Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
Nikolai
The possessive urge that had nearly burned through my restraint hadn't even cooled in my veins when Derek's face—reeking of cheap cologne and fake charm—shoved itself right in front of me. His eyes glinted with vicious glee, like a cockroach stupid enough to crawl into my territory.
"Well, well, look who it is. Vivienne, it's quite the miracle you managed to squeeze yourself into a couture gown tonight.
" Derek cocked an eyebrow, his smirk dripping with superiority.
"Though I should warn you—midnight blue velvet can't hide all that extra padding you're carrying.
People in this circle prefer refined, camera-ready size zeros, not... oversized packages."
Chloe let out a paper-thin giggle beside him, nestling into Derek's embrace as she swept Vivienne with a contemptuous look.
I felt the hand clutching my arm clench tight. Vivienne's body went rigid as iron, her previously radiant face freezing mid-smile.
This gutless parasite had drained three years of her life, and now he had the balls to use her dignity as a doormat for his social climbing. The rage I'd been choking down all evening exploded like gasoline hitting a flame.
"Derek, I warned you once to clean up your mouth. What, you miss the feeling of me holding your head underwater?"
I looked down at him without bothering to waste expression, but the air around us solidified. Derek's fake smile stuttered.
"Nikolai, I'm just catching up with an old friend." Derek swallowed, trying to play it off as casual bro talk. "Besides, Father's upset. After all, everyone knows she's just a nobody who—"
"Shut your mouth." I cut him off cold. "Your mother climbed into my father's bed with that shameless tongue of hers. What, she never taught you that closing your filthy mouth is a survival skill around people who actually hold power?"
Derek's jaw tightened, fists clenching, but he didn't dare swing. He knew what that would mean.
"Take your trash and get out of my sight." I settled my hand on Vivienne's tense shoulder, eyes sharp. "Go enjoy your pathetic honeymoon before the Council strips away what little privilege you have left to suck dry."
Derek sucked in a breath, couldn't manage a word of protest, and slunk off into the crowd with an equally pale Chloe, like two dogs who'd gotten their tails stepped on.
I looked down at Vivienne. She was clenching her jaw, a layer of moisture filming over her blue eyes.
"Vivienne, you okay?"
She blinked, turned her head, then quickly rolled her eyes, forcing that I-don't-give-a-damn tone. "Yeah, I'm fine. Don't look at me like I'm sick. Can't stand it."
I stayed quiet, reaching up to tuck a loose strand behind her ear. My fingertips touched her cold skin. In that moment, the urge to possess her completely—to protect her completely—hit so hard my breathing went heavy.
"I'm fine, really." She switched her champagne to the other hand, shrugged, and forced a curve to her lips. "That line you just dropped, though. Derek's face..." She held it for one second, couldn't keep it in, and laughed almost recklessly. "Honestly ugly enough to brighten my whole day."
An inexplicable irritation sprouted like weeds in my chest.
How long was this woman going to keep up the act?
Her palm had been ice-cold a moment ago, and now she was cracking jokes about her ex's humiliation.
This clumsy pretense made me want to yank her out of this crowd of hypocrites, shove her into the car, lock her in the estate, and keep her there until those eyes—eyes that only ever showed me fire—lost their light completely.
"Go fix your makeup in the restroom." I released her shoulder, voice back to its usual chill. "Your eyeliner smudged."
She paused, then nodded, face flushing, and turned toward the restroom.
I watched her disappear into the crowd, picked up a fresh whiskey, and tried to tamp down the restlessness in my chest.
Soon enough, the politicians and merchants circled back like sharks smelling blood. I half-listened to those old foxes. They flattered my business, probed Bratva's territory, and sized up Vivienne—this sudden variable.
"Mr. Volkov, your fiancée is quite the intriguing woman." An oil baron smiled. "I hear she's a writer?"
"Yes." I offered a polite smile.
"How romantic. I think—"
That's when Vivienne pushed through the crowd toward me. I dismissed the old slick and walked to meet her.
"Nikolai." She lowered her voice, a hint of unease threading through. "Over there, near the backstage entrance. That man deliberately bumped into me."
I didn't turn my head immediately, just swept the area with peripheral vision.
"You hurt?"
"I'm fine, but that guy was sketchy. He even glared at me! He was jumpy, didn't even notice water stains on his jacket—not like a guest at all. Think he's one of your enemies?"
Her tone was teasing, but I sank into thought. Her words carried a whiff of something off. Wrong. My pupils constricted.
Sasha materialized at my side like a ghost. Expressionless, voice just loud enough for me. "Boss, security list's compromised. We've got a rat inside."
"Sharp little writer. You remember what he looked like?" Vivienne pouted and shot me a look, but she rattled off every detail—down to the mole on his chin.
"Perfect. How many more surprises you got for me, firecracker?"
"Told you already." She turned her head smugly, ears going pink.
My hand on the glass didn't move, but the hand at Vivienne's back gave Sasha a silent command. Lockdown.
"Don't be scared." I leaned in close to her ear, intimate as lovers flirting. "Since they want to play, we'll play big. Smile. Follow me."
I guided her toward the lounge area on the left wing—a visual blind spot, best extraction route for security.
Vivienne didn't get it, but some survival instinct written into her bones kicked in.
She didn't panic or look back, just played the "I want an excuse to leave" body language like she'd rehearsed it.
"What's happening?" She kept her voice down, fingers digging into my sleeve. "Is there really a bad guy here?"
"You scared? Is there anyone worse than me in Washington?" I casually tucked hair behind her ear, kissed her earlobe. She went scarlet instantly. I shoved down the itch rising in me, positioned her in a safe corner behind the couch, turned, and clipped the earpiece Sasha handed me to my collar.
Minutes later, Sasha's icy report came through. "Three contained. Marchetti's dogs. Came to sniff out Bratva's power map for next year. Had a little 'gift' prepared for you."
I snorted. Marchetti's idiots had been alive too long. Getting bored.
After cleaning up the mess, I returned to the corner. Vivienne was fiddling idly with her clutch chain. When she saw me, she straightened, blue eyes lit not with panic but eager excitement.
"Done?"
"Clean."
"Gotta hand it to you mob guys—efficient." She grabbed another champagne, that signature smile—tinged with mischief—back on her lips. "Guess these three days in hell weren't wasted. At least now I'm comfortable at a 'mob shootout scene.'"
I watched her profile, illuminated by light, heartbreakingly beautiful. After a moment of silence, I said quietly, "You did good tonight."
She turned her head. In that instant, the light in her eyes wasn't just playing the fiancée role anymore—it carried a candor that made my chest tighten.
"Well, duh. How else do I qualify as the leading lady in your 'show of the year?'"
This woman was born for chaos.
Back at the estate, I went straight to the study.
Sasha followed and closed the door.
"Marchetti had the nerve to reach into my gala. They pay." I sat behind the desk, fingers tapping. "Dig into their most critical auto parts supply chain. Before sunrise, I want three production lines shut down."
"Yes, Pakhan." Sasha acknowledged.
I didn't dismiss him immediately.
"Sasha. What do you make of tonight?" I asked, apropos of nothing.
Sasha understood me. He paused, chose his words. "Ms. Cole has talent, boss. Not just instinct. Her grasp of power and danger is sharper than most family core members. If... we could get her to assist us, she might become a card no one sees coming for Volkov."
Use her?
The thought spun through my head, then I rejected it with disgust.
"Using a woman as leverage isn't my style." I frowned, voice tight with irritation.
"Then ask her opinion?" Sasha offered another angle, tone still calm. "What if she doesn't mind? What if she sees it as 'mutual assistance'? A contract. We could draft an equal agreement—one that favors her."
"No."
The word came faster than I expected, edged with emotion I hadn't caught in time.
Sasha didn't let the refusal stop him. He paused a beat and continued. "Pakhan, that scout tonight—if she hadn't spotted him, our window would've closed four minutes later. Four minutes. At that venue, a lot can happen in four minutes."
"I know."
"She has the ability."
"I said no," I repeated, stood, walked to the window, back to Sasha.
"She's a civilian. She came here to help me handle those old bastards, not run intelligence ops.
If that scout's goal tonight wasn't reconnaissance but direct action, and she was standing in that restroom corridor—what would've happened? "
"But Pakhan—"
"She doesn't know the rules on this line. She doesn't have the skills to escape when danger hits." I turned and looked at Sasha. "You want me to put someone who knows nothing near this, then tell me it's resource integration?"
Sasha went quiet. Longer than before.
Outside, the Potomac's current was carried by night wind—low, constant, like something in this estate that never stopped running.
"Pakhan," Sasha finally spoke, slower than before. "You're right. She doesn't know anything now." He paused. "But that's not a reason she should never know."
I didn't speak.