Chapter 18
CHAPTER
EIGHTEEN
NIKOLAI
Vadim’s voice comes through the Bluetooth speaker, tight with irritation, as I roll the Bugatti out of the garage and stop in front of the house. “Seriously? You’re ditching the meeting with Igor?”
I roll my eyes. “I’ve worked nonstop for days, trying to clean up the fallout from the Colombian shipment. I think I deserve a day off.”
“Sure, but you’ve never taken one before.”
“I have something important to deal with.”
He scoffs. “And this meeting isn’t important?”
Igor and I meet every week to discuss our various business ventures, and I’ve never missed one of those sit-downs. But today, I don’t have anything new to report. I haven’t heard from Roman since I sent him the picture of Sofiya’s finger, but I expected as much. The Syndicate was never going to come to heel easily. Roman needs time to consider his options and then realize they all suck.
But Igor won’t see it that way; he’s like a dog with a bone. He’ll grill me with questions about Sofiya, and I don’t want to discuss her with him. I’d rather he forgot that she’s in my life.
“I trust you and Eva to handle it.” I lean back in the seat, watching the house through the windshield. After a beat, I add, “And Emil. He’s been itching to get out of the house. Let him sit in, get a feel for how we operate.”
I’m trying to meet Emil halfway. He’s told me he wants more responsibility. Getting involved in the day-to-day operations will keep him focused and allow me to see how he handles himself. I can’t deny that I have my own selfish reasons for wanting to keep Emil busy, especially since I didn't like coming home to find his attention on Sofiya.
Vadim laughs, the kind that says he doesn’t believe me for a second. “Fuck, now I’m worried. Are you dying? Tell me the truth. I can handle it.”
“Not today.” I pause for effect, then add, “I’m taking my wife shopping.”
The silence on the other end is thick. I imagine him blinking at the phone, his brain short-circuiting.
“You’re taking Sofiya shopping,” he repeats. “This is what you’re ditching the meeting for?”
I understand his shock. I’ve never once missed work for anything personal, especially not for a woman. Then again, Sofiya isn’t just any woman. She’s my wife, my responsibility. That’s what I tell myself, anyway.
Last night, I had a pile of work waiting for me, but when I saw how lonely she looked, I couldn’t walk away. So I stayed with her and did something I hadn’t done in years—I watched a fucking movie. A horror movie at that. But I didn’t hate Scream . And more than that, I didn’t hate spending my night with her.
“Careful,” I warn. “You realize you’re talking about my wife, right?”
“Words I never thought I’d hear you say.”
Words I never thought I’d say either, but here we are. “This is a duty, nothing more,” I tell him, but his skeptical laugh makes it clear he doesn’t buy it.
“I have to go. I'll touch base later.” I hang up before he can continue giving me shit.
Killing the engine, I step out of the car and into the thick morning heat. Yelena let Sofiya know to be ready early, that she’s going shopping today. I find her exactly where I’d expect to—seated in the kitchen while Yelena spoils her with a spread of her favorite foods.
“More blini?” Yelena asks, setting down a fresh platter of pancakes in front of Sofiya.
“I’m stuffed,” Sofiya says, resting a hand on her lower belly before breaking into a grin. “Well, maybe one more.”
When I walk in, all eyes land on me. “How come you never make me a feast like this?” I needle Yelena. She knows I’m not serious. I rarely eat breakfast, but it’s obvious that Sofiya has become Yelena’s favorite member of the household.
Yelena is more than my housekeeper. I met her years ago when she was working as a waitress at a restaurant I frequented. The bruises she tried to hide told me all I needed to know about her marriage. When I heard she’d been hospitalized with a broken bone and wouldn’t be returning to her job, I stepped in, putting her mudak husband six feet under where he belongs.
After that, I offered her a job as a maid in my household. It didn’t take her long to advance through the ranks. Within a year she was running my estate, but for some reason, she still insists on doing the cooking.
Yelena swats at me with a dishrag. “I’d spoil you more if you actually ate breakfast. With you, it’s always coffee and go.” She shakes her head, sighing like I’m a lost cause. “Sofiya here sits and enjoys the food I make. When you’re ready to stop running yourself into the ground, I’ll make you your favorites.”
I laugh because she’s right, but I know the real reason she pampers Sofiya is because she wants her to feel at home. Despite her own history with a shitty marriage, Yelena believes I’d be better off with the love of a good woman, and she’s not shy about making it clear she wants a baby in the house, either. Her little matchmaking efforts aren’t subtle. I’ve told her it won’t work, but Yelena doesn’t give up easily.
I grab a cup of coffee and turn my attention to my wife. “Good morning, moya sladost.” My gaze flicks over her. She’s wearing a tank top and denim shorts. Her hair is in loose waves around her shoulders. She’s stunning, even without much effort. “Are you ready to go?”
She tilts her head, scrutinizing me. “With you?”
I lean my forearms on the counter. “Yes, with me.”
She can tell herself she hates me all she wants, but I don’t think her feelings toward me are that simple. I think she needs to cling to that hate like a shield because, without it, she’s scared of what she’d do or how she’d feel. But if she wants to play this game, I’ll indulge her.
Yelena looks up from the sink, a grin lighting up her face. She puts down the plate and dries her hands. "What a fantastic idea," she says, beaming at Sofiya.
Sofiya lifts her chin and looks at me like this is some kind of trick. “When you mentioned shopping, I assumed it would be one of your minions taking me, not you.”
“I’m sorry to disappoint. Would you prefer I send a minion instead?”
“Nonsense,” Yelena interjects, bustling over and practically ushering Sofiya from her seat. “You must go with your husband.”
“Husband.” Sofiya makes a face. She turns to me, planting a hand on her hip. “I’ll go to see the look on your face as I spend as much of your money as I can.”
I chuckle at her threat. “Watching you try will really turn me on.”
With a mock huff, Sofiya brushes past me out of the kitchen. Before I can follow, Yelena stops me with a hand on my arm.
“Be good to her,” she says quietly.
My muscles clench, but I don’t argue. Yelena’s earned her place in my life, and I know she means well.
I catch up with Sofiya as she heads down the stairs. The guards stationed outside quickly look away when she nods and offers a polite smile. Good. They know better than to let their eyes linger.
I lead her to the sports car, opening her door and gesturing for her to get in. Her eyes narrow with suspicion, like she doesn’t trust my intentions. Last night felt like a step forward, as if we’d called an unspoken truce, even if only for a little while. But judging by her cool demeanor today, it seems that moment’s passed.
When she slides into the passenger seat, I lean down to grab her seat belt and pull it across her upper body. My fingers graze her breasts, and she exhales shakily as I click the buckle into place.
“You’re ridiculous,” she mutters, a blush creeping into her cheeks. I’m struck by her beauty. Her bright hazel eyes lock on mine, neither of us willing to look away.
“When you see how I drive, you’ll understand.”
Sliding in beside her, I start the engine, shift into gear, and pull away from the house.
The roads around my estate are empty, as they always are, because it’s private land. I bought much of the surrounding area to ensure my privacy and safety.
I push the car faster, the engine growling as I accelerate. Sofiya stays silent, but when I glance over, she looks like she’s fighting a grin. When I take a sharp turn, the tires gripping the road tightly, a smile finally breaks free.
Fuck, she’s even more beautiful when her face lights up like this. It’s a sight I don’t get to see often—not that I deserve to, after everything I’ve done.
I tap play on my phone, scrolling until I find a gritty rock track that blasts through the car’s speakers. Sofiya settles back in her seat, the wind tousling her hair.
This is the first time she’s seemed relaxed around me, so I keep my mouth shut, knowing whatever I’d say would probably ruin the moment.
When the road snakes on a downward curve, I shift down and accelerate, drinking in her thrilled laughter.
“Jesus, maybe you missed your calling as a race car driver,” she offers.
I blow out a breath. “Maybe, but where I’m from, that wasn’t exactly an option.”
She’s quiet for a moment as if weighing her words. “I didn't know you grew up with Eva and Emil.”
Irritation spikes through me. “Was Emil telling you stories last night?”
“Not stories, but it came up in conversation.” She angles her head toward me. “He also said you went to jail for Sergey.”
Fucking Emil. To this day, I feel like an idiot. I didn’t see Sergey for what he’d become until it was too late. Eva used to warn me that he didn’t have my back the way I had his, but I refused to believe it. I’ll never be blindly loyal to anyone again.
Sofiya swallows, the little tendons in her neck working. “Why did you take the fall for him?”
I hate talking about my past, but I feel I owe her an explanation. She wants to know how I became this way—hardened, a monster in her eyes—and the answer is simple.
Heartbreak.
Killing Sergey broke something inside me.
“I grew up protecting Sergey. From my mother, her boyfriends, the shitty world we grew up in. He was my younger brother. If I didn’t look out for him, who would? It was minor drug charges, but they were going to throw him into one of the roughest prisons in the country. Sergey was tough in his own way, but he was never much of a fighter. Fine if he had a gun, but useless with his hands. That’s a sure way to get killed in prison.” My shoulders knot with tension. The hurt is still raw and always will be. “It’s not uncommon for the pakhan to run things from jail. Sergey was supposed to handle things on the outside while I called the shots from inside.” A knot forms in my throat as my eyes flick to hers. “I trusted my brother. Turned out to be the biggest mistake of my life.”
Her voice is soft when she asks, “Is that why you killed him? Because he turned against you?”
I shake my head, glancing briefly at her before focusing on the road. “No. I killed him because he was going to kill me.”
Her fingers curl in her lap, playing with the hem of her shorts. “You protected your brother. There’s nothing wrong with that. Liza always looked out for me.” She hesitates, then adds, “Sometimes I wish she didn’t. Maybe then I wouldn’t have been so blindsided when I learned what Anatoly was really like and how twisted my parents actually were.”
“Have you had contact with your parents since Greece?”
She shakes her head. “And I never will. Liza and Roman are my only family.”
A kernel of guilt worms its way inside, but I push it down. “I’m your husband. Technically, that makes us family.”
She looks at me for a long time, like she’s trying to peel back my layers.
I adjust my collar.
“I’m trying to figure out if you’re delusional enough to believe these lies.”
I raise a shoulder. “There’s nothing delusional about it. I could show you the marriage certificate.”
“A piece of paper or a tattoo marking me as your property doesn’t make us family. Don’t you get it?” Her tone softens. “Has there ever been someone in your life who took care of you? Loved you just because—not because you pay them or owe them, or whatever?”
My grip on the wheel tightens. “Before my mother got messed up by drugs and alcohol, she tried.” I pause, the words dragging up a memory I haven’t thought about in years. “The Christmas right after my father left, she stayed clean for a few weeks and saved up enough money to actually do something. I didn’t give a shit at that point, but Sergey was only four. He still cared. She got us each a toy car, identical except for the color. We played with those damn things for hours, running them up and down the hall. She cooked a roast chicken and made those horrible powdered mashed potatoes, but it was the best meal we’d had in months. But, fuck, at least she tried.”
The memory stirs something deep inside me, and I fix my attention on the road ahead. Sofiya is also quiet, but when I look over at her a few minutes later, her gaze meets mine, and her expression softens. Not with pity, but with something else. When she turns back to the window, the knot in my chest begins to unravel.