Chapter 2 – Niko
Almost an hour later, I step out of the car and into my estate.
Immediately, my men surround me, a silent wall of protection.
Demyan, my right-hand man, is already waiting in front, bowing in deference.
“She’s in the interrogation room,” Demyan says.
I don’t break stride. Without a word, I continue inside the house and down the hall toward the lower level.
I enter the interrogation room, where Noelle is already seated, handcuffed to a steel chair. The restraint is more for intimidation than necessity—I know she can’t run. She’s my employee, and she knows my reputation well enough not to dare make that mistake.
Still, she pulls against the cuffs, testing them, and the motion makes her body shift against the shapeless clothes. Against my better judgment, my gaze lowers.
What I see makes my jaw tighten. Her clothes are far too big, meant to hide rather than reveal, yet they can’t disguise the truth.
Her curves are full, overflowing, the kind of body made to tempt a man into forgetting reason.
Breasts that strain subtly against the fabric, a waist that gives way to hips meant for a man’s hands.
There’s softness there, richness, an unstudied allure that demands attention even as she sits shackled in fear. She’s too much woman for a flimsy fabric to disguise. Too much woman for a man like me to ignore.
My eyes linger for only a second too long before I drag them back up, cursing myself inwardly. This isn’t what I came here for. I don’t look at women this way—not employees, not suspects, and certainly not the ones who might already be condemned.
Yet my body betrays me, heat tightening low, the reaction unwelcome and unwanted. She shifts again, restless, and I have to harden my expression, lock every trace of it away.
She can’t know the way my body reacts. She can’t know how close I am to imagining her bound to that chair for reasons that have nothing to do with interrogation.
“Release me now,” she grits, her voice hard. “I didn’t do it.”
I give a small nod. Demyan understands instantly. He drops a stack of files onto the table with a loud slap that makes her flinch, then steps out, closing the door behind him.
Her wide eyes flick down at the papers, then back up at me. “What is this?” she barks, her chin lifting, defiance burning in her glare.
Fire. That glare. It sparks hotter than it should, licking at the restraint I hold tight inside me.
I lean back slightly, voice even, cold. “Evidence. I’ve reviewed it all. And what I see…” I let the silence stretch, savoring the tension building in the room, “…are nothing but red flags.”
Her breath hitches, but I don’t stop.
“Your name appears on multiple bank transfers, every one of them signed in your hand. Then there’s your connection to Anton. And, of course, the most convenient part—the timing of your sudden relocation to Chicago, right before the scandal blew up.”
I lean forward now, letting my gaze cut into hers, my tone dropping like a blade. “All of it paints the same picture, Noelle. Guilt.”
Her lips part, but instead of breaking, her voice comes out steady. “This is nothing but a coincidence. A misunderstanding. I don’t know anything about those transfers.”
A dry laugh slips from me, humorless. “I don’t believe in coincidences. I believe in facts. Cold, hard facts. And every one of them points to you.”
She lifts her chin higher, her handcuffed wrists clinking as she shifts. “Then believe whatever the hell you want,” she fires back. “Because I’m innocent.”
Her reaction is almost jarring. She isn’t trembling or pleading. Instead, she leans back against the chair as if I’m the one wasting her time, her eyes narrowing, daring me to push harder.
The defiance shouldn’t matter, but it slides under my skin, rattling something I don’t let people touch. She doesn’t cry. She doesn’t beg. She stares at me like she’s already judged me and found me wanting.
Heat curls low again, unwelcome, because God help me—her fire doesn’t just anger me. It tempts me.
“I’ve said I don’t know anything about the money and drilling me about it would not change my words,” she adds.
“Anton had access to my account while we were still together. Before I left, I trusted him to shut it down. I forgot all about it. This”—she lifts her cuffed wrists slightly—“all of this is his doing, not mine.”
Her words hang in the air, desperate but sharp, like she’s clinging to them with both hands.
I let the silence stretch, watching her squirm, then I approach, just enough for her to feel the weight of my presence.
“Your ex is already in custody. And trust me, his fate is far worse than this little interrogation.” My voice drops colder.
“If you want his sentence to ease, even slightly, you’d better start telling me the truth now. ”
To my surprise, she chuckles. The sound isn’t nervous—it’s dark, bitter, almost mocking. She leans forward on the table, dragging the chain of her cuffs with her, and glares at me like I’m the fool here.
“You think I give a single fuck about Anton?” Her lips curl, not in fear but in something like disgust. “I left him because of his temper, his control, the way he thought he owned me. I’m not saying this to protect him.
I hope he rots in whatever hole you’ve thrown him in. Hell, I hope he dies slow. Painful.”
Her eyes flash, and for a moment, she looks less like a prisoner and more like fire trapped in a body too small to contain it.
My jaw tightens. I hadn’t expected this. Most people beg. Most break. She…spits venom.
And against every shard of discipline I’ve honed over the years, my body responds to it—heat tightening low, hunger pressing at the seams of my restraint. I don’t want it, I don’t allow it, yet it claws through anyway.
It catches me off guard. For a split second, I just watch her, my brain recalibrating.
I’d expected tears. Panic. The desperate kind of breakdown that would make her spit out Anton’s name and tie the two of them neatly together.
The interrogation would have been simple then—both of them packaged as guilty, one confession stacking on the other.
Instead, she laughs in my face and wishes him dead.
It irritates me more than it should. Because her reaction means one of two things: Either she’s telling the truth…or she’s practiced enough to lie with the kind of bold confidence most people can’t fake under this kind of pressure.
My jaw tightens. I don’t like either option.
She leans back in her chair, eyes burning into mine like she’s the one with power here, not the one chained at the wrists. That fire—it unsettles me, tempts me.
“Let me go. I’m useless to you,” she says. “I don’t know anything.”
Her voice doesn’t tremble. Her eyes don’t flinch. She doesn’t try to soften me, doesn’t reach for sympathy, doesn’t even seem to care that her freedom is hanging by a thread. She just says it plain, like the truth doesn’t need dressing.
And that’s the problem.
Because my gut—the one I’ve trained for years, the one that’s saved my life more times than I can count—tightens in recognition. She’s not lying. I hate that I know it, hate that the certainty settles into my bones like an unwanted truth.
She’s innocent.
And that pisses me off more than anything else.
Because if she’s innocent, Anton is smarter than I thought—covering his tracks with her name, dragging her into his mess as a shield.
And if she’s innocent…then I’ve wasted time. Time I don’t have.
Before I can say anything, Demyan steps back into the interrogation room.
“Boss,” he says carefully. “They are here.”
I don’t need names. I know who he’s talking about.
I hold Noelle’s stare a moment longer, then I push back from the table, smooth and controlled, and walk out without another word.
By the time I reach my office, Kaz and Adrian are already waiting, both of them standing like they own the place, easy confidence wrapped around sharp edges.
Kaz doesn’t waste time. “We’ve been through the files, Niko. It’s Anton. Clear as day. The transfers, the fake accounts, the shell businesses—he’s sloppy. Thought he could hide in plain sight.”
Adrian drops a folder onto my desk. Evidence. Undeniable. His smirk is a quiet victory. “Your instincts were right about him. He’s bleeding guilty, and he knows it.”
Then he tilts his head, eyes narrowing just slightly. “What about the girl? Noelle. She’s in Chicago, isn’t she? Find her.”
“I already did,” I say flatly. “She claims to be in the dark, that Anton handled her accounts. I read her file—nothing there but the fact she was his ex. She said she hopes he rots in hell.”
Adrian only shrugs, like it’s a coin toss. “It’s possible he used her accounts to shield himself. Happens more than you’d think. But we have to be sure that’s all it is. Never underestimate a woman, Niko. Some of them play innocent better than men bleed.”
I don’t answer.
Kaz studies me, head tilted, his stare sharper than usual. “So? What does your gut say?”
I don’t answer him directly. Instead, I take the file from Demyan and slide it across the desk toward them.
“According to this, she passed Level One Bratva Clearance Training—in the medical field. She’s not just some civilian who got tangled up with Anton.
She’s ours. Registered under the Volkov-Rusnak system. ”
Adrian’s brows lift. Kaz’s jaw tightens. They both understand immediately.
I lean back, voice flat. “Which means she falls under our protection. Touch her, drag her in, throw her name into this mess, and we’re not just dealing with Anton’s fallout anymore. We’d be breaking our own code. Undermining the very system that keeps order inside the Bratva.”
Adrian exhales hard, drumming his fingers on the desk. “But you also can’t just let her walk. You’re not a hundred percent sure she’s innocent. That’s a tight spot.”
“Yeah.” I shove a hand into my pocket and move toward the window, staring out at the skyline, my reflection fractured against the glass. “My gut says she didn’t do it. But gut isn’t proof.”
Adrian and Kaz exchange a look, then Kaz nods once. “Then do what feels right. If your gut says she’s not guilty, trust it.”
I turn back to them. “Even if she’s clean, we can’t let her go. She needs to stay tied to the Rusnak name, under constant watch. She’s the only link we have to Anton, and until this is over, I can’t risk losing track of her.”
Adrian leans back in his chair, casual as ever. “She’s already one of ours, right? Medical clearance, registered employee. That keeps her inside the system.”
“Not enough,” Kaz cuts in, sharp. “Employees walk. They run. They vanish. And if she disappears, Anton disappears with her trail. The Bratva can’t afford that. Not now.”
“Fine.” I turn from the window, voice steady. “I’ll marry her.”
Silence crashes over the room. Adrian and Kaz both look at me like I’ve grown a second head. Adrian’s smirk falters, but Kaz’s lips curl slowly, like the idea doesn’t scare him—it excites him.
“You’re serious?” he asks.
I don’t blink. “That way, she can’t slip through our hands. She won’t run, she won’t hide, and if Anton tries to reach her….” A ghost of a smile cuts across my face. “…he’ll be walking straight into my trap.”
Adrian whistles under his breath. “You’re right, but shit, that’s insane.”
“You’re one to talk.” I roll my eyes, but he ignores me.
“If she’s tied to you, it’ll be impossible to run,” Adrian says, more thoughtful now. “Even if she tries, she won’t get far. The system will mark her. The bounty will follow. Without you, she wouldn’t last a week. That locks it down.”
“Exactly.”
Kaz doesn’t look convinced. He leans back, eyes narrowing, studying me like he’s peeling skin away to see what’s underneath. He knows me too well. Knows this isn’t just strategy. Knows there’s something else bleeding through the cracks of my restraint.
I drop my gaze first, shoving my hands into my pockets. My jaw is steel, my body wound tight like a bowstring ready to snap.
Because the truth is—this isn’t just about keeping her from Anton.
It’s about keeping her from everyone.
I don’t just want to trap her. I want her. Plain and simple.
“Well, that settles it,” Kaz says with a dark chuckle. “I’ll keep working on getting something out of Anton. While you get into it with your new bride.” He winks at me, the bastard, silently telling me he sees exactly what I want out of this..
By the time I return to the interrogation room, the storm in me hasn’t eased—it’s worse.
Noelle is exactly where I left her. Head bowed, wrists bound, chest rising and falling in a shaky rhythm, teasing a pair of voluptuous breasts underneath her shirt.
Something in me tightens.
I close the door behind me, slow, the lock clicking into place like a verdict.
Her head lifts at the sound. Eyes wild with irritation, not fear. Fire and defiance tangled together. I step closer, each move deliberate, until her pupils dilate.
“There’s only one way to ensure your silence forever,” I say, my voice low.
Her chin tilts, sharp and unyielding. “You going to kill me?”
The words are a dare. She doesn’t even flinch. Doesn’t even blink.
Fuck. The lack of fear in her—sharp, reckless—burns straight through me. Most people cower. She challenges. And it makes me want her even more.
I shake my head slowly, savoring the flicker of surprise that crosses her face. I lean in, so close my breath brushes her ear.
“No, ogonek. You’re going to marry me instead.”