10. Emil
EMIL
Ican't stop replaying it in my head.
The crack of the gunshot splitting the night air. Kiera dropping to the concrete like someone cut her strings. That single, horrifying moment when I was absolutely certain she'd been hit.
My stomach had dropped straight to my fucking toes.
I've seen men die. I've killed men myself, watched the light fade from their eyes without flinching.
Death is part of my world, as familiar as breathing.
But seeing her go down like that, thinking a bullet had torn through her body, had ripped something loose inside my chest that I didn't even know existed.
The terror was unlike anything I've ever felt.
She's fine. The bullet missed, embedded itself in the doorframe instead of her flesh, and she'd dropped from instinct, not injury. But my heart is still hammering against my ribs like it's trying to break free, and the adrenaline coursing through my veins hasn't calmed down one goddamn bit.
I watch her now as she sits on her couch, hands trembling slightly as she wraps them around the glass of water I forced her to drink.
Her blue eyes are wide, still processing what just happened.
She's in shock, the reality of it not quite sinking in yet.
Her short red hair is mussed from when I'd pushed her down, and even terrified and shaken, she's beautiful.
The way her thin frame curls into the corner of the couch makes me want to pull her against me, to feel her heartbeat and reassure myself that she's really okay.
The way her robe pulls tight across her breasts with each breath she takes, giving me a generous view of her ample cleavage, sends heat through me despite the circumstances.
Not the time, Nikitin. Focus.
I force myself to look away from her, to assess her apartment with a critical eye.
It's small but tidy. Everything has its place.
Books are lined up neatly on a shelf, throw pillows arranged just so on the couch, and not a dish in the sink.
She keeps an ordered space, which tells me she likes control over her environment.
Too bad her environment is a fucking security nightmare.
I move to the window, checking the lock. Flimsy. A child could jimmy it open. I test the window frame. Old building, old windows. Shit.
"What are you doing?" Kiera asks, her voice still shaky.
"Checking your locks." I move to the next window. Same problem. The latch barely catches.
"They're fine. I lock them every night."
"They're not fine." I turn to face her. She's tucked her legs under her, the smooth skin of her thighs visible where her robe has ridden up. Christ. I need to focus on keeping her alive, not on how badly I want to touch her.
I cross back to her, crouching down so we're eye level. "Kiera, you need to understand something. You're in danger now. Real danger. That wasn't some random shooting."
"It was probably meant for Arnie," she argues, but her voice quavers. "He was right there. Maybe it was, I don't know, a robbery gone wrong or something."
"It wasn't a fucking robbery." The words come out harsher than I intend, and she flinches. I soften my tone, barely. "That was deliberate. And whether the bullet was meant for you or Arnie doesn't matter. You're a target now."
"How do you know that?" She's looking at me with those big blue eyes, confusion and fear mixing together. "How do you know it was deliberate?"
Because I've been in this life since I was sixteen years old. Because I know the difference between random violence and calculated hits. Because I can smell danger the way other men smell perfume.
But I can't tell her any of that.
"I just know." I stand, moving toward her bedroom. "You can't stay here."
"Emil, wait." She follows me, and I'm acutely aware of her presence behind me as I check her bedroom window. Same problem. Easy access. The lock is barely functional. "I'm not going anywhere. This is my home."
"Your home has multiple easy entry points." I test the window lock, and it gives with barely any pressure. "Fuck. This one doesn't even latch properly."
I move to her bathroom, checking that window too. It's smaller, but still accessible. The whole apartment is a goddamn invitation for anyone who wants to break in.
"So I'll get them fixed," she says from the doorway.
"That's not going to be enough." I turn to face her, and she's standing there with her arms crossed under those perfect breasts, her chin lifted in defiance. The defensive posture should put me off, but instead it makes me want to crowd her against the wall and kiss that stubborn look off her face.
"You need professional security. You need to be somewhere safe until we figure out who's behind this."
"We?" She laughs, but there's no humor in it. "There is no we, Emil."
"Kiera." I take a step toward her. "Listen to me."
"No, you listen to me." Her voice is getting stronger now, the shock wearing off and being replaced by that spunky attitude I'm starting to recognize.
"I appreciate your concern, I really do.
But I'm not some damsel in distress who needs rescuing.
I'll call the police, file a report, and they'll handle it. My brother can handle it."
"The police can't protect you."
"And you can?"
Yes. Absolutely. With every resource at my disposal, with every man in my organization, with my own life if necessary.
But I can't say that either. She still has no clue what I am. No idea that I'm Bratva, that I run the most powerful organization in America and could have an army surrounding this building within the hour.
Before I can respond, the apartment door bursts open with enough force to rattle the frame.
Four men pour inside, all of them with the same red hair and protective fury radiating off them in waves.
Her brothers.
Luca follows behind them, and when he catches my eye, he shrugs. The gesture clearly says it was either let them in or shoot them, and while I appreciate his restraint, I'm not thrilled about the invasion.
"Kiera!" The oldest brother spots her immediately and crosses the room in three long strides. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine, Kevin." She tries to step around me, but I don't move. I'm not letting her brothers crowd her, not when she's still processing everything.
"Fine?" The cop, Jack, is right behind Kevin. He's got that alert, assessing look that all cops get, his eyes taking in every detail of the scene. His gaze lingers on me for a moment, suspicious. "There's a bullet hole in your doorframe. That's not fine."
"It missed me." Kiera's voice is small now, and I hate hearing her sound so vulnerable.
"Jesus Christ." The one with long red hair pulled back in a ponytail, Devin, runs a hand over his face. "This is insane."
"Are you hurt?" The lankiest one, Kaleb, asks gently. "Did you get checked out?"
"I'm fine," Kiera repeats. "Really. I'm just shaken up."
Jack is already in full cop mode, pulling out a small notebook from his pocket. "Kiera, I need you to tell me exactly what happened. Start from the beginning. Where were you when you heard the shot?"
"I was outside, talking to Arnie."
"Talking?" I ask with a raised eyebrow.
"And where exactly were you standing?" Jack's questions come rapid fire, professional. Getting information like a good little cop. "Did you see anyone? Hear anything before the shot?"
"I don't know, I…" Kiera's voice quavers. "It happened so fast."
While Jack interrogates Kiera, Kevin is pacing the small living room like a caged animal. His jaw is tight, his hands clenched into fists. "This is it. You're not staying here anymore."
"Kevin," Kiera starts, but he cuts her off.
"No. I'm not arguing about this." Kevin's voice has that older brother authority in it, the kind that probably worked when she was twelve. "Pack your things, Kiera. You're coming home with me. You can stay in the guest room until this blows over."
"What?" Kiera's attention snaps from Jack to Kevin. "No, I'm not."
"Yes, you are." Kevin stops pacing and faces her directly. "It's not safe here. You'll stay with me, where I can keep an eye on you."
"Actually," Jack interrupts, still in cop mode, "she should stay put. We can provide police protection and set up a patrol car outside. If she leaves, it makes it harder to establish a perimeter and investigate the scene properly."
"A perimeter?" Kevin rounds on his brother. "She's our sister, not a crime scene."
"She's a potential victim of an attempted homicide," Jack shoots back. "And as a police officer, I'm telling you the best course of action is to keep her here with proper protection."
"Fuck your protection." Kevin's getting louder now. "She's coming home where I can watch over her."
"Guys," Kiera's voice is barely audible over her brothers' argument.
"The police can provide better security than you can," Jack argues, his cop voice getting sharper. "No offense, but you're a marketing executive, not a bodyguard."
"And you're a beat cop, not a detective," Kevin snaps back. "What makes you think you know better than me about keeping our sister safe?"
"Because I do this for a living!"
"Guys," Kiera tries again, louder this time.
Devin jumps in, his health nut sensibilities apparently extending to conflict resolution. "Maybe we should all calm down and think about this rationally. Getting angry isn't helping anyone."
"I am calm," Kevin growls, which is clearly a lie.
"Look," Kaleb says, his teacher voice trying to mediate, "we all want the same thing. We want Kiera safe. Maybe we should ask her what she wants to do."
"She wants to stay here and pretend nothing happened," Kevin says. "Which is exactly why she can't be trusted to make this decision."
"Excuse me?" Kiera's voice cuts through the chaos, sharp and angry now. "I can't be trusted?"
"That's not what I meant," Kevin backpedals, but the damage is done.
"That's exactly what you meant." Kiera's shaking now, whether from anger or residual shock, I can't tell. "You're all standing in my apartment, arguing about me like I'm not even here, trying to decide what's best for me without even asking what I want."
"We're trying to keep you safe," Jack says, his voice softer now but still firm.
"By bossing me around? By treating me like a child?" Her voice cracks. "I'm twenty-five years old. I can make my own decisions."
"Even when those decisions put you in danger?" Kevin demands.
"It's my danger to be in!" Kiera's voice rises. "My life, my choices. I'm not going anywhere."
"Kiera, be reasonable," Kevin starts again.
"I am being reasonable. You're the ones being unreasonable."
"We're your family," Kaleb says gently. "We're supposed to protect you."
"I don't need protecting. I need you to respect my choices."
The argument continues, voices rising and overlapping. It's complete chaos, and my patience, already worn thin from the adrenaline and fear, is reaching its limit.
I've had enough.
I look at Luca, catching his eye across the room. He reads my expression immediately, knowing exactly what I need. He brings two fingers to his lips and lets loose a shrill whistle that cuts through the noise like a blade.
Everyone stops. Every voice cuts off mid-sentence. Every eye turns to me.
Good.
I let the silence stretch for a moment, let them feel the weight of my presence. When I speak, my voice is quiet, controlled, but it carries absolute authority.
"Kiera will be going home with me."