4. Nikolai
4
NIKOLAI
I ’ve barely finished cleaning the mess I made in Justine’s snug cunt when a doorbell ringing shrills into the bathroom.
Justine stiffens as her eyes rocket to the door. Her uneased response puts me so on edge I reach for my knife instead of my clothes.
Most men think guns are the best defense in any war.
They aren’t.
You can’t prepare for an attack you don’t see coming. More times than not, my knife is pressed against my target’s jugular before he even knows I’m in the room.
That’s why I’m called The Snake.
You’ll never hear me coming, and my strike is deadlier than a cobra’s.
Justine sucks in a sharp breath when I snap open the blade of my trusty knife. I’ve had this knife for years. It’s seen me through many battles.
“What are you doing, Nikolai? It’s probably just Ms. Aaronson startled by my screams,” she theorizes as her wide eyes bounce between me and the open bathroom door.
I nearly laugh at her innocence, but not wanting to scare her before I’ve fully acclimated her to my lifestyle, I store away my laughter along with my knife before shadowing her into her living room.
My lips arch high from her wobbly steps. If I had it my way, she wouldn’t be walking upright for a week, but with Vladimir’s suspicions at a pinnacle, I don’t have a week to spare.
I need to act quickly, but I also need to be smart. Vladimir doesn’t trust his own sons, so I’ll have the fight of my life to catch him unaware.
With Justine’s apartment being the smallest I’ve resided in, we reach the foyer in no time. Her guest hasn’t even knocked for a second time.
She waits for me to pull my jeans up my thighs before she curls her hand around the door handle.
“Ms. Aaronson, sorry about the noise,” she says with a grimace, slowly prying open her door. “I promise to keep it on the down-low from now on.”
“No fucking chance,” I growl out without remorse.
I wasn’t lying when I said she’s more potent than any drug I’ve sold. Her screams give me more of a high than any substance I’ve taken. I don’t care if she wakes up the entire continent. I’d rather be buried in a shallow ditch than have her hold back the power I have over her body.
After issuing me a sneaky stink eye, revealing she heard my mumbled comment, Justine finishes opening her door.
The itch to kill smacks into me when the blemish on the back of her knees spreads to her cheeks. She fumbles out an awkward “good morning” before gesturing for her unexpected guest to enter her apartment.
My fingers skim my knife when the cuff of a black business suit announces who Justine’s visitor is before he enters the foyer.
Carmichael I’m-Going-to-Gut-Him-Alive Fletcher.
“Mr. Fletcher. Hi,” Justine greets him, tugging on the hem of her skirt, suddenly mindful she’s missing her panties.
My jaw tics when Carmichael runs his eyes down Justine’s body. His eyes possess the same arrogant assuredness they held when he nibbled at the bait I dangled in front of him four days ago.
He still thinks he’s in with a chance of dipping his fingers into Justine’s pie. I can’t fucking wait to gloat to him that I stole the pie out of the oven before it had even finished baking.
Justine appears nervous in Carmichael’s presence, but her stammering composure has nothing to do with excitement.
She’s wary of my reaction to his unannounced arrival.
She doesn’t need to fret.
As much as I’d love to show Carmichael exactly how under my spell she is, and for him to feel the wrath of my blade, for now, I can’t act on either of my desires.
I don’t give a fuck about Justine’s position being compromised by our relationship—there’s nothing illegal about an attorney and a client having a sexual connection. I can’t run the risk of my family finding out about how deeply she’s crawled under my skin.
Until all my cards have been dealt, and all the chips are on my side of the table, as far as anyone is concerned, Justine is part of my defense team—nothing more.
Carmichael’s long strides into the living room falter when he spots me standing at the side, glaring at him. I can smell the fear leaking from his pores, but he greets me with a chin dip like he’s not on the verge of pissing his pants before he drinks in the drooping candles Justine lit last night when her apartment plunged into blackness.
When his narrowed gaze stops on a puddle of wax in the middle of the living room floor, my smug grin grows.
Justine and I made good use of that hot wax last night.
I’m hard now just thinking about how delectable she looked with wax dripping over her skin.
Justine is a beautiful woman, but she’s an absolute knockout when she lets go of her inhibitions.
The more Carmichael’s eyes absorb the erotic-smelling space, the more his eyes slit. He knows I achieved in days what he couldn’t do in months. I stole the girl he wants from right under his nose, and there isn’t a single fucking thing he can do about it.
Not if he wants to live.
When Carmichael returns his eyes to Justine, she mumbles, “We had a power outage last night.” Her usually smooth voice is throaty, exposing I’m not the only one recalling fun memories.
Carmichael’s lips crimp as he nods. He isn’t buying Justine’s excuse for the heady aroma hanging thickly in the air, but my warning glare stuffed his true response down his throat before he could issue it.
His mute response isn’t shocking. He knows from experience that one wrong word will render him void of a tongue.
He was lucky he left our last tussle breathing.
He won’t be as fortunate a second time around.
“What do you want, Carmichael?” I ask, moving our conversation forward. The sooner he reveals why he’s arrived at Justine’s apartment unannounced, the faster he can leave and never return.
While folding his coat over his forearm like the pompous snob he is, he says, “It took a bit of wrangling, but I secured you an in-chambers hearing with Judge Marco at 8 a.m.”
“Bennett Marco?” I ask, wanting to make sure we’re on the same page.
I don’t trust Carmichael as far as I can throw him, so I’ll always add an extra buffer of arrogance to our exchanges.
If he hadn’t arrived with Justine in tow on Friday, his firm wouldn’t be associated with my name in any form. Guaranteed.
Hate is a strong word, but I can use it without hesitation when describing Carmichael.
When Carmichael nods, confirming my suspicion, a glint of recognition sparks in Justine’s eyes, revealing she knows of Judge Marco’s infamous reputation.
Bennett Marco is an extremely wealthy man. None of his capital was amassed legally. He’s been an acquaintance of my father’s for longer than I’ve been alive. Their friendship has generated more business opportunities in the past thirty-three years than the entire alumnus of Dartmouth College’s renowned school of business.
“Who organizes an in-chambers hearing outside of official court hours?” Justine questions, moving to stand between Carmichael and me, her tone rife with suspicion.
Carmichael doesn’t need to answer Justine’s question. His deep exhalation tells her everything she needs to know.
This deal is as shady as a used car salesman seeking a Christmas bonus big enough for both his family and the hooker he wants to fuck in the ass.
I wouldn’t expect anything less since the meeting was organized by Vladimir at my request.
Justine’s wide eyes dart to mine when I ask, “What terms is he requesting?” I asked for Vladimir’s help, but that doesn’t mean I’ll walk into this blind. Especially since I promised to protect Justine with everything I have after requesting his assistance.
Dollar signs flash in Carmichael’s eyes as he replies, “That we arrive in his chambers no later than 8 a.m.” His tone is way too showy for my liking. He thinks he’s running the show. I have news for him. The wheels were already in motion. He’s just the lackey chauffeuring the big hitters to the game. “He’s announcing his retirement before preliminary hearings this morning. He wants all his loose ends tied up before then.”
Justine sighs, confirming she heard Carmichael as intended. Judge Marco’s retirement is being funded by me. “You don’t have to go, Nikolai.” She slings her eyes to me before stepping closer, wordlessly announcing whose side she’s on. “You are within your rights to follow the schedule appointed during your arraignment. You simply need to advise your attorney of your wishes.” When Carmichael attempts to interrupt her, she slices her hand through the air, stopping him mid-sentence. “Our client has rights. I’m merely ensuring he is aware of what they are.”
My chest puffs high. I’m proud as fuck about her take-no-prisoners tone.
I thought Carmichael’s arrival would have snuffed the fire glowing in her eyes over the past thirty-six hours.
It hasn’t—not in the slightest.
She’s more determined than she’s ever been.
Spurred on by her grit, I ask, “What happens if I don’t accept Bennett’s terms? Worst-case scenario.”
Carmichael throws his head back and laughs as if it is ludicrous I’d consider facing my charges in a non-corrupt way.
Usually, my response would mimic his, but not today.
I’m too shocked to do something as pitiful as laughing.
I’ve never considered manning up to my responsibilities before, but one glance into Justine’s eyes has me throwing caution to the wind.
I’m not pussy-whipped. I’m just… ah…
Fuck! I’m totally pussy-whipped.
Carmichael’s chuckles simmer when he’s subjected to my vicious snarl. I’m pissed from the discovery that I’m being led by my dick, but that isn’t the only reason he faces the brunt of my wrath alone.
He’s been on my hit list for years, and it’s taking everything I have not to drop his smile two inches lower.
Carmichael’s Adam’s apple bobs up and down before he says, “Worst-case scenario, you’ll serve fifteen years in a high-security prison.”
“Fuck!” I drawl out in a long, violent roar.
His reply isn’t what I anticipated, and it proves I’ll be indebted to Vladimir more than I already am. The minimum he demands for any favor invoked is double, so I could be at his mercy for another thirty years.
Fuck that.
A king can’t rule when he’s under a mountain of dirt, but I’ll have no chance to put him there if I’m serving the equivalent of a life sentence to any man in my industry.
Stepping closer, Carmichael adds, “Your best-case scenario isn’t much better than that, Nikolai. If you don’t accept Judge Marco’s terms, you’ll serve at least seven years.”
“That’s not true. Not all the evidence has been processed. We still have witness accounts and surveillance tapes to go through. Circumstances could change,” Justine interrupts, her voice lowering with each syllable she speaks.
Carmichael shakes his head. “You’ve seen the evidence firsthand, Justine. You know as well as I do that Nikolai won’t walk away from this charge without handcuffs shackled around his wrists.”
Justine’s mouth twitches, preparing to cut down his confidence as I wish I could with my knife, but not a word spills from her lips.
I am guilty of assaulting my accuser. I know it. Carmichael knows it, and so does Justine. She’s just not ready to follow me fully into the dark just yet. She needs a little more convincing— and perhaps the removal of a king from his throne.
Confident the latter is closer to the cause of her uncertainty, I say, “I’ll take the deal.” When Justine’s eyes snap to mine, the moisture in them triples, but it doesn’t change my mind. It is made up. “I’m not doing seven years. I can’t.”
I stare at her, allowing my eyes to express what my mouth can’t articulate in front of a two-faced ублюдок like Carmichael.
My battle will be the most furious the underworld has ever seen, so I don’t need more obstacles placed in my way.
I also can’t defend her in a four-by-four concrete cell.
Or touch her.
Fuck that. I don’t care how good the deal. I’d never agree to it if it means I’d have to keep my hands off Justine. I only had her beneath me minutes ago, and I’m already craving another hit. I won’t survive seven years without touching her—no chance in hell.
“I’ll get you off your charges, Nikolai,” Justine promises, peering at me with begging eyes. “I just need time to work through the evidence.”
“We don’t have time. The deal ends at 8 a.m.” Carmichael’s eyes stray to the clock on the wall, displaying it is 7:30 a.m. “When that clock strikes eight, the deal is gone. You’ll be processed like every other prisoner.”
Scrubbing my hand over the stubble on my chin, I weigh up my options. I hate the thought of disappointing Justine, but I can’t risk a seven-year jail term on the hope it’ll continue fooling her into believing I’m half the man she thinks I am.
My life has been a long-ass death sentence, and at the exact moment I decide to take back what’s mine, I could lose the opportunity.
I can’t let that happen. I didn’t send Lia away from no reason. This is my chance to fight back, to bring Vladimir to heel for the cruelness he’s instilled on my family. On Justine. On me.
This is the opportunity I’ve been seeking since I was sixteen. I refuse for anything to take this away from me.
Furthermore, corruption is a part of my life.
The sooner Justine learns that the better we’ll be.
“How long does it take to get to the courthouse from here?” I ask Carmichael, my voice one I haven’t used the past few days. It leaves no doubt who Justine and Carmichael are dealing with.
I am once again Nikolai, Russian Mafia Prince.
“Twenty, maybe thirty minutes, depending on traffic,” Justine answers on Carmichael’s behalf.
She folds her arms over her chest and returns my turbulent stare. She knows I’ve made my decision. She’s not happy about it, but she recognizes no amount of arguing will change my mind.
I’m a stubborn fucker when I want something.
My rueful chase over the past three days ensures she knows that better than anyone.
Pretending I can’t feel my heart beating at an abnormal rhythm, I say, “I don’t care what you need to do. Get me to that meeting on time.”
Within five minutes, I’m dressed in clothes suitable to face attempted murder charges, shackled, and bundled into the back of a blacked-out SUV. With two armed guards flanking me, and Justine’s mentor sitting next to her, the possibility of updating Justine of my plans during our commute is impossible.
That doesn’t mean I can’t watch her, though.
Like our first ride in a sheriff’s vehicle, the air is thick with lust but it isn’t as prominent. Don’t get me wrong, attraction is still in abundance, but the despair clouding Justine’s eyes diminishes their vibrancy, and don’t get me started on her boss monitoring her every move with an eagle eye.
I drop my eyes to the floor, doing everything I can to douse the anger surging through me. My fury doesn’t rise from the circumstances of my arrest. It’s knowing Carmichael is as determined as me when he wants something. He just hides his ruthlessness with a tailored suit and a hundred-dollar haircut.
He shouldn’t bother dressing up. Justine is as smart as she is beautiful. She saw straight through his fa?ade as quickly as she did mine.
That’s why months of prep work never saw him stepping up to the plate to wield the bat. Justine saw the man behind the shield—the one whose soul is as black as mine.
My focus diverts from haunted memories when I hear my name being called. Carmichael is balancing on the edge of his seat, holding out a piece of paper and a pen for me. Justine is next to him, her face wearing the same mask it had during our first meeting.
I wait for her to acknowledge my heated gaze with a smile before accepting the items from Carmichael. I’m not shocked to discover the document is a long list of monetary transactions scheduled to be transferred within five minutes of me entering Judge Marco’s chambers.
Like every exchange my family has negotiated with Bennett, he’s coming out of our arrangement with many more digits in his bank account than he woke up with this morning.
“How much are you getting out of this deal?” I ask Carmichael while scribbling my signature on the bottom of the form.
Justine stares at Carmichael, her interest as intense as mine.
Carmichael slips the paper worth nearly a million dollars into the breast pocket of his suit jacket before lifting his eyes to mine. “Nothing,” he answers, his tone as shocked as his facial expression. “I… umm…” He rubs his hands together as he contemplates how to say his next statement in a way that won’t piss me off. His deliberation is pointless when he says, “I made a mistake, Niki. I’m hoping this will repair the error I made. Clean slate, so to say.”
The tic in my jaw turns dangerous. There are only two men in my life who call me Niki. If I have it my way, neither of them will be breathing by the end of the year.
In a traditional family, nicknames are seen as terms of endearment.
In my family, they’re insults.
Niki was the name I was called when I was informed of my brother’s untimely death. It was the name Vladimir shouted when he demanded I leave my mother’s lifeless body on the dirty, blood-spilled floor where she’d taken her life.
It was also the name used when they told me my brother had killed my biological father.
I’m only called Niki by men determined to break me.
The weasel who left me defenseless at sixteen doesn’t have the right to call me Niki.
A singsong voice stops me from showing Carmichael my displeasure at his shortening of my name.
I shift my eyes to Justine and arch my brow, pretending I didn’t hear her whispered request.
“The pen,” she murmurs again, her eyes dropping to the silver-tipped writing instrument I’m clutching so firmly my knuckles are white. “I need to finalize some forms before we arrive in the chambers, and I forgot my pen.”
She shakes her head when Carmichael attempts to hand her a pen from his briefcase, her eyes never leaving mine. “I want that pen.” She glares at me, letting her eyes speak the words she can’t articulate.
Fuck—now I know why I lost my mind to this woman in less than a second. She knows what I’m thinking before my brain has formulated the plot. I told you she sees straight through me. No one has ever seen me as she does. Not even my mother.
“Give me the pen, Nikolai,” Justine requests, her voice not wrathful or worried. “We’ve got this last hurdle to jump, and you’ll be scot-free.” Her eyes express way more than her mouth ever could. She didn’t say I have one last hurdle to jump. She said we.
We’re doing this together.
With my smirk revealing her body will pay restitution for my obedience, I hand Justine my pen. It’s the cruelest battle I’ve ever endured not to pull her into my lap and ravish her lips when she nods at the silent demand in my eyes. The only reason I don’t is because I can’t afford to be weak. Not now. Not with the eyes of the devil watching my every move.
I was so entranced by the lust detonating in Justine’s eyes that I failed to notice we’d arrived at the courthouse. My father is standing mere feet from my idling transport van, wrangling his way through the media.
Even with the court not officially opening for another hour, the media contingent is out in full force. They’d rather walk the planet like zombies than miss out on seeing a king rule his kingdom.
Although Vladimir’s presence is unwanted, it is expected. The family always shows a united front in public. The stronger we appear, the less likely we’ll endure an attack.
Although it’s been a few years since Rico’s death, Vladimir won’t take any chances. Our competitors are weak, villainous men who’ve been in our industry long enough to garner our respect.
Does that mean I wouldn’t slit their throats at the first opportunity presented? No, it doesn’t. But just like my plans for Vladimir, my tactics for handling them must be methodically planned before they’re executed.
Every man knows that preparing for battle is half the fight.
“Niki,” Vladimir greets me when I’m ushered out of the transport van by the two armed guards. He kisses each of my cheeks. The clicking of reporters’ cameras capturing his charade nearly drowns out his next murmured comment. “She looks how I imagined she would after being thoroughly fucked.”
He shifts his eyes to Justine, his stare desolate enough for my back molars to grind together. Anger seeps from my pores as my body shudders with rage.
I don’t know what angers me more: my father’s comment on Justine’s appearance or Carmichael guiding her away from me with his hand on her back.
Considering my molars are gnawed to tiny buds during my last confession, I’d say it is the latter.
“Move aside,” my father demands when the paparazzi hover in close, eager to snap a rarely seen sight: a king and a prince in the same realm.
His command is so authoritative even the armed guards move out of his way. We walk the stairs of the courthouse in silence. This isn’t unusual. Vladimir isn’t a talkative man. He prefers actions over words. Even when a simple sentence could erase a lifetime of torment, he swallows his words and uses his fists.
“Are you done with her?” he asks when we join Carmichael and Justine in the foyer of the courthouse. “Did you fuck her out of your system? Put your needs to rest?”
He speaks as though forgetting a woman like Justine is as easy as failing to recall what you ate for dinner the night before.
I know every word he utters is untrue.
He is a heartless man, but he wasn’t always that way.
He gave his heart to a woman years ago—his one true love.
My father killed her.
That’s why Vladimir raised me the way he did. I was the ultimate representation of his revenge. I was to confess my real identity to my father in the minutes before I killed him.
I was so fucked in the head I planned to execute his plot to the most stringent detail. I was born a killer, and I was going to honor the title before my brother beat me to the task.
The life expectancy in this industry is already well below national average, but mine is even shorter than that. I’ve been living on borrowed time for the past four years, my days only increased by shadowing Vladimir’s reign.
That’s why I’ve lived my life so carelessly, without constraint or worry. I’ve been cramming eighty years into thirty, knowing my life could be instantly snuffed out.
I always assumed Vladimir would switch off my lights.
I had no clue a woman would do it.
The instant Justine walked into my life, my view of the world changed. It wasn’t solely the thrill of the hunt renewing my heart with blood. It was her eyes.
Although Justine was issued her death sentence years after mine, the burden on her shoulders was just as substantial. But instead of letting her potential demise rule her decisions, her willpower has fed off it.
She believes her attack rendered her half a woman.
She is wrong.
Can you imagine the immense strength it takes to sit across from the men who caused your family’s demise and not flinch?
That is what Justine did. She sat beside her attackers every day of her brother’s trial with her head held high.
If that wasn’t courageous enough, when her brother was sentenced to life without parole, she looked her attackers straight in the eyes and told them she had no intention of backing down and that she would continue fighting no matter the cost.
Half a woman would never have the courage to do that, but Justine did. She’s stronger than she realizes, and with me by her side, she’ll learn nothing is out of her reach.
I’ll give back what my father stole.
I’ll give her back her life.
“Niki.” Vladimir’s deep Russian rumble drags my focus back to the present. “Are you done? Have you finished with her?” he repeats, his voice more demanding than earlier.
“Yeah, I got what I needed,” I reply, nodding. “I made the most out of a bad situation. Can’t blame a man for that.”
I struggle to keep anger out of my voice. Usually I’m the calm, controlled one who can kill a man without flinching, but talking about Justine as if she’s nothing more than a whore bombards me with emotions I’ve never handled before.
She’s making me weak, but in a way I can’t help but encourage.
Vladimir takes a moment to gauge any dishonesty in my eyes before muttering, “Good.” He leans into my side, the twinkle in his eyes one I’ve rarely seen. “Malvina flew in late last night. She’s very much looking forward to seeing you, Son. She’s warming your bed as we speak.” His volume rises during his last sentence, ensuring I’m not the only one to hear his confession.
Pretending I can’t feel Justine’s confused gaze boring a hole in the side of my head, I shadow my father into Bennett Marco’s chambers, preferring to end one battle before commencing another.