Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Nico
The whiskey glass trembles in Kristen's hand. Just slightly.
"How do you know about that?" Her voice comes out steady, but the tremor in her fingers tells a different story. "About the loan?"
"I told you." I lean back in my chair, keeping my posture deliberately relaxed. "Everyone who works for this family gets vetted. Thoroughly."
"Vetted." She laughs, but there's no humor in it. "That's a polite word for digging through someone's personal life."
"It's not personal. It's standard procedure."
"It feels pretty damn personal from where I'm sitting." She sets the whiskey down on the coffee table. Hard. Amber liquid sloshes against the crystal. "My finances, my debt, my ex-husband—that's my business, Nico. Not yours."
She's not wrong. And I don't give a shit.
"You work in my family's home. Around my brothers, my sister, my brother's wife. You think I'm going to let someone walk through those doors without knowing exactly who they are?"
She wants to argue. I can see the fight building behind her eyes. But she's smart enough to know she can't win this one.
"Fine." She exhales, deflating slightly. "Fine. So you know about the loan. You know Jack put it in my name because he couldn't qualify himself. He'd taken one out years ago to help his family and his credit was shot."
I process her words. Turn them over in my mind like puzzle pieces that don't quite fit.
She thinks the loan came from a bank.
Kristen Thomas is not a stupid woman. I've watched her navigate this house for days. She reads people better than most soldiers I've worked with. She sees through bullshit faster than I do sometimes.
But Jack Walker spent years apparently conditioning her to accept whatever story he fed her without looking too closely.
That's what abusers do. They don't just control your body. They control your reality.
"Lily needed the surgery," she continues, staring at a point somewhere over my shoulder.
"Her heart condition—the doctors said if we waited, it could be fatal.
We didn't have the money. Insurance covered some of it, but there was still this gap, and Jack said he knew someone at a bank who could push through an approval fast."
She pauses. Swallows.
"I didn't ask questions. I should have. I know I should have. But Lily was in the hospital and the doctors were talking about survival rates and I just—" Her voice cracks. "I signed whatever he put in front of me."
The rage that builds in my chest is slow. Quiet. The dangerous kind.
Jack Walker didn't just steal from his wife. He used their daughter's life as leverage. Used Kristen's terror to make her compliant. Made her sign documents while she was too scared to think straight.
I've done a lot of dark things in my life. But this? This is a special kind of evil.
"Kristen." I keep my voice level. Controlled. "The loan wasn't from a bank."
She blinks. "What?"
"The money Jack borrowed. It didn't come from any bank."
"That's—" She laughs again, but this time it sounds brittle. Nervous. "That's ridiculous. Of course it came from a bank. I saw the paperwork. There were logos and account numbers and—"
"Paperwork can be faked."
"You're wrong." She shakes her head. "Your information is wrong. I don't know who you hired to dig through my life, but they made a mistake. It was twenty thousand dollars from First National—"
"It was a hundred thousand dollars." The words land like bullets. "From the Bratva."
Silence.
Kristen stares at me. Her face cycles through emotions I can't name—confusion, disbelief, the first sharp edge of fear.
Then she laughs.
"The Bratva." She says the word like it's a punchline. "You mean the Russian mafia? You're telling me my ex-husband borrowed money from the Russian mob?"
"Yes."
"That's insane." She's still laughing, but it's getting higher. More frantic. "Jack is a lot of things, but he's not—he wouldn't—"
"He did."
"A hundred thousand dollars?" She shakes her head violently. "No. No, that's not possible. We've been paying fifteen hundred a month for three years. The balance should be down to almost nothing by now."
"Jack never made a single payment."
The laughter dies in her throat.
"What?"
"The money you've been sending him every month? He kept it. All of it." I lean forward, forcing her to meet my eyes. "The original debt has grown to a hundred and forty thousand with interest. And the Bratva wants payment in full within thirty days."
Kristen's face goes white. Paper white. The kind of pale that comes right before someone passes out or throws up.
"That's not—" Her voice is barely a whisper now. "That can't be right. You made a mistake. Your people made a mistake."
"I don't make mistakes."
"Then someone lied to you!" She's on her feet now, hands shaking at her sides.
"Jack is a bastard, okay? I know that. He's selfish and he cheated on me and he's a terrible father.
But he wouldn't—he wouldn't put our daughter's life on the line with the Russian mafia.
He wouldn't steal from me for months while I worked myself to death trying to pay off—"
She stops.
The realization hits her like a physical blow. I watch it happen. Watch the pieces click together in her mind, all the little inconsistencies she'd been trained not to notice finally forming a picture too ugly to ignore.
"Oh god." She presses a hand to her mouth. "Oh god."
I should say something. Something comforting. Something human.
Instead, I wait. Because Kristen Thomas doesn't need my comfort right now. She needs to understand exactly how much danger she's in.
And then she needs to let me protect her.
Kristen
The memories crash into me like waves I can't stop.
Jack coming home with shopping bags after Lily's surgery. New clothes for me. Toys for Lily. A necklace I never asked for. Bonus from work, babe. My boss loved the Henderson pitch.
I believed him.
Every. Single. Time.
My heart pounds so hard I can feel it in my throat, in my temples, behind my eyes. The room tilts slightly and I grip the arm of the couch because if I don't hold onto something solid, I'm going to collapse right here on this expensive rug in front of a man who just told me my entire life is a lie.
One hundred thousand dollars. From the Russian mafia.
And Jack kept every payment I've scraped together for three years. Eight months of MY money. Every time I skipped meals so Lily could eat. Every time I took a double shift until my feet bled. Every time I stared at my bank account and wondered how I'd make rent.
He took it all.
"Are you—" Nico starts.
"Are you Bratva too?" The words come out sharp, desperate.
Nico laughs.
Actually laughs.
It's short and humorless, more surprised than amused.
Then his expression hardens. "This is a mafia family, yes. But not Bratva." He takes a step toward me, and something in his dark eyes makes my stomach clench. "For your own good, Kristen, never say that again. Never suggest we're Bratva. Not to anyone. Not even as a joke."
I back away from him.
One step. Two.
My shoulder blades hit the wall behind me and I realize I've cornered myself like prey. Stupid. Stupid.
"You're..." I can't finish the sentence.
"Criminals?" His voice is flat. "Yes."
The word hangs in the air between us. No excuse. No justification. Just... yes.
Oh God.
Oh God.
My daughter is sleeping upstairs. In a bedroom surrounded by wealth I now understand was built on blood and whatever else these people do. Lily bounced on that mattress asking if we'd live in the castle and I let her stay here.
What is wrong with me?
"I'm so stupid." The words slip out before I can stop them. My voice cracks on the last syllable. "I'm so fucking stupid."
"Kristen—"
"No." I hold up a hand, needing distance, needing space, needing to think. "Jack lies to me for years and I believe him. A family offers me three thousand dollars a week to manage a house and I don't ask questions. I just... I needed the money so badly that I didn't see—"
I stop.
Because that's it, isn't it?
I didn't see because I couldn't afford to see.
The job was too good. The health insurance, the transportation, the food Giulia sent home every night.
It was everything I needed, wrapped up in a bow, and I grabbed it with both hands because my daughter's heart is held together with stitches and hope and I would do anything to keep her safe.
Even work for criminals, apparently.
"You suspected." Nico's voice is quiet. Not a question.
I look at him and for the first time I notice the way he stands. Weight balanced. Shoulders loose but ready.
He moves like a man who expects violence.
"I thought..." I swallow hard. "I thought maybe the family had painted their hands red. Money laundering. Tax evasion. Something white collar." A hysterical laugh bubbles up my throat. "Not... this."
Not mafia.
The word tastes foreign in my mouth. I only know what Bratva means because Jack mentioned it once, drunk.
I should have.
I should have asked questions. Should have pushed.
But I was too busy surviving to see the trap closing around me.
"You need to sit down," Nico says.
"I need to get my daughter and leave."
"And go where?" He doesn't move toward me, but his words pin me in place.
"Back to your apartment that Jack knows about?
The playground where he grabbed you today?
" His jaw tightens. "The Bratva knows your name, Kristen.
They know where you live. In thirty days, they'll come collecting, and they won't care that you didn't know about the debt. "
My knees buckle.
I don't fall but I slide down the wall until I'm sitting on the hardwood floor with my back pressed against the wall.
This can't be happening.
This cannot be happening.
"Breathe." Nico's voice comes from somewhere above me. "You're not breathing."
He's right. My chest is locked tight, lungs refusing to expand. The room spins and spots dance at the edges of my vision.
Lily. Think about Lily.
I force air in. Hold it. Let it out.
Again.
Again.
When the spots clear, Nico is crouched in front of me. Not touching. Just... there. Watching me with those dark eyes.
"I hate you," I whisper.
His mouth twitches. Almost a smile. "I know."