Chapter 24
NIKOLAI
Ihate being dragged out of bed right after sex, especially with Elle.
I'm sitting across from my uncle in his office, still half-smelling of her skin, stomach growling because dinner's probably cold by now. Viktor looks comfortable as ever, like the man invented calm. Meanwhile, I'm trying not to look like I'd rather be anywhere else on the planet.
"You know," I say, leaning back, "most people call before dinner. There's this magical window of time where a man isn't actively enjoying his wife. It's called working hours."
Viktor's mouth twitches. "Enjoying your wife? Is that what the kids are calling it?"
"I'm past forty. Hardly a kid."
"To me, you're still the boy who cried when I took away his knife collection." Viktor leans forward, hands clasped. "And trust me, nephew, if I didn't need you urgently, I wouldn't have interrupted your evening."
My uncle, the feared Pakhan, has always had a soft spot for me. It's mutual, though we'd both rather eat glass than admit it.
"What's so important?" I sigh.
He pours a drink. "You want one?"
"It's past midnight."
"Stop being a brat and take the damn drink." He gives me a look that reminds me why everyone in this city fears him and why I still occasionally feel twelve in his presence.
I take the glass he slides across. The whiskey burns like fuel going down. "What's this about?"
Viktor reaches for a folder. Always with the folders, like we're living in a spy movie from the nineties. He slides it across the desk.
"Your houseguest," he says. "The mother."
My spine straightens. "Natalia? What about her?"
"She's not who she says she is."
I almost laugh. "I never thought she was."
"No." Viktor's voice hardens. "She's worse. Screaming trouble and bringing it to your door."
"What kind of trouble?"
"The Italian kind."
I stare at him. "She's connected?"
"Tied to one of the Capelli associates for years. Five, maybe more. Name's Vincenzo Lari. Lovers, business partners, who knows. Point is, she got caught stealing from the family, and the Italians want her gone."
I sit forward. "How gone?"
He shrugs like that's not his concern. "If the Capellis find out she's on my turf, it looks like we're protecting her. That's bad for business, and you know we're allies."
The office feels smaller. "You want me to hand her over?"
"I want you to get her off my map. How you do that is your problem. But it needs to happen this week."
My first instinct is relief. Finally, a legitimate reason to kick Natalia out. I've wanted her gone since she showed up at the gate.
But all I can see is Elle's face when I tell her. The hurt. The betrayal. She's gotten close to Natalia. Too close.
And Pasha. Christ. He's just starting to warm up to his mother. Starting to ask questions about where he came from.
"She's a danger to your family," Viktor presses. "To Elle, to Pasha. To all of us if the Capellis come looking."
"I know." My voice sounds distant even to me.
"Do it within the week, Nikolai. Off the property. Out of the city."
"So I'm supposed to tell my wife her new best friend is an international thief and kick the woman out. You realize how that'll go."
He gives me a look that's half annoyed. "You think I'm giving you an option?"
"Of course not."
He pours another drink. "You've gone soft."
"Maybe. But soft keeps the peace at home."
Viktor's smile fades into something almost paternal. "You're a good husband, Nikolai. Better than I expected. But don't forget what you are first."
"And what's that?"
"An Ivanov."
The name hangs between us, cold and heavy.
I down the rest of my drink. "You're saying if I don't handle this, you will."
He doesn't deny it. "That's what family does. We protect what's ours."
"Elle will hate me."
"She'll survive. You can't protect everyone."
Maybe not. But I can try.
"I'll take care of it," I say, standing.
Viktor nods. "Good. And Nikolai?"
"Yeah?"
"Eat something before you go to bed. You look like hell."
That's as close to affection as Viktor gets. I take it.
The drive home is quiet. The city looks washed out under streetlights, slick with rain. My phone buzzes once, Elle's name on the screen. I don't pick up. I can't talk to her now. Not with this hanging over me.
By the time I get back, the house is dark except for a faint light from our bedroom. The guilt punches me square in the chest. She waited.
I walk in quietly. The candles are still burning, soft and low, wax pooled at the base. Dinner untouched. She's sitting up in bed, hair messy, wearing one of my shirts. The sight makes me want to slam my own head against the wall.
"You're back," she says softly.
"I am."
"Everything okay?"
"Yeah." I lie too easily for a man who's supposed to be getting better at the truth.
She studies me like she can tell. Maybe she can. She's too smart not to notice when something's wrong. But she doesn't press. Just nods, quietly, and shifts over to make space.
I strip off my jacket, the holster, the weight of the night, and climb in beside her. The sheets are warm. They smell like her shampoo. She curls up like she wants to be close but doesn't know how.
For a while, neither of us speaks.
My mind won't stop replaying Viktor's words. Get rid of her.
Every logical part of me agrees. Natalia's a risk.
She's not my problem. But then I see Elle's face.
The way she laughs more when Natalia's around.
How she's softened. And Pasha, just starting to trust his mother again.
If I take that away, what does it teach him?
That loyalty is conditional? That love expires the second it becomes inconvenient?
I used to be good at this. Cut, clean, forget. Now everything's complicated.
Elle shifts. "You sure everything's fine?"
"Yeah," I say. Quieter. "Just business."
She exhales. "You always say that when it's not."
Her tone isn't accusing. Just tired. It cuts deeper that way.
I reach for her, but she turns onto her side, facing away. I stare at the curve of her back, the soft line of her neck where my mouth was hours ago. The distance between us feels like miles.
I want to tell her everything. But something's already fractured between us tonight, and dropping Viktor's orders would be the blow that shatters the foundation. I need time. I need to be present. To show her I'm here before I drop that bomb.
Instead, I say the only thing that feels safe.
"Goodnight, Elle."
She doesn't answer.