29. NIKOLAI
Chapter twenty-nine
I held her future in the palm of my hand. Every breath, every second, every option she had left—it was all for me to decide. And for the first time in my entire fucking life, I didn’t hate the responsibility of that.
The world I came from didn’t make room for softness.
It weaponized it. I’d spent my whole life building walls so high no one could see the man inside until I’d started to wonder if there even was a man left inside to see.
Not even my sister truly knew me. She understood me, yes, maybe better than anyone else ever could.
But the truth? The brutal truth of who I was?
I had never let anyone get close enough to see it.
But this girl, with her pink T-shirt and sarcastic way of talking to me, had fallen into my arms like fate was fucking tempting me.
She was a little ray of sunshine caught in a storm, and she couldn’t survive without me.
I hated how much I wanted to keep her here.
“So, am I your prisoner?”
She’d said it as a challenge—chin high, fire in her eyes, with that same bite she’d had the first morning she waited on me at Cipher. The sass had pulled my attention like a magnet then. And now it was directed at me like a loaded weapon.
I didn’t answer right away. I was purposely letting her stew rather than responding. No rush.
But she kept staring, waiting, daring me to confirm her worst suspicion.
Finally, I set my fork down, wiped my mouth with the napkin, and stood.
“No,” I said with a frown. “You’re not my prisoner.”
I moved around the island and stopped in front of her, then lifted her chin between my thumb and forefinger. She didn’t shrink away. Didn’t even flinch.
“You’re my responsibility.”
Her brows shot up. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”
I stepped back and scrubbed my hand over my chin, studying her for a moment. “It doesn’t matter how you feel about it, to be honest.”
“And what does that mean?” she pushed. “Responsibility like…you take care of a dog? Or a car? Or your plants, maybe?” She gave a sarcastic little shrug. “Are you going to water me twice a week and make sure I get sunlight?”
The edge in her voice sparked something inside me.
“You’re a pain in my ass,” I muttered. “That’s what it means.”
She scoffed and leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. “Well, sorry to be such an inconvenience to your psychotic mafia life.”
My jaw ticced.
She didn’t know the half of it. The bratva hadn’t just raised me—they’d branded me.
Every connection I made with another person was a liability.
Every soft spot was a weakness someone could exploit.
Keeping myself alive? I’d mastered that.
But keeping anyone close to me safe? That was damn near impossible.
I turned away and grabbed my coffee, needing the space to shut her out before I said something I would regret. But my silence only lit her fuse.
“Why the hell did you save me?” she snapped. “If I’m just a burden to you?”
I froze mid-sip, hoping she might give it up if I ignored her.
But of course, she didn’t stop.
“You’re the one who sat down at my table,” she fired back, folding her arms tight across her chest and glaring at me.
“You’re the one who followed me home. You’re the one who showed up at that club like some violent vigilante.
” Her voice cracked—not with fear, but with rage.
“And now what? I’m just an inconvenience? ”
I turned, leaned against the counter, and stared her down.
“You want the truth?”
She blinked. “Try me.”
I tilted my head. “I helped you for the same reason someone stops when they see a kitten in the road.”
That landed like a slap. Her mouth parted, but no sound came out.
“You looked lost. Out of place. And I thought—poor thing won’t last long in this city.”
Her hands curled into fists as she dropped them onto the counter. Her face twisted into stormy shock.
“You were already circling the drain, Lyla,” I said quietly. “You just didn’t know it.”
Her eyes narrowed, but I didn’t let up.
“I should’ve left you alone. Should’ve walked away and never looked back.”
Should’ve never wanted you.
I gritted my teeth and kept going. “But Delgado had already marked you. Like I said, every performance you did was a fucking billboard for every rich sadist with a checkbook and a hard-on. You weren’t a dancer. You were inventory.”
There was no reason to sugarcoat my words.
“And now?” I added with a bitter smile and a huff. “Now I have to set you up with a new identity and get you the hell out of this city before someone decides to finish what Delgado started. A fresh start on the West Coast will provide the distance you need.”
She stared at me as though I’d just kicked her in the ribs.
“I’m not leaving,” she said, her voice rising. “You don’t get to make that decision for me.”
I shook my head, laughing darkly. “You want to stay? You’ll die.”
“I’d rather die,” she shot back, “than live some sad gray life, hiding in a place I don’t belong, with no friends, no family, no future—”
“I know people there.” I scowled. “They’ll protect you.”
“I don’t need protecting,” she hissed. “I can go home to Tennessee. Mountain people protect their own.”
I stepped closer.
“No. Delgado can easily find out where you’re from using your employment information alone. He has connections everywhere. And if he finds you there, he won’t just kill you —he’ll go through your friends, your neighbors, anyone who ever looked at you sideways.”
She remained still, her teeth worrying at the soft skin inside her mouth.
“You think this is personal?” I said, my tone low and lethal. “It’s not. You were a transaction to them. A sale. A product I stole.”
I leaned in, close enough to see the rise and fall of her chest. Close enough to see her lips part just slightly, but not in fear.
“You’re lucky to be sitting here at all.”
She stared, then finally said flatly, “I’m more than happy to leave. You’re the one holding me hostage. You’re the one who ruined my career. My dreams. My entire fucking life.”
I let the silence hang between us. Then I looked her dead in the eye and said—
“You were never going to have a life in this city.”
A text lit up my screen before I could say more. It was Luca telling me to turn on the news.
I tapped the control app on my phone, and the flatscreen on the far wall lit up.
The news blinked to life.
“ …an early-morning fire tore through the private Manhattan Midtown club known as The Sacrifice, ” the anchor said, her voice pitched just right to sound urgent but not hysterical .
“ Investigators are looking into potential mafia activity, citing multiple witnesses who claimed the place was stormed by armed men shortly after midnight. The fire, which began on the main level, quickly engulfed the building. Several bodies have been recovered. Others remain unaccounted for. ”
They rolled the footage as she spoke. Fire crews had mostly doused the flames, but the building still smoldered. What remained of the structure was scorched and hollow, with smoke curling from pockets of ash and debris.
Lyla’s breath caught.
Then came the real show—the mayor stepping up to the mic, sleeves rolled up, voice tight with righteous fury.
“ The people of this city have suffered too long under the thumb of organized crime. I’ve made it my mission to sever those roots.
And I will not stop until the last shadow of the mafia is run out of the five boroughs.
This administration will work hand in hand with federal task forces and city prosecutors to dismantle every syndicate and arrest every family member still operating within our borders. ”
A beat passed. The screen cut back to the anchor. I turned it off.
“Jesus,” Lyla whispered. “They’re making Delgado sound like the victim.”
“Delgado’s had his hands in New York City politics for the last year,” I said flatly. “This is just spin.”
She regarded me forlornly. “So…what now?”
“Now I get you out of the city. New identity. New location. Quiet, safe, away from all this.”
After a flurry of blinks, she cocked her head and said, “Excuse me? You’re not law enforcement. You don’t get to put me in witness protection.”
I gave a humorless laugh. “Sweetheart, this isn’t a democracy. You’re going.”
Her brow furrowed. “Why? So you can hide me in some basement like a little doll you don’t know what to do with?”
“Because it’s the only way for you to stay alive.”
She scoffed and leaped up out of her chair. “That’s bullshit. You don’t get to make that decision.”
“I already have.”
“And what if I say no?”
I met her eyes. “Then you die. How many times do I have to tell you that?”
She gasped.
I shouldn’t have said it. But she needed to get it.
“You’re lucky I care enough to help you,” I added coldly. “It would’ve been easier to leave you behind or shoot you and put you out of your misery.”
“Then why did you come to my rescue? I didn’t ask for your help. It’s not like I begged for a stalker to come micromanage my life. You followed me. You watched me like some obsessed freak. You knew where I lived, where I worked, what I read—and now you want me to be grateful?”
“You think you’d be better off if I hadn’t?” I snapped, my temper flaring. “If I hadn’t stepped in, you would’ve been fucked to within an inch of your life, strung out on whatever cocktail of drugs they pumped into you, and left licking your wounds like some broken pet after the buyer was through.”
She flinched.
Her chin dropped to her shoulder slightly, like I’d struck her.
Good. Let my words burn.
I carried my plate to the sink, rinsed it, and put it in the dishwasher as the silence stretched.
When I glanced back, her eyes were darting around like a cornered animal’s.
Then she slowly picked up her empty plate and mug and cautiously stepped around the island to the sink.
Her spine was straight, but everything about her screamed for escape.