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

Hot, humid air smacks into me when I step out of the twelve-seater jet that’s just landed at a private airstrip in Hopeton, Florida. I gallop down the stairs, the two hours’ sleep I managed during flight lightening my steps.

“Nikolai, welcome to Florida,” croons a heavy-breasted female standing next to a shiny black sports car. “We hope you are pleased with our selection.” The seductive purr of her voice reveals what she is referring to. It isn’t the sports car.

Before Justine, this blonde would have been sucking my cock during commute to relieve boredom. Now, my cock isn’t even twitching at the idea of having her lips wrapped around it. I’m a breast man—the rounder, the better. Although this blonde’s tits are barely contained in her tight cropped spaghetti-strap shirt, they look like clumps of silicon wrapped in overstretched skin. If I hadn’t spent my weekend smothered by the best tits I’ve ever seen, her plump lips could have had me looking past her less desirable assets. Unfortunately for her, I’ve suddenly developed standards.

The blonde’s penciled brows stitch when I slide into the driver’s seat of the car and crank the ignition. She rattles on the door handle, soundlessly requesting for me to unlock the passenger door. She will need another visit to the plastic surgeon to smooth the heavy groove in her forehead when I plant my foot on the gas pedal, leaving her standing in a cloud of smoke in the middle of the tarmac.

I push the rental car to its absolute limit, loving the purr of its high horsepower engine as I weave through a seaside community. My resolve is the most determined it’s ever been. I’ve negotiated deals worth millions of dollars. Money laundering, drug shipments, and weapon exchanges have netted the Popov entity a very impressive capital of possessions and cash, but not one deal I’ve negotiated will trump the one I’m going to seal today. If everything goes as planned, I’ll fly out of Hopeton richer than I’ve ever been.

As I glide the murky black car to a stop outside a manned gate, an armed guard emerges from his station. His pupils dilate to the size of saucers when I roll down the driver’s side window enough he can see my icy blue gaze. I’m not a celebrity by any means, but in my field, I’m notorious.

After parking my car in the spot requested by the guard, I peel out of the driver’s seat. I smile, amused when six men brandishing MP5s surround me. Most people would see their excessive tactics as wasteful—I’m one man, and I’m not even carrying a pistol, for fuck’s sake—but I see it as smart. When you’re approached by a man who’s never felt fear, you’re best to act cautiously.

“Brother,” I drawl out in a long, mocking roar when my guided tour of the Petretti compound has me walking past the man I stabbed in the neck last week.

When his eyes drop to his feet even more quickly than the blood drains from his face, I mutter, “What? Aren’t we friends anymore? I thought we were family?”

With rumors of my birthright circulating faster than I would have liked, I’ve had men like that weasel confront me more than a dozen times the past three years. Usually, I’d handle the situation with more constraint, but his constant referring to me as his brother irritated me. I don’t have a drop of Popov blood running through my veins, but I’m sure as fuck not a Petretti. The Petrettis are my rivals, and I’d rather die than take on their name.

When the man I’m mocking cowardly shuffles into a room on my right, my conceited laughter bellows through the dead quiet residence. Although I’m chuckling at his fear, it also hides my shock at the size of the Petretti compound. When Col died, most of his monetary assets dwindled right alongside him, but this residence leaves no suspicion about the empire Dimitri is building. I’m surprised. Dimitri has an eye for detail—clearly, as Justine caught his eye—but he isn’t that smart. One glance into Justine’s eyes made the adrenaline in my blood surge so powerfully, I felt invincible; how could she not have had the same effect on Dimitri?

My tour of the Petretti compound is quick but long enough to gauge what their business is. There is a small shipment of powder in one room on my right, but it is only enough for domestic use by their crew. If they are planning on distributing coke, they’d need more than a few bricks. It is the range of accents projecting from the padlocked rooms that leaves no doubt to my assumption. They’re pedaling the sex trafficking ring even more than Col did during his final years.

When we enter an office at the back of the compound, adrenaline thickens my blood. Dimitri is sitting behind a large wooden desk, his tapered gaze as smug as his fancy office. Dimitri has a lot of similarities to his father. Same dark, trimmed hair, elongated face, and icy blue eyes. He just lacks the aura of arrogance. I was the only one gifted that trait from Col.

“Nikolai, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

Dimitri stands from his chair before gesturing for the men surrounding me to stand down. They don’t go far—only to the corner of the room. Although I can respect Dimitri’s determination to show he isn’t scared, I’ll never respect him. He lost any chance of gaining my respect when I discovered he stood by and watched an animal maul Justine and did nothing to help her. I thought I was a sick man. I’ve got nothing on Dimitri.

I take a seat in the chair Dimitri directs me to before shaking my head, denying his offer of a drink. I’m not here for pleasantries. I’m here on business.

After filling his crystal glass with three fingers of bourbon, Dimitri joins me on one of the four single chairs assembled around a wooden table. ‘If this is regarding your exchange with Matthews Friday afternoon, it is being handled in-house. . .’

Dimitri words trail off when I shake my head. “This has nothing to do with Matthews. I handled the situation. If he steps out of line again, I’ll handle it more thoroughly.” My tone ensures he can’t misconstrue my admission. Matthews was lucky he was still breathing Friday night.

“Then what is this about?” Dimitri asks, sinking into his chair. “You made it clear the last time we met our exchanges from thereon out would only pertain to business.”

“And that they will,” I reply, gliding my hand into the back pocket of my jeans.

My lips curl when Dimitri’s men step closer to me, mindful of my meekest movement. They should be on alert; if I wasn’t spurred on by the desire to give Justine her life back, my meeting with Dimitri might have looked like the one I had with Sergei yesterday afternoon.

Dimitri tries to act unaffected when I slide a picture of Justine across the table, but I saw the quickest flare of his nostrils. He is reacting the exact way I did when I first laid my eyes on her. The thrill of the hunt is warming his veins and thickening his cock.

Even through a photo, Justine’s attractiveness is undeniable. Although she is sleeping, there is no doubt of her beauty. Her hair has fallen away from her shoulders, exposing every flawless feature of her face, and the drape of her clothes can’t hide her alluring curves. I took this photo the first night I stayed in her apartment, knowing it would be one of many.

“Her debt,” I say, tapping my index finger on Justine’s photo. “I want it transferred to me.”

Dimitri shakes his head, adding to the manic tick in my jaw. “What debt? I don’t even know who she is, let alone why she is indebted to us.”

I work my jaw side to side, struggling to contain my anger. I want to slit his throat for his stupidity in believing he can lie to me. I want to squeeze his neck until the blood drains from his face. But knowing the rules of our industry, I can’t. If I killed Dimitri, I’d be dead before I left the compound. Usually, that wouldn’t bother me, but now I’ve got something I’m willing to live for. I’ve got my woman waiting for me at home.

My eyes drift away from Dimitri when a deep voice at my side asks, “How can you not remember her, Boss?”

A man in his mid-thirties licks his lips as his eyes drop to Justine’s photo, utterly oblivious to the murderous glare Dimitri is issuing him. ‘She is a little older than I remember, and her tits are a little rounder, but man, her screams. . . I’ll never forget them. They would have only been hotter if they were done beneath the sheets. If that dog hadn’t fucked her over, I sure would have.’

I glare at him, my blood so hot I can feel it reddening my face. I try to hold in my anger. I try to remember I’m not here for revenge; I’m here to have Justine’s debt transferred to me, but when the unnamed man leans over to secure Justine’s photo in his filthy motherfucking hands, I lose all sense of control.

A feral grunt roars through my lips as I yank my knife from my back pocket and pierce it through the skin of the man whose taunt maimed me more than any scar I’ve been given. The man’s eyes widen as his blood-curdling scream alerts his crew to his distress. I ram my knife down harder, stabbing his hand even further into the wooden table it is pinned to.

I don’t even begin to let up when I feel the pinch of a rifle on my temple. I curl my hand around the man’s neck before drawing him to within an inch of my face. “What did she sound like? A wounded animal. Because that is exactly what you’ll sound like when I pull your stomach out of your throat.” My hot breath scorches his face, my Russian accent so pronounced my words are barely comprehensible.

‘I didn’t mean anything by it. I was playing, man, calm down,’ he pleads, his words forced and laced with fear.

I tighten my grip, loving the throb of his pulse weakening under my hand. “You are a pathetic piece of shit. The closest you would ever get to bedding a woman like that would be in your dreams. Now you’ve lost any chance you had.”

I nudge my head to Justine’s photo resting next to his bloody hand. “Disrespecting her is as punishable as disrespecting me. Do you know what the penalty of disrespecting me entails?”

When the man briefly shakes his head, I snarl, “Death.”

His bones creak when I firm my grip even more. I’m moments from snapping his neck; the only reason I don’t is that Dimitri warns, “If you kill him, any chance of having Justine’s debt transferred to you will be null and void.”

My eyes stray to his, wishing it was his pulse fading from my touch. “I thought you didn’t know who she was?” I growl, my words as lethal as the grim reaper. “Yet you just called her by her name.”

Dimitri’s Adam’s apple bobs up and down. “Her brother repaid her debt years ago. We have no business with her anymore, so I had no reason to disclose old matters,” he replies, his tone more composed than the panic flaring in his eyes.

“She’s still paying her debt. Every fucking day she lives with the guilt of what your father put her through!”

“Our father, Nikolai. Our,” Dimitri corrects.

The man I’m strangling falls to his knees when I abruptly stand from my chair, thrusting him out of my way in the process. My nostrils flare as my fists firm so tightly, my clipped nails pierce my palms. “I may have Col’s blood running through my veins, but he is not my father. Just like you aren’t a man.”

Red dots line my chest when I take a step closer to Dimitri. I’m not in fear of my life. There are rules in our industry, ones not even someone as highly ranked as Dimitri can ignore.

“How could you not protect her from him?” I ask, expressing the one question that hasn’t left my mind since Justine disclosed the reason for her scars.

I’ve done some bad shit in my time—stuff that will haunt my dreams for years to come—but you’ve got to be completely fucked up to watch a woman you care about be mauled by a dog and do nothing.

Dimitri’s lips twitch, but not a word spills from his lips. I spit at his feet, my anger the strongest I’ve ever dealt with.

“You’re a fucking coward,” I taunt without remorse.

A spark detonates in a set of eyes identical to mine in every way when the reason for my unexpected arrival dawns on Dimitri. “You don’t want Justine’s debt. You want her.”

“No,” I deny, shaking my head. “I don’t want her. I already have her. She is mine. And unlike you, no one will take her away from me. Family or not.”

Dimitri’s brows stitch as his face washes with confusion. He stares at me, his composure unreadable. After relieving his throat with a quick swallow, he gestures with his index finger for his men to leave the room. The armed guards stare at him in shock, certain they misread his gesture.

Strengthening his silent request with a throaty roar, Dimitri screams, “Out! Now!” His eyes drop to the man writhing on the ground with my knife still stabbed in his hand. “You too.”

When his crew still fail to move, Dimitri sends a whiskey tumbler flying across the room. Shards of glass and whiskey raining down on his crew convince his men to jump into action. Four men leave without uttering a word, while a brute with a face full of tats removes the barrel of his gun from my temple to aid his colleague from the ground.

The man whimpers like a child when his assistant yanks my knife from his hand with as much brutality as I used putting it in there. The endorphins surging through my veins triple when his eyes bounce between Dimitri and me before he dumps my knife on the table wedged between us.

Dimitri waits for his crew to leave before he nudges his head to my knife, advising me to take it. It is a foolish move on his behalf, but smart at the same time. He knows I feed off fear, so he is doing everything in his power to act fearless.

His skills are impressive, but I don’t need to see him shaking to know he is scared. I can feel it in my bones, smell it leeching from his pores, taste it on my tongue. There has only been one time he’s been more scared; it was when he thought I’d come to collect my crown.

He had no cause for worry. I had no intention of claiming my birthright when we met for the first time three years ago. I was merely here to conduct business. There has only ever been one throne I want to possess. It isn’t Dimitri’s.

After throwing down a three-finger serving of whiskey as if it is water, Dimitri locks his eyes with mine. “How far are you willing to go to secure Justine’s debt?”

“That is the equivalent of asking how fond you are of breathing,” I reply, my tone laced with arrogance.

It has been mere hours since I’ve killed, but the desire to watch the life snuffed from someone’s eyes still runs rampant. Dimitri is the only man who can lessen the guilt Justine has been carrying the past four years, but that doesn’t diminish my wish to kill him. If it weren’t for him, Justine’s family wouldn’t be in the predicament they are now. She wouldn’t hate her body as if it was anything but perfect, and the spark I see hiding deep in her eyes could finally be set free.

“You started all of this, Dimitri, and you are going to end it—whether you want to or not.”