20. Nikolai
20
NIKOLAI
T he engine purrs beneath my hands as I guide the car through the streets of the city, the glow of the dashboard casting faint shadows over Alice’s face. She’s quiet, staring out the window, her fingers twisting in her lap like she’s trying to make sense of something she can’t put into words.
She hasn’t told me why she wanted to come into the city—why she insisted so much. And yet, here I am, driving her because I can’t seem to say no. Because somewhere along the way, I’ve stopped caring about logic or self-preservation when it comes to her.
I glance at her from the corner of my eye, watching the way the lights of the city play across her features. She’s beautiful in a way that sneaks up on you, not loud or obvious, but impossible to ignore once you’ve noticed.
And I’ve noticed. Too much.
“So, are you going to tell me what this is about?” I ask, keeping my voice casual as I turn onto a quieter street.
She hesitates, her hands twisting together more tightly. “Not yet,” she says finally, her voice soft. “I just…I need to see this place.”
I frown, glancing at her again. “That’s not exactly reassuring, Parker. You’re being cryptic, and that’s not like you.”
She gives me a small smile, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “Just trust me, okay?”
Trust. A dangerous word in our world. But with her, it feels different. It feels easy.
I let out a breath and focus on the road. “Fine. But you’re not making a habit of dragging me into these mysteries of yours.”
Her soft laugh fills the car, and I can’t help the smile tugging at my lips.
The silence stretches between us again, but it’s not uncomfortable. The city hums around us, its energy seeping into the air as we leave the quieter streets behind and head into a busier part of town.
“Where are we going?” I ask after a while, my curiosity getting the better of me.
She hesitates again, then finally says, “There’s a café near the corner of Maple and 6th. Can you take me there?”
A café. Of all the places she could have dragged me to, that isn’t what I expected.
“What’s so special about this café?” I ask, but she just shakes her head.
“You’ll think it’s silly,” she says, avoiding my gaze.
I don’t push further, even though I want to. I know her well enough by now to recognize that stubborn tilt to her chin, the way her shoulders tense when she’s holding something back.
We drive for another fifteen minutes before the café comes into view. It’s tucked between a florist and a bookstore, its warm light spilling onto the sidewalk. A few tables are set up outside, and a small chalkboard sign advertises the daily specials.
I pull over to the curb and turn off the engine. “We’re here,” I say, glancing at her.
She nods but doesn’t move to get out of the car. Instead, she turns to me, her green eyes searching mine. “Thank you,” she says softly. “For bringing me here.”
I lean back against the seat, crossing my arms as I study her. “You going to tell me now, or are we still playing the mystery game?”
She bites her lip, looking down at her hands. “To be honest, I don’t know what I’m looking for.”
What’s that supposed to mean?
“Alice—”
“But I’ll figure it out,” she says.
“Okay,” I say simply.
She looks up at me, her lips curving into a faint smile. “You’re surprisingly patient.”
“Don’t get used to it,” I tease, though the truth is, I’d give her anything. She doesn’t need to know that yet.
As the silence settles again, she tilts her head, studying me like she’s trying to figure something out. “Nikolai,” she says hesitantly, “can I ask you something?”
“Anything,” I say without thinking.
Her brow furrows slightly, her voice dropping. “Your family…the Morozovs. You’re not just a normal family, are you?”
I freeze for a moment, the weight of her words sinking in. I’ve always known she was sharp, too observant for her own good. But hearing her say it out loud, seeing the way she looks at me, like she’s already pieced together the truth, feels like stepping into dangerous territory.
I let out a slow breath, leaning forward, my elbows resting on the steering wheel. “What gave it away?” I ask, my voice lighter than I feel.
She doesn’t laugh. “You don’t exactly hide it, Nikolai,” she says. “The security, the secrecy, the way people look at you and your brothers…it’s not hard to figure out.”
I glance at her, weighing my words carefully. “And you’re not running for the hills?”
She shrugs, her expression steady. “I’ve thought about it. But then I think about Luka and Mila. And…” She pauses, her eyes meeting mine. “And the rest of you.”
My chest tightens at her words, and I don’t know if it’s pride or fear that surges through me. Maybe both.
“We’re not good people, Alice,” I say finally, my voice quieter now. “What we do…it’s not something you want to get caught up in.”
She tilts her head, her gaze unwavering. “I don’t scare easily, Nikolai.”
I chuckle softly, shaking my head. “You should. You really should.”
But as I watch her, sitting there so calm, so steady, I can’t bring myself to push her away. She’s in too far already, and a selfish part of me doesn’t want her to leave.
“We’ve been Morozovs for generations,” I say after a moment, my voice steady but guarded. “And being a Morozov means…certain responsibilities. Certain dangers.”
“Mafia,” she says simply, and it’s not a question.
I nod, my jaw tightening. “Yeah.”
She’s quiet for a long moment, her expression unreadable. But when she speaks, her voice is steady. “I’ve already figured that much out. I just wanted to hear you say it.”
Her honesty, her bravery—it stirs something deep inside me, something I can’t name but can’t ignore. I reach out, brushing a strand of hair from her face, my fingers lingering longer than they should.
“You’re too good for this world,” I say quietly. “Too good for me.”
She shakes her head, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “Maybe you’re wrong,” she says softly. “Maybe I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.”
I watch her step out of the car, her hand lingering on the doorframe as she glances back at me.
“Thank you for bringing me here,” she says, her voice soft.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to come in with you?” I ask, even though I know she’ll refuse.
She shakes her head. “I won’t be long. I just…need a moment.”
I nod, gripping the steering wheel a little tighter as she closes the door and walks toward the café. Her figure disappears through the door, and I exhale, leaning back against the headrest.
Let her go, I tell myself. She’s here for a reason, and I should trust her to handle it. But something doesn’t sit right.
The streets are busy, cars honking and people bustling past on the sidewalk. Normally, I’d leave, respecting her need for space. But this time, I can’t. The idea of her being alone, unprotected, gnaws at me.
I pull out of the spot, scanning the streets for a place to park. The city isn’t forgiving when it comes to parking, especially in this part of town, but I drive a little farther and find a tight space on the corner.
Stepping out of the car, I glance back toward the café. It’s small, quaint, and packed with customers.
The café’s warm light illuminates Alice’s silhouette through the window. She’s alone, sitting at a small table near the back. Her hands wrap around a steaming cup, and her head tilts slightly as she stares down at it, lost in thought. She doesn’t look uneasy or afraid—just…quiet.
The minutes drag on, and my gaze never leaves her. People come and go, the door swinging open and shut, but she remains where she is. I lean back against the wall of the florist shop next to the café, keeping an eye on the entrance, my fingers twitching in my pockets.
And then I look again, and she’s gone.
Panic surges through me like a shot of adrenaline. My eyes dart around the café, searching for her familiar figure, but she’s nowhere to be seen. The table she was sitting at is empty, her cup still there, steam curling lazily upward.
No. Where is she?
I push off the wall, my heart pounding as I stride toward the café. The little bell above the door jingles as I step inside, the warm smell of coffee and pastries washing over me. No one pays me any attention, their heads buried in their laptops or quiet conversations.
I scan the room quickly, my eyes moving to every corner. Nothing. She’s not here.
That’s when I see it—the back door, swinging shut as if someone just passed through it.
My stomach tightens.
I move quickly, weaving through the tables. My hand slips under my jacket, my fingers wrapping around the grip of my gun. I draw it slowly, keeping it low, making sure no one notices. My pulse hammers in my ears as I push the door open, stepping into the dimly lit alley behind the café.
The smell of damp concrete and garbage fills the air, and I pause, listening.
Then I hear it—her scream.
It’s sharp, terrified, and it cuts through me like a knife. My heart lurches, and without thinking, I move toward the sound, my gun raised and ready.
I round the corner, and there she is.
A man has her pinned against the wall, one hand covering her mouth while the other clutches her arm. Her eyes are wide with fear, her struggles frantic but ineffective against his size.
Something snaps inside me.
Before he can react, I raise my gun, aiming for his head.
I don’t hesitate.
The gunshot echoes through the alley, and the man crumples to the ground in an instant. Before I can lower my weapon, Alice sways on her feet, her eyes wide and unfocused, and then she collapses into my arms, unconscious.