6. Nikolai
NIKOLAI
A llowing her to make a phone call was irrational.
But I gave her the phone, taking the gamble that she might panic and use the opportunity to tell her friend about her situation.
Or better yet, that we’d hear they’re already aware of her disappearance and might’ve tracked the call.
But part of me wanted to know if she would obey.
What I do know is I’m not going to let her starve to death, and if a phone call is what it takes to make her more agreeable, then so be it. I’m many things, including a monster, but I don’t like watching a woman in despair. Not that I would share any of these thoughts openly.
I’m known for mind games and head fuckery, so even if it were found out, it would be assumed it was part of my twisted nature. Who knows, maybe it is, and I’m just trying to convince myself I’ve done something … benevolent.
My phone buzzes, and my temple throbs when I see The Wolf appear on the screen. If there's an inch of mercy in his dark soul, he'll put me on a much more riveting task. Then again, I can't deny the fact that the little blonde minx has captured my curiosity.
“Boss,” I answer in Russian.
“Ah, my little cub,” he says in that patronizing tone I hate. If it weren't for what he has to offer me, I doubt I would've ever worked for him at all. But there's much to be gained by accepting this tedious task. “How goes the babysitting? Any update on Luca Armani’s movement?” he asks greedily.
“The hostage is still secure. We remain on high alert at your estate. No particular changes in behavior from the Armanis, and no contact has been made.” Technically not a lie. Luca Armani hasn’t made contact, but I’m certainly not telling him I permitted Sienna a phone call.
“I see,” he states, and I can imagine him thoughtfully stroking the scruffy beard on his double chin.
I hear him quietly speaking to someone else, possibly his eldest son, Mikhail, though I can’t make out what they say.
It hasn’t gone unnoticed how heavily The Wolf, with his eccentric nature, now depends on his son for advice.
Addressing me again, he says, “It's taking them a lot longer to react than I thought it would. Perhaps we need to send a finger or something of the sorts to accelerate things.”
My jaw clenches, the thought of dismembering Sienna's delicate fingers stirring something violent within me. Not because I particularly care for the woman, but I did promise to protect her as much as I could.
I think back to when I worked under The Lion before his death, and the way he treated women, and one in particular. Turning a blind eye to it has remained with me ever since, and I won’t allow The Wolf to do the same to Sienna.
I have no doubt that Luca Armani will retaliate; it's just a matter of time. I don't see the point in deliberately ruining Sienna's life and body when we will gain the same result either way.
“Wasn't the point of this kidnapping to see how quick their response would be without any additional prompting?
Aren't we making it too easy for them by sending them a calling card?” I calmly press.
The problem with The Wolf is he lacks patience, much preferring to be entertained than in creating lasting results.
“You do make a valid point,” he acknowledges, though seemingly unimpressed. “Is the woman scared?”
“Terrified, boss.” I tell him what he wants to hear, acid coating my tongue at having to call him boss .
“Good. Perhaps you should make a show of striking a little more fear into her heart. As generous as I am with my patience, I want the Italian mafia to acknowledge that we are a force that moves quickly and practically. For every week they take to respond, you are to do something that will terrify the girl, and send me footage.”
I hold in a growl, because he’s once again thinking only of his personal entertainment. But if I were to refuse, it would be worse for Sienna. It would make him more curious about her. The more I delay his intrigue around her, the better. But I still have to appease him. For now. “Yes, boss.”
“Don't disappoint me,” he says, then hangs up.
I place the phone facedown and then go to stand on the balcony, staring out at the ocean as I pocket my hands. Just because I work for The Wolf, it doesn't mean I have to like him. I'm no better than any of the other men who claim to have such loyalty. The truth is, we're all just bought.
He offered me an opportunity, a position, and a sum of money I couldn't say no to after The Lion’s death.
I had no intention of taking The Lion’s role.
Being a leader doesn’t suit me; I work best alone.
The Wolf has plenty of enemies to keep my bloodlust quenched and my pockets full.
I know I’m just as disposable as the rest of his men.
That’s the nature of the bratva families, but it’s also because he despises me as much as he finds me useful.
“Nikolai,” Agata says as she wheels in a trolley full of food. She's the only one besides Andrei that I will allow to speak with me directly and use my first name, and only when we’re alone.
“How is she this morning?” I ask.
I brought Agata on personally, and she’s the only other woman on the estate besides Sienna.
She's the closest thing I have to a mother.
And she's the only woman I've allowed to speak honestly with me.
In return, I offer her my protection and provide her with more money and luxuries than she could ever need.
Though she always squabbles that she doesn't need such things, it's my opinion that she deserves them. We’re barely blood related—some distant cousin bullshit—and she was under no obligation to take me in when I was eight.
So now, I take her everywhere with me and look after her in the same way she did for me when I was a child.
Though the path she walks alongside me might be bloodier.
“I’ve woken her and informed her that she'll be due for breakfast, but I do have concerns about how very little she's eating. I found a noodle dish in a takeaway container in her room.” She arches an eyebrow, seemingly disgusted. Yes, Agata hates all things takeout.
“I wonder how such a thing made its way into a place like this,” I say dryly.
“Indeed,” she replies with a knowing glance. She begins plating various fruits and other items. “Only a quarter of it was eaten. But at least it's something. She seems far too fragile. ”
I look back toward the ocean as I say, “On the contrary, I think she has more fire in her than others realize, perhaps even herself.” I personally find it charming, but I force myself to add, “Luckily, it's my specialty to snuff such things out.” Because things like that will get her killed in this world. If she spoke to The Wolf in the same tone she’s taken with me, she’d learn that in a very horrific way.
Agata doesn't say anything as I glance over my shoulder at her. She's watching me carefully as she quietly asks, “Are you sure this is what you want?”
Taking on this role has its dangers. Purposely antagonizing the Armanis bears risk.
But I find myself giddy at the thought of such bloodlust on my doorstep.
I’ve heard great things about Luca Armani, and I wonder what it would be like to fight him.
But on a more personal level, it’s his association with Dmitri Volkov that intrigues me. And Agata knows that.
“Yes. This is the path I've chosen. Don’t ask again.”
Her lips purse together, but then she says, “Very well.” After a beat she changes the subject. “The men under your command seem to be getting restless. I would make sure she's watched carefully to ensure nobody has any lewd ideas.”
My jaw hardens, aware of what she's insinuating. The best part about somebody like Agata is that she goes under the radar. The men overlook her, and they don’t interfere with her because she has my favor. And in return, she sees and hears more than most .
I nod, silently thanking her for this information, as Andrei clears his throat from the doorway.
I turn, noticing Sienna first. She wears a bright-yellow sundress, and I knew the moment I selected it that it would look striking on her.
Her hair is pulled up in a high ponytail today, accentuating her long neck.
She's my complete opposite in almost every way. Light to my dark. Soft to my hard. Good to my corrupt.
Her gaze darts away from mine, and it's only then I realize I was staring at her.
Agata assesses me with her sharp gaze, and I don’t like it. “You're free to go, Agata.”
“Let me know if I can be of further assistance,” she says, taking her leave. As she passes Sienna, they greet one another.
And then Sienna's gaze is circling the room once again.
I find watching her take everything in gives me a new appreciation for the estate.
I don't generally pay much attention to my surroundings. I could live in an empty warehouse the same as I could in a place like this. But it’s astonishing to try to see it all through her eyes.
Floor-to-ceiling shelves stacked with books flank each side of the room. A giant chandelier hangs in the center, with deep green velvet sofas and a wooden coffee table under it.
It's not until she looks in my direction again that I see the way her breath hitches, and I know it has nothing to do with me but the sight behind me, which is specifically why I chose to have breakfast here.
She ignores me and goes straight to the balcony. She closes her eyes and seems to take in the smell of the air. Her blonde hair gently dances around her face in the wind, and I find myself ensnared.
Andrei remains positioned at the balcony’s edge, standing still, his hands clasped respectfully in front of him. Another two guards stand outside the door in the hallway.
I pull out the chair closest to the door, in case for whatever reason she needs to be dragged back into safety. While on duty, I will always put myself in the more dangerous position.
I wait until she takes the seat that I'm holding out for her and then I push the chair in beneath her.
“I’m surprised you know manners,” she quips as she tucks the yellow dress beneath her.
“I’m just selective in when I choose to use them. Don’t push me too far, little doll, and you won’t have to see what I look like without them,” I warn as I circle the table with two-pointed fingers dragging along it. She follows the movement as I take the seat across from her.
And when those intelligent blue eyes meet mine, she asks, “Are you saying you've had manners this whole time?”
I arch an eyebrow as I adjust the cuffs of my black long-sleeve shirt, an action she watches carefully. “You would certainly know if I had not, and that bratty little mouth of yours wouldn't get away with so much. I’d certainly find more useful ways to occupy it.”
It's slight, but her body jerks back in the chair, and my jaw hardens. I’m well aware of the effect my words have on her. She might fucking hate me, but her body is certainly curious. And that's bad because discipline has never been one of my virtues.
If anything, I've always wanted what I can't have.
“Eat. Today, as promised, I'll take my pet out for a walk, but only if you keep your end of the deal.”
“I have a name, you know.”
“I'm aware,” I say as I look pointedly at the variety of food in front of us, indicating for her to fix herself a plate.
She sighs and grabs a piece of cantaloupe. I'd much prefer her to have something more substantial to begin with, but at least it’s progress. “Do you eat very little because of the industry you work in?”
Her gaze narrows, but her tone comes out sweet as she says, “If we’re asking personal questions, are you naturally a repellent for women because you've never felt the love of one or because you choose to be an asshole?”
The corners of my lips tilt up. “It’s as if you want me to punish you,” I say, keeping my tone even and trying to hide the approval from it.
She takes a bite of cantaloupe, and I can't help but watch in fascination as the juices touch her lips .
“No, I simply return the favor of how one treats me.
I thought you said you knew everything about me, so don't ask questions about my life or my work.
Hell, I still don't know what the fuck is actually happening here.
It's not like everyone is wearing name badges with their job titles. Who are you even working for? How much longer will I be here?”
I point to the plates piled with food once she's done with the cantaloupe, and she picks at a few grapes. I'm transfixed by her perfectly manicured nails sliding into her mouth. She does it slowly and deliberately, curling her tongue before pursing her lips.
My cock twitches, a deep hunger stirring that has nothing to do with the food in front of me.
Her curiosity around our organization will get her into more trouble than she knows; however, I can give her something. “All you need to know is that I work for a powerful family within the bratva.”
Her face pales, and I can see the fear in her expression.
She’s scared.
Of me.
She doesn't ask any further questions, just quietly grazes from the food offered, the bottle of open champagne beside her remaining untouched.
I eat silently, reminding myself that she’s just a job, my prey, and I can’t allow myself to be distracted, no matter how beautiful or witty she is.