Chapter 18 - Dani
By the time the sun fully disappears behind the skyline and the Strip comes to life in the distance, I’ve managed to work myself into a knot of equal measures of frustration and determination.
All evening, I’ve been rehearsing what I want to say to Nikolai and how I want it to come across.
Pacing the length of the living room with my arms folded tightly across my chest, I’ve replayed the imaginary conversation over and over in my head until I know it by heart, all perfected down to a script with numerous arguments to cover every base.
I’ll tell him I can’t keep living like this, that whatever happened between us that night changes nothing about the fact that he’s still keeping me trapped here. I’ll tell him I need to go back to my life, to my apartment, my job, my grief.
Especially that last part.
Somewhere between all the lies and terrifying revelations, I still haven’t really processed the fact that my father is dead. Despite being stuck here with nothing to do, it feels like everything else is so big that there’s no room for me to sit with it properly.
Sometimes I think about him and the pain comes all at once, so violently that I question if I’ll ever be okay again. Other times, I feel strangely disconnected from it, like my brain still hasn’t caught up to reality yet. Both are terrifying, but either way, I need space to mourn him properly.
Not inside a luxury prison guarded by a man who kisses me like I’m something precious to him, only to turn around and pretend like I’m not even here.
The thought alone reignites my irritation, and I stop pacing to glance toward the front windows. I watch distant lights flickering from the city around me.
Somewhere beyond these walls, people are living normal lives. They’re going out to dinner, meeting friends, and likely complaining about traffic on the Strip. Meanwhile, I’m hiding in a Bratva house trying not to fall for the man keeping me here.
It makes me feel pathetic.
Rather than dwelling on it, I inhale slowly and straighten my shoulders. Regardless of what happens, I can’t keep avoiding it. The second he gets home, we’re having this conversation, and he’s not refusing me this time.
There will be no distractions, no flirting, and no letting him derail me with those frustratingly beautiful eyes and rough hands capable of unexpected tenderness.
This ends tonight.
Almost on cue, the front door opens, and my stomach immediately tightens.
Okay…here we go.
Heading toward the foyer before I can lose my nerve, I’m already bracing myself for the argument waiting on the other side of this conversation. For the inevitable dismissal I’m bound to receive.
But the moment I see him, every carefully prepared word dies in my throat, and I’m taking him in far too deeply before I can stop myself.
Nikolai looks exhausted.
Rather than the composed, barely-there kind of tired I’ve grown used to seeing from him, this looks all-consuming and meaner somehow. It’s as if the weight of the entire day is dragging at his shoulders, and he’s barely standing upright. He has been gone for hours upon hours.
His black dress shirt is wrinkled and partially untucked, with the sleeves rolled roughly to his forearms. There’s dried blood across his forearms and smeared against his neck, dirt caked along his knuckles, and even from several feet away, I can see shallow cuts across his jawline that have already been cleaned but not fully hidden.
He has obviously handled the worst of it already.
Nikolai notices me immediately, but his expression barely changes. “Did I wake you?”
The question catches me off guard enough that I just stare at him for a second, eventually remembering to respond. “No.”
He nods once and moves past me toward the kitchen, slow and deliberate in a way that tells me he’s running almost entirely on discipline right now. If he had the choice, I imagine he’d be face down on the couch by now.
The anger I’d been holding onto all evening falters unexpectedly, and I hate that it does.
Despite how furious I still am with him, the sight of blood on his skin, regardless of who it belongs to, sends immediate concern twisting through my chest.
For all my resentment, I’m not heartless, and something about him tonight doesn’t feel right. Even more so than usual. He’s obviously still standing and functioning, but there’s more simmering beneath the surface. It looks a lot like frustration and guilt.
I follow him quietly into the kitchen and watch as he braces both hands against the marble counter for a brief moment, head lowered while he barely keeps himself together. That alone unsettles me.
Nikolai never looks worn down like this.
“What happened?” I ask carefully.
His shoulders tense slightly, but he takes a slow breath. “Nothing you need to worry about.”
The immediate dismissal irritates me all over again, but this time, I don’t let him get away with it. “Nikolai.”
He glances at me briefly before turning toward the sink to wash blood from his hands, features tight. “It’s handled.”
Normally, I would’ve backed off. Two weeks ago, I definitely would have.
But after all this time of weathering his defenses, from surviving all of this, or maybe from learning that Nikolai isn’t nearly as untouchable as he pretends to be, I’ve been feeling the need to push back.
For far too long, I’ve let people push me around and get what they want. I’ve let people tell me what’s wrong and what’s right, only to be left feeling misguided and walked over. But I’m sick of it…especially when it’s coming from the man who claims he wants to protect me.
So instead of retreating, I step closer.
“No,” I say firmly, refusing to even let my voice waver. “You don’t get to shut me out every time something goes wrong. That isn’t fair.”
That finally gets his full attention, and for a brief moment, I wonder if I’ve gone too far. If I’ve picked the wrong night to be brave.
Nikolai turns toward me slowly, brows drawing together like my tone genuinely caught him off guard. For an uncomfortable second, neither of us says a word. Then he exhales quietly through his nose and rubs a hand over his jaw before leaning back against the counter.
“You’re getting bolder,” he mutters, less accusatory and more tired.
“Maybe you’re just difficult.”
Something close to amusement flickers briefly across his face before fading again, and after a long pause, he finally says, “Malenkov made contact tonight.”
I blink, both surprised that he actually told me and that something else went down. “The organ traffickers?”
“Yes.”
The seriousness in his voice immediately stills whatever irritation I had left.
“What happened?” I ask, temporarily forgetting about the isolation and the rehearsed script in my head.
His gaze drifts briefly toward the darkened windows, and his jaw tightens enough to let me know it hasn’t been an easy night. “They intercepted a trade happening at one of my family’s warehouses.”
I stare at him, momentarily distracted by how casually he just admitted that. Given how I’m stuck in his place, it’s easy to forget what he’s a part of and how he isn’t just a man working to take down despicable people out of the goodness of his heart.
The Bratva, illegal dealings…normal Tuesday evening activities, apparently.
“They attacked you?” I ask slowly, allowing all of it to settle in.
“It was a warning shot more than anything else.” He murmurs, unable to fully disguise his frustration. “They hit fast, stole some inventory, and disappeared.”
A cold knot forms in my stomach as my mind wanders, picturing exactly that happening all around him.
“Because of you?”
His silence answers before he does, then the tension and guilt radiating off him suddenly make more sense.
“They know who you are now,” I realize quietly. “And your family.”
He nods
Studying him carefully, I take in the exhaustion he’s trying so hard to hide. Beneath all the sharp edges and control, he looks like a man carrying too many responsibilities at once, and one who refuses to drop them until he reaches a solution.
“I’m guessing your brother wasn’t thrilled,” I say gently.
That earns me a dry, humorless laugh, and his face doesn’t match it. “Definitely not.”
Despite myself, sympathy slips through my irritation, which is annoying in itself.
After everything, I don’t want to give him too much grace. Part of me still wants to stay angry and to keep emotional distance between us for my own sanity. I want him to feel the consequences of his choices and everything that comes with the life he lives.
But standing here now and seeing the weight of everything pressing down on him, it’s hard not to empathize a little, especially knowing this whole mess started because he tried to stop people like Malenkov from hurting others.
“What are you going to do?”
Nikolai goes quiet, and for the first time since I met him, he actually looks uncertain, like the answer isn’t an obvious one.
“I haven’t worked out all the details yet,” he admits finally. “But I started this, so I’ll finish it.”
His eyes look dark and steady despite the exhaustion lining his face, and the conviction in his voice sends a strange chill through me.
I don’t believe he’s bluffing for even a second, and somehow that’s both reassuring and terrifying.
For a beat too long, I don’t know what to do with the silence between us. Then, before I can overthink it, I move toward the freezer and pull out an ice pack.
Nikolai watches me carefully as I wordlessly wrap it in a kitchen towel and hold it out toward him. He doesn’t say anything, but he almost seems surprised.
“You should probably put that on your face before it swells,” I mutter, trying to ignore the part of me that wants to do more to help.
A new kind of softness flickers briefly through his expression as he takes it from me. “Thanks.”
Leaning back against the counter across from him, I cross my arms and consider my words before they leave me sounding more unwilling to fight than I ever intended. “I’m still furious with you for keeping me here, and for lying to me while I was grieving.”
His jaw tightens slightly, but he nods once like he expects it. “I know.”
“But…” I hesitate, swallowing the lump rising in my throat. “I hate those men more.”
Instantly, my father’s face flashes through my mind, of him smiling at me over breakfast, laughing at terrible shows most people would turn off, of trusting those doctors while I sat beside him, believing we were saving his life.
That same grief hits me all over again, but I force myself to carry it anyway.
I went through something I never should have, and seeing as me and my dad weren’t the first to be victimized by these people, there are others out there who know exactly how this feels. They know the same pain, and even more will if Nikolai isn’t successful.
It’s easy to feel helpless, but I don’t want others to assume they’re alone in this.
“They killed my dad, and they would’ve killed me too,” I say just above a whisper, making sure I hold his gaze. “I want you to take them down too, even if it means using your means to do it.”
Nikolai just stares at me like he wasn’t expecting me to be so accepting of his life and the danger that comes with his work, but something shifts in him.
Resolve floods his features, and he stands a little straighter despite the exhaustion.
His hand tightens around the ice pack slightly as he steps closer.
“I will, for my family and for yours.”
For the first time since all of this began, it feels like we’re no longer standing on opposite sides of this nightmare after all, but finding a more stable common ground.