Chapter 13 - Nikolai
As Dima and I silently sneak into the main house, we're startled by Anoushka catching us red-handed. Her eyes widen in shock at the sight of our bloodied faces and bruised bodies. "What the hell happened to you two?" she demands, her voice a mixture of mild anger and heart-rendering concern.
"Anoushka," I sigh, feeling the weight of exhaustion on my shoulders. "I just didn’t want Sofia and Natalia to see us like this. We saw their car in the driveway and thought it best to avoid them.”
I’m so exhausted that my voice sounds low and dull. Beside me, Dima leans against me, his arm taking support across my shoulders.
He nearly stumbles as we stand, and Anoushka gasps, rushing over to the other side, her unanswered question forgotten. She gently places an arm around Dima’s waist, giving him support. She takes control of the situation, guiding us toward the living room. She helps Dima onto the couch with surprising gentleness.
"Thank you," I mutter as she fills two glasses with water and hands me one. Dima shakes his head, probably nauseous from all the blows he took, but I accept the glass. My body aches with every move I make, but having Anoushka here is a comfort I didn't know I needed.
"Stay put. I'll go get the first aid kit," she orders, her tone firm yet caring.
As she leaves, I can't help but admire how strong and nurturing Anoushka can be, even when faced with something so unexpected and unnerving. It's clear that she's not just any woman—she's someone who can handle the darkness that comes with being part of this Bratva family.
In times of trouble, the past slights don’t matter. She saw Dima hurt, saw me bloodied, and all she chooses to focus on is getting us help.
Frankly? It’s incredible.
Memories rush back of my mother yelling at my father when he came back injured. Anoushka, however, is calmer beyond my wildest expectations.
"Alright," Anoushka says upon her return, the first aid kit in hand as she moves toward Dima. "We need to get you cleaned up."
She opens the box, pulls out some bandages, antiseptic, and cotton, and begins to pour the antiseptic on the cotton. She turns to me as she does and asks again. “What the hell happened?”
My fingers clench involuntarily as I try to form a convincing explanation. "It was just some trouble at the club," I say dismissively, hoping to put an end to her probing. "Nothing for you to worry about."
"Really?" She raises an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. "You both look like you've been through hell."
"Anoushka," I sigh, watching the way her steady hands wrap a bandage around Dima's arm. "Please, just let it be."
She looks like she’s about to argue, but I notice her make a reasonable calculation in her mind. She can tell I’m exhausted, and so she chooses the path of silence—of letting it be because I needed her to let it be.
And that, in itself, makes all the difference.
Suddenly, I feel safe.
I watch as she carefully cleans one of Dima's deeper cuts, her eyes flicking up to meet mine every so often. I can still feel the weight of her unasked questions, and my gut twists with unease.
I don’t want to tell her what happened because it was Yuri’s men. I don’t want her holding herself responsible. None of this is her fault.
As Anoushka focuses back on tending to Dima, I see the nurturing side of her that I've not yet seen. Even when faced with someone who's shown her nothing but disrespect, she's still capable of such kindness and care. It only deepens my appreciation for her and the strength she possesses.
"Thank you," Dima murmurs, his voice barely audible. Anoushka merely nods, patting his bandaged arm gently before turning to the other.
Dima’s injuries are deep and extensive. “I’m going to call the doctor,” I tell her, prepared to leave the room.
“Wait,” she says, turning to me. “I have to clean you up too.”
“I’m fine,” I protest. “Just a graze or two, a few minor bruises. I can take care of myself.”
She frowns in my direction and shakes her head. “Go call the doctor,” she permits. “But then, I’m coming to clean you up.”
The way she says it, leaving no room for argument, reminds me of someone I know.
Me.
Oh, how the tables have turned.
I give her a small smile, whatever I can manage through the pain, and walk out of the door.
***
Back in my room, I call for the home doctor. Then, I head into the bathroom and strip off my bloodied shirt to inspect the damage in the mirror. Bruises are forming and cuts litter my torso like an abstract painting. I try my best to wash the wounds in the sink, but my exhaustion makes it difficult to concentrate.
There's a knock at the door, and Anoushka's voice floats through. "Nikolai, can I come in?"
"Fine," I say, bracing myself for her reaction. She opens the door hesitantly, her eyes widening as they take in the sight of my battered body.
"God, Nikolai," she breathes, rushing over to me with a first aid kit in hand. "Why didn't you tell me it was this bad?"
"Didn't want you to worry," I mumble, avoiding her gaze.
"Too late for that," she replies softly, dampening a cloth with antiseptic. I flinch when she starts dabbing at my cuts, but her touch is gentle and deliberate.
"Where's Dima?" I ask, trying to distract myself from the stinging pain.
"Sleeping in the guest room," she answers, focused on her task. "He'll be okay, and I’ve instructed the housekeepers to take the doctor to Dima the moment he arrives. Now, let me take care of you."
"Anoushka, you don't have to—" I begin, but she cuts me off.
"Shut up and let me help," she says firmly, her eyes meeting mine with determination. I nod, conceding to her stubbornness.
As Anoushka meticulously tends to my wounds, I can't help but marvel at her resilience. She's been thrown into this evening without warning, and yet she's managed to remain strong, compassionate, and fiercely protective.
It makes me truly feel that the tides are shifting beneath our feet—that what we think and believe no longer matters.
"Thank you," I say quietly when she finishes bandaging my chest.
"Of course," she replies, giving me a small, reassuring smile.
But it’s clear there’s more on her mind. "Nikolai,” she begins softly. “I deserve to know what's going on, especially if it puts any of us in danger."
"Fine," I relent, considering how this is the third time she’s asking. "There were some… disagreements at the club tonight. Things got out of hand."
"Disagreements over what?" she asks, trying to hide the tremble in her voice. “Wouldn’t this fight affect your reputation? Your establishment’s reputation?”
I can see the determination in her eyes, and I know she deserves at least some semblance of an answer. "My family's safety is more important than me than anything else," I say cryptically. "And that includes you, Anoushka."
Her expression softens, and for a brief moment, I see a glimmer of understanding in her eyes. She reaches out and gently cups my face, her touch warm and tender. “I’m just so glad you’re okay,” she whispers, her face so close to mine that I can see the green hues in her blue eyes speckled with flakes of brown.
“I’m glad you’re alright,” she whispers, her lashes fluttering against my skin as she leans her forehead against mine. I can feel her breath on my lips.
The air between us shifts, charged with electricity. Our eyes remain locked, and I can see the fire burning within her.
"Anoushka… " I murmur, my voice barely a whisper.
"Shh," she breathes, silencing me with a finger pressed to my lips. Slowly, deliberately, she leans in, pressing her lips to mine with a hunger that surprises me.
This is the first time she’s been so bold. This kiss, this moment, it’s all her making.
And dear lord, am I thrilled.
Anoushka's lips are like warm silk against my own, the sweetness of her taste slowly erasing the lingering pain from my battered body. Her fingers trace a path along my jaw, her touch both gentle and insistent as she begins to kiss me harder, fiercer. She touches my bare chest, and I shift in my seat, my towel threatening to unravel from my waist.
I take my hands and place them on her hips, pulling her down on my lap. Her ass juts into my crotch, my cock getting mildly hard as arousal takes, desire coursing through me like wildfire.
"God, Anoushka," I groan, my voice husky with need. "You're driving me crazy."
"So what do you plan to do about it?" she murmurs between kisses, her hands sliding down my chest, her fingers nimble as she plays with the seam of my towel.