spilling secrets I never meant to share.

Thankfully, Mr. Fletcher is too focused on my last statement to absorb my first confession. “Your name is on the check, Justine. It’s drawn on the same account your wages are deposited into each month. This check is from you.”

I stop shaking my head when Mr. Fletcher points to my name printed in thick black ink at the payer section of the check. A scratch impinges my throat when his finger treks across a sequence of numbers on the bottom of the check—it matches my bank details.

“I hate to tell you this, but there is no way this won’t bounce. I don’t have that type of funds in my account.” My tone is as colorful as my cheeks.

I don’t know why I’m embarrassed; Mr. Fletcher is well aware of my financial situation, but that doesn’t mean I want the rest of our team hearing about my dire state.

My eyes snap to Mr. Fletcher when he grumbles, “That is precisely what I said in the minutes leading up to Mr. Schluter’s receptionist cashing it. It didn’t bounce. The entire amount was deposited in Schluter & Fletcher’s account in full at 10 AM this morning.”

I take a moment to absorb all the facts. It is a woeful waste of time. No matter how hard I strive to decode my confusion, I’m left stumped. I’m an online banking type of girl. I haven’t had my hands on a check since my grandma updated to internet banking. Now she transfers my birthday money into my account instead of sending me a tea-stained check.

“Did the check come with anything? An envelope? A note? Something?” My voice is so loud, it bounces off the walls and shrills into my ears, meaning I hear every ear-piercing syllable twice.

My response can’t be helped. My family’s home and vacation condo in Miami were sold to fund Maddox’s legal fight, so I know this exorbitant check didn’t come from any members in my family. Who else would be willing to spend such an extravagant amount of money on a man they don’t know?

At the exact moment clarity forms, Mr. Fletcher murmurs, “You want dessert, but I own the restaurant. Better luck next time.”

“Jesus Christ,” I mumble under my breath. So, Nikolai was in the building; he just used words instead of his fists.

Although I’d like to act shocked by Nikolai’s generosity, I’m not. The amount he supplied is excessive, but it is nowhere outside of his means. He is a very wealthy man, one who would have no qualms paying over seven million dollars to fund the legal battle of a stranger. But, in saying that, it doesn’t mean I will accept his generosity. Even if I make a name for myself in this business and become as wealthy as Mr. Fletcher, it will take years for me to repay this debt. Relationships are hard in general, but when money is involved, they’re that much more difficult.

After exhaling my nerves, I lock my eyes with Mr. Fletcher. “I need you to reserve the funds. As much as I’d love to pay you your weight in gold to work on Maddox’s case, I can’t afford seven million dollars.”

“But you just paid that amount,” Mr. Fletcher replies, his words laced with angered confusion. His anger doesn’t stem from me requesting a refund for services rendered; it is because he knows I am keeping something from him. Mr. Fletcher isn’t just a cut-throat attorney, he is a very shrewd businessman and friend.

I lick my dry lips, praying the moisture will help force out my next confession. “I didn’t write the check. But I know who did.” My heart smashes against my ribs, knowing I’m moments away from risking everything I’ve been striving to achieve the past four years. “It was Nikolai.”

My last sentence was so faint, if Mr. Fletcher hadn’t nodded his head, I would have assumed he didn’t hear me.

“So, what I walked in on Tuesday morning, that was the start of. . .” He leaves his question open, leaving me to answer it how I see fit.

‘It was the start of something. . . complicated?”

I want to say more, but the disappointment flaring through Mr. Fletcher’s eyes steals my words.

“Nothing happened until after I was removed from Nikolai’s case,” I mumble a short time later, incapable of withstanding Mr. Fletcher’s demanding gaze. “I was strictly professional.”

I groan. Even I heard the deceit in my voice. I may not have slept with Nikolai until the board unjustly removed me from his case, but there has always been more than an attorney/client relationship between us.

“It’s. . . just. . . ah. . .”

Every disapproving glance Mr. Fletcher issues me rams any excuse I’m planning to give into the back of my throat.

“You don’t see him like I do,” I settle on, giving the most honest answer I can. “You see the man he as he presents on paper. I see the real Nikolai.”

Mr. Fletcher’s eyes roll skywards as he briefly shakes his head. “What I see on paper is immensely disturbing, Justine.”

I nod, agreeing with his assessment, but before I can give my side of the story, Mr. Fletcher keeps talking, nipping my reply in the bud, “But I learned quickly in this business to never believe what is presented in front of me.” He nudges his head to the bank check shaking in my hand. “That’s huge. That’s mammoth. But it is not something an average man would do.”

“Nikolai isn’t an average man.”

“No, he isn’t,” Mr. Fletcher agrees. “But there is more to this story than you are aware, Justine. One I doubt he will ever tell you.”

The tartness in his tone hackles my spine. “Don’t judge someone you don’t know. That would be like me telling you if you stopped sleeping in your office every night, you’d have more than a cat to go home to. But I wouldn’t say that, as I have no right to judge you any more than you’re judging Nikolai.”

‘A judgment is never given until the defense wades through all the shit. You’re not even halfway through the shitstorm he is going to rain down on you, yet you’re already defending every move he makes.’

“Because he deserves to have someone on his side,” I shout, my croaky voice displaying I’m on the verge of tears. “He deserves to know he isn’t fighting alone. He did it his entire childhood. He doesn’t need to now.”

“That’s not having your back like you have his. It is a payout, Justine. A bribe. He’s buying you,” Mr. Fletcher continues to argue, jerking his head to the check in my hands.

“You can’t buy something that is given willingly,” I reply, defending the first half of his ill-informed bias before tackling the second half. “I asked you to reverse the funds because I have no intention of accepting his money. You and Mr. Schluter may see me as a naïve bimbo with big tits and half a brain, but I’m an expert on dealing with assholes whose assumptions are as ill-advised as their manners.” My last statement is for him, not Nikolai.

Loathing the tears pooling in my eyes, I gather the files I’ve been organizing in my arms before returning my eyes to Mr. Fletcher. He stares at me, stunned by my outburst. He isn’t the only one shocked; I knew my feelings for Nikolai were developing rapidly, but I had no idea they extended this far. By defending him, I’m not just risking my livelihood, but also my brother’s freedom. But what I said to Mr. Fletcher is true: Nikolai deserves to have someone on his side. He has battled alone for years, it’s time for that treachery to stop.

“I’ll make an appointment with human resources when I return to my office,” I advise, not needing Mr. Fletcher to spell out the consequences of our argument. Hopefully, he will let me finish out the remainder of the month, but I’ll understand if that isn’t possible.

Just before I exit the room, Mr. Fletcher seizes my elbow in a firm grasp, foiling my endeavor to leave before my tears fall. “You are my intern, Justine. I handle my matters in-house. There is no need to get human resources involved.’

His words fill me with both gratitude and panic. The way he growled “my” was way too possessive for my liking, but I’m grateful his first thought isn’t to remove me from his firm.

“But. . .” He waits, building the suspense. “This isn’t acceptable. The consequences that follow a matter like this can be substantial. When you make a deal with the devil, no amount of atonement can alter the result, Justine. When you sell your soul to the devil, you can’t get it back.”

“Nikolai isn’t the devil—”

“I didn’t say he was, but Nikolai’s choices aren’t his own. The sooner you realize that, the sooner you will understand my concern,” Mr. Fletcher interjects.

I peer into his forthright eyes, hoping they will decode his cryptic message. They give me nothing but more questions. His eyes look as haunted as I feel, but they are also pleading for me to consider his comment carefully.

‘Stop payment on the check; I’ll handle the rest.’ When Mr. Fletcher attempts to interrupt, I quickly add on, ‘If I get stuck on anything, you’ll be the first man I call.’

Although my tone is confident, Mr. Fletcher still hesitates before curtly nodding his head. I smile, issuing him my thanks without words before entering the corridor.

I’ve barely trekked halfway down the hall when Mr. Schluter comes barreling out of his office, his face as red as the fitted skirt I’m wearing. If I hadn’t seen his receptionist slipping crushed blood pressure tablets into his coffee this morning, I’d be worried he is about to burst a blood vessel—that is how red he is.

“I’ve been looking for you everywhere. Where the hell have you been?” he grumbles, his words rushed.

Not giving me the chance to reply, he demands, “Let’s move. We’re already five minutes late.” He continues down the hall, not waiting for me to acknowledge his request.

After dumping my files into Mr. Fletcher’s offering hands, I chase after Mr. Schluter.

‘Thank you,’ I whisper to Sierra when she hands me Mr. Schluter’s briefcase and a travel mug of coffee just before I exit the rotating glass doors. I can only pray she slipped some happy pills into his beloved brew, or my dodge from prosecution a second time may end worse than my first taste.

“Where are we going?” I question, slipping into the backseat of Mr. Schluter’s Bentley.

Although I have an inkling about the circumstances of our hasty meeting, I’d rather him spell it out for me. I’ve barely had a moment of clarity all week; I don’t need more confusion.

“Vladimir called an emergency meeting,” Mr. Schluter answers, his voice as gruff as his mood. “Did you file Malvina’s citizenship documentation as requested?”

I wait for him to take his belongings from my grasp before nodding. “Last I heard, her citizen application was approved Wednesday afternoon. The formal documentation should arrive within a few weeks.”

“And the marriage license, was it also approved?”

I swallow the brick in my throat. ‘Yes. It’s good to go as well. But as I explained to her earlier, her citizenship application was irrelevant to her quest to wed. Whether she marries or not, by the end of the month, she will be a citizen of the United States.’

I breathe out heavily, grateful my voice was professional, even though I’m feeling anything but. Mr. Schluter’s questions were brief but revealing enough to divulge he isn’t aware Nikolai put Malvina on a redeye to Russia last night. If he isn’t aware of that substantial fact, what is the likelihood Vladimir is also unaware?

“Did Vladimir mention what our meeting pertains to?” I keep my voice neutral, hoping my question won’t raise suspicion.

Mr. Schluter grunts. “Does he ever give a reason for his madness?”

When his focus shifts to his state-of-the-art cell phone, my opportunity to grill him further fades into the distance. With the number of butterflies in my stomach, I’d also like to occupy my time, but with my belongings sitting in the bottom of my desk drawer, I’m left twiddling my thumbs, pretending I can’t feel the contents of my stomach winding to the base of my throat.

I’m not worried about meeting Vladimir again; I trust that Nikolai will keep me safe. I’m more concerned about what Nikolai’s reaction will be to me arriving unannounced again. If I had my cell, I could have warned him of my imminent arrival. Now I just have to pray he is one step ahead of his evil father.

For every inch we travel down the long Popov compound driveway, the tighter my stomach knots. The last time I stepped foot on this property, my world was upended. I really hope today doesn’t have the same outcome. I’ve been in so many battles lately, I feel like I should enter every room with my fists swinging.

Hot, bland air greets us when we exit the Bentley to climb the mammoth stairs at the entrance of the Popov mansion. Unlike our first meeting, we are not welcomed at the door. After being shown into the foyer by a man in his late twenties, we are guided into the massive library by the same petite brunette with rich chocolate eyes who took our coats last week.

Since I’m not being blinded by Malvina’s beauty, I can observe Maya’s features with more diligence. She is attractive but successfully conceals her stellar attributes with dowdy clothes and a lowered chin. With her hair pinned back and clothing more suitable for someone of her size, I could easily mistake her for one of the beauties parading around my living room last week. She is gorgeous but so shy and reserved, she floats around the room like a ghost.

After gesturing for us to sit on the same loveseat we sat on last week, Maya commences serving tea.

“Thank you,” I whisper graciously when she hands me a floral painted china cup and saucer.

“Sugar?’ she questions, her accent a unique mix of French and Russian.

“S’il vous plait,” I reply, hoping she understands French.

Maya peers up from the tray of tea, her smile as captivating as Nikolai’s. She is truly beautiful when she isn’t cowering.

“Lait?” she asks shyly.

When I nod, she adds a dash of milk to my tea, her smile growing.

As quickly as her smile arrived, it vanishes. I can understand her swift change in composure. I don’t even need to look in the direction of her gaze to know the reason for her whitening face. I can feel the vivacity in the air draining with every creeping step he takes. Hell has been left unattended today as the devil is walking amongst the living.

‘Ernest,’ Vladimir greets Mr. Schluter, his voice prominent and booming.

After welcoming Mr. Schluter with kisses on his cheeks, Vladimir’s attention turns to me. ‘The Huntress herself,’ he murmurs under his breath as he leans in to press his lips to my cheek. ‘As cunning as Satan but twice as pretty. You could only look better blushing beneath me.’

Repulsed by his offensive words, I pull back with only a microsecond to spare, forcing his kiss to land midair.

“Ah, such spark,” he whispers. “But don’t underestimate me, Ahren; I do not handle disrespect well. By the time I finish punishing you, your marks will look like child’s play. My bite is much harder than a mangy mutt.”

Before I can fully absorb his threat, I’m startled by a much more dangerous, intangible risk. “Father, what is this? You said you’d call them to update them on the situation. Not summon them here.”

Nikolai enters the room with his eyes rapt on his father, but his devotion focused on me. How do I know his attention is dedicated to me if I can’t see his eyes? I can feel it in my bones. I didn’t need to call him to announce my arrival. He knew I was coming before I even entered the foyer. He can sense my presence just as well as I sense his.

“I thought I’d kill two birds with one stone,” Vladimir answers, his voice as flagrant as his facial expression. “Advise them of Malvina’s departure to Russia last night, while also reporting Sergei’s disappearance.”

Vladimir’s blasé response to Malvina’s return to Russia fills me with hope that he is accepting of Nikolai’s decision not to wed, but his second admission sucker-punches me right in the gut. It isn’t just Vladimir’s confession that creates fresh wounds; it is Nikolai’s reaction. Nikolai portrays the role of Mafia Prince well, but even he balked during his father’s confession.

“They’re attorney’s, not detectives,” Nikolai replies, ignoring my questioning glare. “If you want to report Sergei’s disappearance, shouldn’t you contact the authorities?” His tone dips when he articulates the word “disappearance.”

Vladimir throws his head back and laughs. It isn’t a genuine laugh packed with sunshine and happiness. It is vindictive and cold—just like its owner. ‘I’m not reporting Sergei as missing. I am merely initiating a claim on his life insurance policy. Sergei was an asset that grew in value with his death. Whoever got rid of him did me a favor—more than they will ever realize.’

“Sergei’s dead?” I blurt out before I can stop myself, the hammering of my heart resonating in my tone.

“No,” Nikolai answers at the same time Vladimir says, “Yes.”

I lock my eyes with Nikolai’s, knowing I can trust them more than any words. Unfortunately, they are the most guarded they’ve ever been. He isn’t the Nikolai who kissed me goodbye at 4 AM this morning. He is once again Nikolai, a Russian Mafia Prince.

I’m not stunned by his swift change in demeanor. The protectiveness radiating out of him is as stealthy as it was when he sheltered me from Sergei last week. He knows who the real monster in the room is. It isn’t him. It is the man glaring at him, goading him into making a mistake, hoping he will expose his hand before all his cards have been dealt.

Vladimir is playing the same tricks on Nikolai he’s always played. He is striving to wedge a gap between Nikolai and anyone who dares stand by his side. He knows Nikolai is his greatest contender, so he is doing anything in his power to weaken his resolve.

If Vladimir thinks he can play me against Nikolai, he is sadly mistaken.

In every angel, a demon hides.

And in every demon, an angel strides.

–Author Unknown

When you are forced to protect the ones you love, nothing is left on the table. I’ve only known Nikolai for weeks, but that doesn’t make him any less worthy of defense. I will protect him as vigorously as he defends me. I will have his back no matter what, because I know if he did kill Sergei, he wouldn’t have done it without good reason. Values are not taught; we are born with them. Nikolai’s morals may be misguided at times, but for the most part, his heart is in the right place.

After a quick swallow to clear the nerves from my voice, I explain, “Typically, life insurance policies are paid within thirty days of the beneficiary supplying the insurance company with a death certificate. Do you have a death certificate for Sergei?” My voice is surprisingly resilient for how fast my heart is racing.

“It is a little hard to supply a death certificate when we don’t have a body,” Vladimir replies, his words taunting and not the least bit upset that a member of his family has passed.

“Without a body, the coroner will not issue a death certificate,” Mr. Schluter interjects, finally joining the party, albeit way too late.

Vladimir takes a seat in the chair across from me, his movements as haughty as his arrogant face. “That is not necessarily true. I know of many cases where a murderer has been convicted without a body being found.” He stares straight into my eyes, ensuring I don’t miss the hidden innuendo in his statement.

My brother was sentenced to life behind bars—even with his ‘victim’s’ body never being found. He is a prime example of how the justice system rewards some and punishes others.

Although my stomach squirms from Vladimir’s malicious comment, it doesn’t stop me from saying, “In most jurisdictions, you need to obtain a court order directing the registrar to issue a death certificate in the absence of a physician’s certification. However, without circumstantial evidence that Sergei has passed, I don’t see any jurisdiction issuing such a request. There has to be evidence of foul play. Blood. Body tissue. A crime scene. Do you have any of those things?”

Even though I’m asking a question, I continue speaking, ensuring Vladimir can’t issue the pompous reply his eyes are relaying. “And if you do have any of those things, they will need to be thoroughly processed by members of law enforcement before a death certificate can be issued.”

“Then perhaps we should call them in,” Vladimir suggests, his tone reeking with condescending amusement. “Get the ball rolling while the evidence is still fresh.” He turns his slanted gaze to Nikolai during his last sentence.

“You want to bring law enforcement officers here?” I question as my eyes drift between Nikolai and Vladimir, stunned he’d want to do something so ludicrous, much less lawful.

Although Nikolai’s presence is very much felt, he is too busy categorizing every move Vladimir makes to answer the silent questions I’m directing at him. Now his nickname makes sense. He is as still as a snake, ready to strike at any moment.

Realizing I’m not going to gain anything useful from Nikolai’s stone hard demeanor, my eyes swing back to Vladimir. My heart stops for a second, startled to discover he is watching me. His skin-crawling scar proves what I suspected—he’s testing both mine and Nikolai’s loyalty. I am familiar with how things work in his industry; one wrong move and he will be free to issue us any punishment he sees fit.

Usually, I’d cower from the prospect of going toe-to-toe with a mafia king, but with Nikolai standing at my side, primed and ready, I’m feeling invincible.

“If you want to call in the authorities, go ahead, but considering the four men you have manning the gates and the additional six camouflaged throughout the grounds are carrying firearms illegal in the state of Nevada, as a member of your defensive team, I strongly suggest you have them removed from the property beforehand.”

Vladimir’s brow quirks, matching his cunning smirk. “You’re advising me against seeking restitution for wrongdoing to a member of my family?” he asks, his voice a cross between a roar and a reprimand.

“Not at all. I’m merely recommending you consider all your options.” I pause for a moment to clear the nerves from my voice before continuing, “Sergei’s disappearance should be investigated, but I am sure you are more than capable of conducting that investigation without the authorities being called in. You’ve managed for decades without their help, so why change something that isn’t broken?”

Like all conceited men, my backhanded compliment strokes Vladimir’s ego. He sits up in his chair, his peacock feathers fanning behind his back. “Smart and beautiful. Perhaps I should reconsider Niki’s offer of making you my whore.”

Although his comment makes my stomach lurch into my throat, I keep my composure neutral, ensuring my fear doesn’t encourage his arrogance. His condescending mood is already being fed by Nikolai’s unusual silence; it doesn’t need any more nourishment.

“I’m not saying anything any other defense attorney wouldn’t recommend. I am not here to prosecute you. I am here to defend you.”

Although my eyes are facing Vladimir, my words are for Nikolai. He appears moments away from blowing his top. His fists are clenched at his side, and the glare he is directing at his father is murderous. If I don’t say something to diminish his fury, the Popov crew will lose two key members in less than a week.

When the volatility in Nikolai’s eyes fades, I know he took my saying as I had hoped. He has my support, no matter how murky the waters get.

“Ernest?” Vladimir asks, seeking his opinion on my suggestion.

Mr. Schluter scoots to the end of his chair, his mood unreadable. “I hired Justine solely on her looks. What can I say, my clients like eye candy. . .”

I want to act surprised by his revelation, but I’m not. Mr. Schluter is a chauvinistic pig stuck in the Stone Age. That is why I arrived for my interview in a micro miniskirt and a blouse with only two buttons done up. I love my brother so much, I played Mr. Schluter better than he believes he played me.

“. . . But, if she interviewed with as much guts as she is showing now, I would have hired her sight unseen. You know the statistics when the authorities are brought in, Vlad. Do you really want to lose that type of capital again for Sergei? He’s been a liability since the day he was born. You should be glad to be rid of him, not mourning his loss.”

I stare at Mr. Schluter with my mouth hanging open. His reply was way too personal. He spoke as if he is a member of Vladimir’s crew—not his defense attorney. Yes, you can have lifetime clients, but not to this extent. When your personal relationship clouds your ethics, you may as well walk headfirst into a tornado, as there is no coming back from that.

I’m pulled from my thoughts when Vladimir snarls, “Very well. Do what needs to be done, but keep them away from here.” The way he sneers “them” leaves no doubt to whom he is referring.

Mr. Schluter nods, understanding Vladimir’s demand to repress law enforcement from his home base.

“And the wedding?” Mr. Schluter asks, unable to harness his curiosity for a moment longer.

Vladimir’s eyes lock with Nikolai before drifting to me. I act as curious as Mr. Schluter, pretending I am unaware of the reason behind Malvina’s sudden decision to leave.

My acting must be A grade as Vladimir explains, “Malvina had to return to Russia on family business. The wedding has been postponed—”

‘The wedding has been canceled,’ Nikolai interrupts, his tone knee-shaking firm. ‘Malvina had a change of heart. It is best for all involved.’

He is lying. Not about the wedding being canceled, but about it being Malvina’s choice. Her interest in Nikolai was abundant only days ago, so there is no way she canceled their wedding. This was solely Nikolai’s doing—and the fact he is so vehemently denying any connection to her proves where his loyalties lie. A member of his crew is missing, possibly dead, yet no worry crossed his face, but at the first mention of his name associated with someone who could cause me harm, his daggers are out. Nikolai is on my side just as surely as I am on his.

Confused by the silence brewing between Nikolai, Vladimir, and me, Mr. Schluter says, ‘Either way, your wedding license won’t expire for 12 months, so if she has another change of heart, you’re good to go.’ He waggles his bushy brows, compatibility meaningless to a man whose value of women doesn’t extend past their chest size.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Nikolai replies, acting unaffected by Mr. Schluter’s bigoted ways. He waves his hand to the entranceway of the library. “I’ll show you out.”

When Mr. Schluter stands from his chair to gather his business jacket, I follow suit, faking ignorance to Vladimir’s suspicious stare. I’ve never been more grateful for a knee-length skirt than I am right now. The shaking hampering my body is so convincing, my knees are clanging together.

After dipping my chin in farewell to Vladimir, I shadow Mr. Schluter out of the library. I secure my first breath in what feels like minutes when Vladimir doesn’t object to our quick retreat. From the look crossing his face, he appears to want to say something, but thankfully, the length of our strides steals his chance.

My heart rate I’ve only just settled kicks into overdrive when the warmth of a hand heats my back. Unlike the first time Nikolai guided us out of his residence, he doesn’t take charge. He lets Mr. Schluter take the lead, leaving his hand unlimited access to my skin. Although worried our every move is being watched, I can’t shut down my body’s awareness of his closeness. My desire for this man outweighs any risks associated with being his. Furthermore, I have no reason to fret. Nikolai has angled his body so not only is touch his hidden from Vladimir’s view, but I am as well.

“Ah, fuck, woman, I didn’t think you could possibly get any sexier,” he murmurs under his breath as he shadows me down the stairs to the waiting Bentley. “But watching you put Vladimir in his place—fuck—I’ve never been so hard.”

“I had a good incentive,” I murmur, my eyes facing the front. When Nikolai’s hand stiffens on my back, stumped by my reply, I add on, “Troubled shared is troubled halved. You’re not fighting this battle alone, Nikolai. I am standing right next to you.”

I can’t see him, but I know he is smiling. I can sense it with every fiber of my being.

“But, in saying that, you should have told me about Sergei. I can’t help you if I’m left in the dark. Vladimir was playing us in there; this is all just a game to him.”

“My entire life has been a game to him, Justine. One fucked-up day after another,” Nikolai replies, announcing I’m not the only one aware of Vladimir’s power trips. “But I’m one step ahead of him. I know all his moves. It will only be a matter of time before the slate is wiped clean.”

“Until then, we need to even the playing field,” I murmur, my voice laced with unusual cattiness. Since I’ve reached my quota of arrogant men today, my mood is fraying.

Nikolai closes the gap between us, bringing his lips to within touching distance of my ear. “Spoken like a queen ready to rule her empire.” He groans his words in a long, wicked purr, hitting every one of my hot buttons. “I knew there were devilish thoughts in your mind, Ahren; you just needed the right man to bring them to fruition.”

My mouth twitches, preparing to recant his statement, but I’m left void of a retort. Vladimir is a vile, heinous man who is well overdue for a taste of his own medicine. Does that mean I’m on board with Nikolai’s decision? No, not entirely. But I understand why he has chosen to walk down the path he has. He has no other option.

After accepting Mr. Schluter’s handshake, Nikolai opens my side of the back passenger door of the Bentley for me. “Don’t make any plans this weekend, Ahren,” he quotes in Russian, his words throaty and full of need. “Your calendar just got blacked out by the man determined to read your wicked thoughts.”

I nod eagerly. Even if the twinkle in his eyes didn’t dampen his threat, my response wouldn’t have changed. I am under the spell of a mafia prince, trapped without a chance of escaping. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.