Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
Vivienne
"Two more iced Americanos. And could you get your 'Terminator' to back up a couple of feet? He's standing there like my coffee's about to freeze solid."
Mia rolled her eyes dramatically, pointing her stirrer at Sasha, who stood beside our table like a granite statue.
We were at an upscale corner café less than three miles from the Volkov estate. The sun was shining, but Sasha in his black suit with that ready-to-draw expression was completely out of place.
Sasha stared at me expressionlessly. I sighed and jerked my head toward the door. "Take a break, Sasha. I promise I won't run off."
Sasha's brow furrowed ever so slightly, but he obediently retreated outside the café's glass door.
"Jesus, you're like some endangered species under Bratva protection now." Mia leaned in closer, her eyes gleaming with gossip. "Spill! What happened these past few days? You mentioned fireworks by the Potomac, and then what?"
I bit my straw, trying to use the ice to cool the uncontrollable heat rising in my cheeks. I carefully recounted the madness at the underground fight club, his possessiveness in the locker room, and those spectacular birthday fireworks.
"Christ..." Mia propped her chin on her hand, looking at me like I was a terminal patient beyond saving. "Vivienne, your face is giving you away completely. You've fallen for him. And he's the most dangerous man in all of Washington."
"I know..." I rubbed my hair in frustration. "But I'm really not sure how he feels. Mia, between us... you know, it was fake from the start! I don't want to flatter myself. What if he just finds this whole 'role-playing' game exciting?"
"What can a piece of paper prove?" Mia tapped the table in exasperation.
"Forget that damn contract. Use your brain and think—setting aside all the mob stuff, what has he done for you?
If a man just wanted to play around, would he remember your birthday, lower himself to be your personal research material, and show up precisely when you're stuck? "
I froze. Images flashed through my mind—Nikolai's gaze in the candlelight, his blood-soaked ferocity in the octagon, his confession.
I didn't speak, but the sweet curve at the corner of my mouth wouldn't flatten.
"Look at you now, like some lovesick fool." Mia rolled her eyes mercilessly, but her gaze was full of happiness for me. "Admit it, V.C. Night, your novel's male lead has completely stepped into reality."
"But Mia, he's not a novel hero. He's Nikolai Volkov.
" I chewed my straw, stirring the ice in my cup, a vague unease rising in my chest. "We're from completely different worlds.
Every day he deals with gunfights, smuggling, and turf wars.
I just write serials. What if... what if his indulgence of me is just some Alpha mobster's sick fascination and possessiveness? "
"Please, I know those men." Mia snorted dismissively, tapping her nails on the table.
"If mob bastards just want to possess a woman, they throw money at her or lock her in bed like a pretty trophy.
But Nikolai? He respects your writing. He lets you be yourself.
He's even willing to be that damn 'field research' for your novel!
Vivienne, if that's not love, I'll swallow this iced Americano glass and all. "
Listening to Mia's words, I felt my heart sinking into warm honey water, that sour anxiety smoothing out bit by bit, replaced by a dizzyingly steady feeling.
Maybe I really could trust him. Trust that the most dangerous man in Washington had reserved his softest side for me.
I took a deep breath and instinctively turned my head, looking past Mia's shoulder toward the glass door outside to see Sasha—as if seeing someone who belonged to Nikolai could solidify this unreal sense of security.
But the moment my gaze swept past the floor-to-ceiling window, the curve at the corner of my mouth suddenly froze.
Beyond Sasha's tall silhouette, parked in the shadow of an oak tree across the street, sat a black Chevrolet SUV without any plates.
The engine was running—I could see faint white smoke from the exhaust. More unsettling was that two people sat inside, but they hadn't gotten out or driven away. They just sat there.
And their gaze was directed straight at this café.
My heart clenched hard.
Spending time with Nikolai at various mob venues, I'd seen too many of these "surveillance" scenarios. That lurking stare from the shadows carried a spine-chilling malice.
"Mia." I lowered my voice, naturally looking down and rummaging in my bag as if searching for something. "Don't turn around. That black SUV across the street—do you see it?"
Mia froze but reacted quickly. She lifted her coffee cup, glancing casually in that direction, then her expression changed slightly.
"Vivienne, that car..."
"I know." I cut her off, keeping my voice calm. "You need to leave. Right now. Immediately."
"Are you crazy? I can't just leave you—"
"Mia!" I looked up with an uncompromising gaze. "Trust me. Sasha's right outside. I'll be fine. But if you get caught up in this, I'll be distracted. Please, go."
Mia bit her lip, her eyes reddening. She stood abruptly, hugged me hard, and whispered in my ear. "You be fucking careful. If anything happens, call me immediately."
"I promise."
Mia grabbed her bag, waved casually at me, and quickly left the café. I watched her figure disappear around the corner, one weight lifting from my heart.
I took a deep breath, trying to appear normal. I slowly stood, picked up my bag, and walked toward the register.
Just as I was about to push open the glass door, I instinctively glanced across the street again.
That black SUV still sat there, but the two people inside had clearly moved—one was holding a phone, saying something while pointing in my direction.
Shit.
I shoved the door open. Bright sunlight outside made me squint. Sasha leaned against the café's exterior wall, cigarette in hand, but when he saw my expression, those sharp gray-blue eyes instantly went alert.
"That black SUV across the street." I walked to his side, pretending to adjust my bag's zipper, voice very low. "They've been watching me for at least twenty minutes."
Sasha's movement paused. He didn't immediately turn to look but naturally crushed his cigarette, placing one hand on my shoulder as if chatting casually. But I could feel every muscle in his body tensing instantly.
"How many?"
"Two. Couldn't see their faces, but they haven't gotten out. Engine's been running."
Sasha was silent for a second, then spoke in an extremely calm but commanding tone. "Move. Now. Stay with me. Don't run, don't look back, keep a normal pace."
He put his arm around my shoulder, leading me toward the black Bentley parked at the corner. I could feel my heart pounding wildly, my palms sweating.
When we were still about thirty feet from the car—
A piercing engine roar suddenly exploded behind us!
"Get down!"
Sasha shoved me hard. I fell onto the sidewalk planter.
The next second, that black SUV charged onto the sidewalk like a crazed beast, barreling straight toward where we'd just been standing!
The wheels crushed a roadside trash can, the metal barrel flying through the air, tumbling several times before smashing into the café's glass window with a deafening shatter.
Surrounding pedestrians screamed and scattered.
I sat sprawled on the ground, ears ringing, brain blank. My elbow and knees seemed scraped, but adrenaline kept me from feeling it.
Sasha rolled to the side at the last moment, barely dodging the crazed vehicle. But his landing was rough—he slammed hard into a lamppost with a muffled grunt.
The SUV spun its wheel at the end of the street, tires screeching and smoking with burnt rubber, then accelerated madly, disappearing around the corner.
Everything happened so fast—less than ten seconds.
I sat on the ground, mind blank, my whole body shaking uncontrollably. If Sasha had been even a fraction of a second slower, I'd already be a mangled corpse.
"Ms. Cole!"
Sasha staggered up, half his suit sleeve torn, a cut bleeding at his temple. But he completely ignored his injuries, rushing to my side in a few strides and kneeling.
"Ms. Cole, are you hurt?"
"I... I'm fine..." My voice shook badly, barely audible even to myself. "Just some scrapes..."
Sasha's gaze swept over me quickly. Confirming no fatal injuries, he stood abruptly, pulling a phone from inside his suit jacket and dialing rapidly.
"Pakhan." His voice was ice-cold. "Ms. Cole was attacked. Fifth Street and Madison Avenue intersection. Black Chevrolet SUV, plates unclear, two unidentified attackers, fled the scene."
He paused, glancing at me, his tone softening slightly. "She's not seriously hurt, just shaken. But Pakhan... this was premeditated."
Something came through from the other end, but I couldn't hear. I only saw Sasha's expression growing darker until he said curtly, "Understood," and hung up.
Less than three minutes later, urgent tire screeches sounded in the distance.
Two black sedans swooped in like falcons, screeching to a halt at the café entrance. Doors were roughly shoved open. Four Bratva members in black suits with obvious gun bulges at their waists jumped out, professionally spreading out to seal off the entire street.
Then the third car—that all-too-familiar armored Bentley—crashed through barriers like an enraged beast, pulling directly in front of me.
The door was wrenched open.
Nikolai jumped out.
He wasn't even wearing his suit jacket—shirt sleeves carelessly rolled to his elbows, collar open, his expression so dark he looked ready to kill.
He strode over, those dark gray eyes burning with an almost uncontrolled violence I'd never seen.
"Vivienne."
He dropped to one knee before me, his large hand roughly gripping my shoulder, checking me over from head to toe, thoroughly. When he saw the scraped skin on my elbow and blood seeping through my knee, his jawline tensed so tight it looked ready to snap.
"Nikolai..."