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

“Is she like that in the bedroom?” Vladimir asks, his eyes fixated on Justine as she charges down the front stairs of the Popov compound like she’s outrunning a bullet. “All hot and temperamental?”

He asks his questions without concern about the pair of ears listening in. His disrespect of women so great, he treats every one of them as if they are whores, even ones he knows are more powerful than him.

When Vladimir shifts his eyes to me, waiting for my reply, I answer, “Would I have slept with her if she wasn’t?”

Ignoring Malvina’s heavy sigh, I pivot on my heels and head down the corridor on my left. Although Malvina’s tactics to make me her husband are as ruthless as a missile locked on its target, she won’t dare follow me down here—not if she knows what’s good for her.

Malvina is my fiancée, but that doesn’t mean I have to like her. She is the beloved daughter of Andros Smirnov, the wealthiest and most influential man in Russia. In Vegas, Vladimir is a king, but even he knows he is a jester when it comes to a man like Andros.

If I marry Malvina, the Popov entity will become one of the most prominent corporations in the world. Vladimir has more wealth and power than most men will ever achieve in their lifetime, but it isn’t enough for him. He wants more. Malvina can give him more. She is Vladimir’s guarantee of ultimate power, the final chunk of concrete he needs to fortify his empire so thoroughly it will never be demolished. And the fact Malvina is obsessed with me gives him even more incentive to take Andros’ place.

They caught me in a moment of weakness. When you are as high as a kite and as drunk as a sailor, even the worst ideas sound brilliant. Malvina was the most convincing of them all. She assured me marrying her would place me higher in the rankings than Vladimir, and I’d finally have an opportunity to rule over him as he has done to me my entire life.

The quest for revenge was blinding; so much so, I agreed to become Malvina’s husband. We sealed our agreement like any soon-to-be-wed couple would—between the sheets. One night, that was all it took for me to know I’d never marry her, no matter how grand the prize would be.

Fucking Malvina was like bedding a dead mule. She didn’t move or speak. She didn’t do a fucking thing. I blame her for my promiscuity the past four years. If I was going to spend the rest of my life bedding a corpse, I was going to sow my oats—and I sowed them well.

Before Justine’s unexpected arrival, I didn’t think any woman would quench my hunger. I was wrong. She not only appeased my thirst, but she also ignited a flame in me I hadn’t felt in years.

Although marrying Malvina would be a quick solution to displace Vladimir from his throne, the victory wouldn’t be as sweet as what I’m planning. Hate is a strong word; it thickens your blood and makes the bravest men weak, but it is what has kept me driven the past thirteen years. I want Vladimir to feel what I felt when he fed me lie after lie in my childhood. I want him to experience what I went through when my mother killed herself because she couldn’t please him. I want to see his heart break when he realizes he will never be good enough for me, as mine did years ago when I realized nothing I did would ever get his approval.

I maimed for him.

I killed for him.

I forgot who I was for him, yet nothing I did was good enough for him.

Not anymore. I am done. There is only one person I’m going to lose myself to. Vladimir is not that person.

The look on Justine’s face when she discovered I was engaged stripped my veins of oxygen, but I couldn’t do anything to ease her pain. Until I have all my plans in motion, as far as the world is concerned, I am Malvina’s fiancé. Her father is a very powerful man, and I plan on using my connection to him to strengthen my numbers as I move forward in my quest of dethroning Vladimir. Anyone in this industry knows numbers are the most imperative factor. One man can’t take down an army, but three thousand men can.

I move through a darkened room, only stopping when I reach a mildew-covered window. With the Popov’s housemaids frightened to enter this domain, the numerous rooms breaking off the corridor are dark and sooty. Their lifeless appearance represents precisely what happens down here. They aren’t called torture chambers for no reason.

The muscle in my chest I was certain died years ago kicks into a crazy beat when I peer out a thick pair of pleated curtains. Justine is standing at the base of the Popov compound entranceway stairs, waiting for the dark-colored Bentley gliding down the driveway. Her face is ashen, and her eyes are wide and glistening with tears. I don’t know what the old geezer standing next to her is saying, but whatever it is, he is adding to the heat flaming her kneecaps.

If I were certain my actions aren’t being monitored, I wouldn’t stand by and watch her be reprimanded without cause, but since I know her arrival this afternoon was a tactic by Vladimir to test my loyalty, my feet must remain planted.

My disobedience this weekend is why Malvina’s visit from Russia occurred two months earlier than normal. Usually, she shows up twice a year to strengthen the ties between our families. She is only here, demanding we marry immediately, at Vladimir’s request. If I had turned down her suggestion as I really wanted to, Vladimir would have seen it as a direct insult to him, leaving him free to discipline those involved in the treachery without fear of repercussion.

As much as I can withstand the wrath of Vladimir’s fury, Justine isn’t prepared for the sting of his madness. She’s barely coping after her first tussle with a Mafia kingpin; she may not survive a second dose.

Just before Justine enters the idling Bentley, her head cranks back in my direction. Even though she can’t see me through the tinted windows, I know she has spotted me spying on her. She can feel it in her bones, sense it with every breath she takes. She knows I’m with her even when I’m not. She knows me better than anyone.

“Soon, Ahren. Very soon,’ I pledge when she slips into the back seat of the Bentley. ‘We are not done, because we are not even close to beginning.’

What I said to her earlier is true. She will want for nothing when she is with me. When I am king, she will be treated like a queen. The world will be her oyster.

I wait for the Bentley to disappear through the gates of the Popov compound before pivoting on my heels. The scent of fear lingers in my nose when the man lying in bed registers my approach. I could sneak up on him unaware, but where is the fun in that?

The smell of desecration is nearly as intoxicating to me as Justine’s skin. I feed off it. It was the only thing keeping me alive the past thirteen years—until Justine arrived. Although Justine’s attention has shifted my hunger, my determination to protect her is more pressing than anything.

“Sergei,” I growl under my breath as I slip my trusty knife from the back pocket of my jeans. “Where were we before we were rudely interrupted?”

Although I hoped my intuition was wrong, it was proven deadly accurate when my wander through the Popov compound had me stumbling upon Justine. I thought my quest to fix the wrongs I committed made me imagine her presence, but it wasn’t my imagination. Just as my body advised, she was close enough for my cock to notice. The spell that woman has on me—fuck. She has me thinking recklessly. I’ve never been as unhinged as I am now. Merciless, yes, but never unhinged.

Sergei holds out his shackled wrists in a plea, fighting to express words through the gag stuffed in his mouth.

“Shhh,” I say, pushing my finger to his blood-stained lips. “You had one order, Sergei. One. You failed. There is only one penance for failing to adhere to a direct order of your superior. You know that as well as I do.”

Sergei’s pupils dilate as he sucks in a garbled breath, my movements so quick, he doesn’t have a chance to blink.

“Do you remember this room? How you told me you would beat me until I peed my pants, and when I failed to bow to your fucked mind, you broke my arm instead?”

I slant into him deeper, digging the blade of my knife further into his chest. “Do you remember the smell of my brother’s skin burning when you threw acid on his back in this very room?”

Blood gurgles up Sergei’s throat as he struggles to breathe through the pain ripping through his body. For the first time in his life, he is experiencing what many men under him have endured. He is getting a taste of his own medicine.

“None of that would have mattered, Sergei. I would have let it slide. It is the way things are in this business. It is who we were born to be. But, you couldn’t let it go. You had to drag an angel into a fight she didn’t belong in. You touched what is mine. And that alone will cost you your life.”

I stare into Sergei’s black, almost lifeless eyes, watching them darken with every second that ticks by.

“Save a spot for Vladimir in hell. He’ll be joining you soon enough,” I whisper into his ear as his breathing withers to lifeless gasps.

I wait for his shuddering movements to still before removing my knife from his perfectly still chest. I stare down at the blood smeared on the blade, shocked to see it is red. Sergei had a heart as black as Vladimir’s, so I was certain it wasn’t pumping blood.

I remain standing next to Sergei’s lifeless body for several minutes, quiet and confounded. I’ve killed many men, more than I’ll ever admit, but this death is different, and it has nothing to do with Sergei having the blood of a Popov. This is the first time I’ve claimed a life of my own free will. I killed Sergei for me, not because I was forced to.

I should feel remorse.

I should feel guilt.

But all I am feeling is one step closer to freedom.

After clearing the blood from my blade with the rag stuffed in Sergei’s mouth, I exit the room. Roman is waiting for me in the corridor. Although he expressed concern at my decision, he knew nothing would stop my crusade. Sergei was a stupid man, so heedless, he assumed he could run his mouth about Justine without it reaching my ears. His misassumption just cost him his life. His death will serve as a warning to those he encouraged to seek revenge for our exchange on Justine. One wrong glance in Justine’s direction will be fatal, so no man in Sergei’s crew will be inclined to take it any further than that.

“Get rid of him discreetly enough Vladimir won’t find out, but his death will be common knowledge amongst the men. I want this to be a warning, Roman. No one is to touch Justine.”

Roman dips his chin, acknowledging my request with a maturity that matches his years. “I understand. The wheels are already in motion.”

He sidesteps me to stride down the corridor. He freezes halfway through the door when I call his name. “The jet, is it ready as requested?”

“Yes,” Roman replies, his short reply unable to hide his worry. “It is fueled and waiting for you on the tarmac as requested.” His throat works hard to swallow before he adds on, “Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you, Nikolai?”

I don’t like him implying I can’t take care of myself, but I do appreciate he cares enough about me to be worried.

‘Some things are better handled alone.’ My eyes drift to the room Roman is entering. ‘The fewer witnesses, the better.’

“Very well,” Roman breathes out heavily, his sigh more forthcoming than his reply. “I shall see you on your return.”

I nod before pivoting on my heel. “Watch her for me, Roman.”

I don’t need to look at Roman to know he will comply with my request. He is the most loyal man I have—almost to a fault—but his loyalty will be repaid tenfold when I take back what is mine.

Unlike Sergei, his allegiance will give him back his life, instead of claiming it.