32. NIKOLAI #2
I stayed outside long enough that my fingers ached from the cold—and from my restraint to return. I needed distance. From her. From my thoughts. From the part of me that wanted to crawl back into that bathroom and fall to my knees, beg her forgiveness, pledge myself to her.
When I finally went back inside, I ended up in the one place where I was always in control: my operations room.
I downed a glass of vodka as if it were water.
I’d poured two fingers more than I should have into the heavy-bottomed glass, then thrown it back. My throat burned. My chest went hot. But none of it dulled what I needed dulled.
The bar in my office wasn’t exactly stocked for pleasure.
This wasn’t a lounge. It was my command center, my domain, where I was wired to every dark corner of the world.
This was the place I watched wars unfold, shifted currency in real time, and launched black market invasions on men I would never shake hands with.
But tonight, it wasn’t underworld trade I was watching.
It was her.
I moved to my desk and dropped into the chair. The vodka settled, smoldering in my gut as I leaned forward and brought up the video feed from the guest suite.
There she was.
Lacey Grace Oakley.
She’d picked up every broken fragment of the vase, made the bed, and put everything back in place as best she could. She’d even put the curtain rod back up.
Seeing the broken window reminded me that I needed to get it fixed.
I tapped a quick message to Rory: Window in guest suite needs replacing. Quiet crew only. No questions.
Then I looked back at the screen. She was curling up on top of the bedspread, dragging one of the pillows into her arms. She hugged it to her chest and buried her face against it.
That was when she started to cry.
Silent at first. Then her shoulders shook. Her small frame trembled as sobs tore out of her in bursts, and all I could do was sit there and watch her fall apart.
God, her pain ripped my fucking heart in two.
I clenched my jaw so hard it ached.
Why her? Why this girl?
I’d never let anyone in. Not a single woman. How could I, when I’d grown up watching what my father did to all the women in his life, how he kept them on a leash or under his boot?
I’d sworn I would never be that man.
And yet I’d brought Lacey to my penthouse like she was already mine.
I had made her bleed.
And now, all I could think about was going to her. Holding her. Apologizing. Not with words, because those were empty from men like me—but with something real. Something solid. Something that said, You’re safe now . Something that said, I’ll never let it happen again .
But I didn’t move.
Because if I stepped into that room right now, I wasn’t coming back out the same.
I leaned back in my chair and steepled my fingers under my chin.
She’d gotten beneath my skin. I couldn’t stop thinking about her—the way she looked when she smiled, when she stood her ground, when she shook in my arms.
And the worst part?
I didn’t want her to go.
I wanted to keep her.
Fuck. What the hell was happening to me?
I knew better. I knew better. There was too much shit going down right now for me to be distracted—least of all by a girl who’d already cost me my self-control. She was a liability. A hostage situation waiting to happen. A weapon Delgado or the feds or anyone could use to cut my throat.
My father would’ve slapped me across the face for even thinking about keeping her close. If his beatings had taught me anything, it was— never let anyone affect my thinking. Never let anyone inside.
Anastasia was the only exception, had been since birth. But that was different. We’d been twins on the same battlefield, raised by the same monsters. Loving her wasn’t a choice—it was a matter of survival.
But this?
This was something else.
Allowing someone like Lacey into my heart…it could be my fucking undoing. The death of everything I’d built. The death of her too.
That was why men like my father didn’t love their wives. They owned them. Displayed them like property. Expected them to bear children and keep quiet. Women in this world were accessories. Hostages. Leverage. Never a man’s equal. Never safe.
My phone lit up beside me.
Anastasia.
Of course.
She’d always had a sixth sense—said it was our twin connection, like she could feel the moment I was ready to jump off a ledge.
I answered, “Hey, little sis.”
Technically it was true—I’d been born twenty-two minutes before her. Not that she would ever accept that meant I was in charge.
“What’s up?” I asked, dragging my hand through my hair.
“I was just going to ask you the same thing,” she said in a worried tone. “The news is all over a story about the nightclub that got torched. Did you have anything to do with it?”
I chuckled under my breath. “Yeah, it was me. A long story, but it’s being twisted by the media and the mayor. The mayor, it seems, has decided to cozy up with the El Salvadoran dictator and his sex-trafficking gangsters.”
“Of course he has,” she muttered.
“I may need your help setting up a young woman with a new identity. I’d like to know that you’ll keep an eye on her.”
A pause.
“Hmm. Nik, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re turning soft in your old age,” she said in a teasing voice. “Helping Braxton with Dasha, and now you’ve got another woman to protect?”
“Old?” I snorted. “I wouldn’t call twenty-seven old . But I do feel ancient most days.”
She laughed softly. “So, who is she?”
I let out a breath, rubbing the back of my neck. “Someone who didn’t deserve to be sold off in Ciro Delgado’s meat market.”
“Jesus,” she whispered.
“Delgado’s gotten overconfident. The little dictator he’s working for is too cozy with politicians around here.
This is turning into a serious situation.
If we don’t take him out now, he’s only going to get stronger and more brazen.
But don’t worry, Luca and I—and the families on the East Coast—we have Delgado in our sights. ”
“Any time you tell me not to worry, I know there’s more to the story than you’re willing to share.”
I smiled, but just barely. “Seriously, I want you to keep her safe if it comes to that.”
“Well, how about I trade you this little babysitting service for some updates?” she said in a light but firm tone. “You know I like to keep a close eye on my club.”
I let out a rough breath. “No worries, I’ll make more of an effort to keep you updated about Xyst, and I’ll let you know about the girl. I haven’t pulled the trigger on her future yet. But I did start a war.”
“War.” Her voice sharpened. She knew full well how serious things were if I was using that word. “Nice to know, Nik.” She paused. “Take care of yourself, okay? Love you.”
“Love you too.”
The call ended.
I stared at the screen in front of me.
Lyla was asleep now. Curled on her side. Face streaked with dried tears. That little furrow between her brows was carved deep, even in sleep.
My chest went tight.
War.
Yeah, that was what this was now.
Not just with Delgado.
Not just with the city.
But inside me.
And as I sat there in the dark, watching Lyla breathe, I knew exactly what my next move would be.
The decision was locked and loaded. I just hadn’t fired yet.