Chapter 4 – Niko
I step out of the interrogation room, Demyan trailing a half-step behind me. The air feels heavier now, thick with the tension I’ve left behind in that room. The office is dimly lit, and Adrian and Kaz are bent over a low conversation.
They look up as I enter, eyes sharpening immediately.
“Well?” Kaz asks, one brow quirked.
I pause, letting the silence hang for a heartbeat longer than necessary. Then I speak, my voice clipped. “The wedding is happening.”
They exchange amused glances, and I ignore them, turning to Demyan. “Arrange for a selection of wedding dresses. Make sure the church is ready. A proper priest. Tomorrow. Leave nothing to chance.”
Demyan nods silently, his expression unreadable.
Internally, my mind races. This isn’t just about protection, isn’t just about the Rusnak code.
Noelle—ogonek—has already claimed a thread of my attention, and every instinct in my body warns me to be cautious.
She’s fire, unpredictable, and reckless.
She challenges me in ways that stir something primal I’ve spent years keeping buried.
But I’m Niko Volkov-Rusnak. I’m control incarnate.
Desire doesn’t dictate my decisions—yet sometimes it creeps in, slow, insidious, pressing against that control.
I consider the rules, the codes, the precedent.
An employee cannot simply marry the Pakhan, even for protection.
It’s…unconventional. Risky. A thread of gossip, an opening for enemies, a chance for chaos.
But the alternative—letting her wander too freely—is unthinkable.
Anton is dangerous. Anton’s shadow still lingers.
She’s the one link to him, and I won’t let that escape my sight.
And yet…there’s the fire in her eyes, that defiance, the way she doesn’t flinch in my presence. That defiance is dangerous, intoxicating. It presses against the cold, deliberate calm I cultivate in every other aspect of my life.
Tomorrow, she will become my bride. On paper, under the code, within the Bratva. And yet, I can feel the tension already building—the friction between duty and desire, control and temptation, ownership and something…unnamable.
“Wedding dresses?” Adrian’s voice drags me from my thoughts. There’s amusement dancing in his eyes. “A church? A priest? You’re turning this into a real wedding.”
Kaz nudges Adrian with a sly smirk. “It’s obviously the girl’s idea,” he says. “Niko couldn’t have made these decisions by himself.”
Adrian raises his brows, silently asking me if that’s true.
I nod once, coldly, deliberately. “It was.”
The room goes quiet for a moment, the weight of that statement hanging between us.
I can feel their curiosity, their unspoken questions, but none of it matters.
I turn back toward the window, letting the city lights spill across the room, the hum of Chicago far below nothing compared to the storm that has just entered my life.
I turn back to Demyan, my tone clipped but precise. “Locate Sasha Marino and bring her here. Noelle wants her at the ceremony. Go now.”
Demyan slips out of the office.
Kaz frowns. “Who’s that?”
“Noelle’s roommate,” I say, eyes fixed on the city lights beyond the window. Then I add, almost casually, “She would also like your wife to attend.”
For a moment, Kaz is confused. He frowns. “Wait…Noelle? You mean the Noelle you’ve arrested…Violet’s best friend, Noelle?”
I nod once. “The very same.”
He shakes his head slowly. “Violet’s not going to be happy about this.”
I shrug. Well, too bad. I’m sure there were many people who weren’t happy when he literally kidnapped Violet and married her. So, yeah.
“I’ll bring her in time for the ceremony,” he mutters, turning to leave. “I have an appointment.” And just like that, he’s gone, leaving Adrian and me alone.
Adrian studies me, eyes narrowing. “Are you…okay with this? You actually want to go through with the wedding?”
I let a small, almost imperceptible smile curl my lips. “I do. This is the best way to handle things.”
He exhales, clearly weighing my answer, then nods. “Alright. I’ll see you at the ceremony tomorrow.”
I give a curt nod in return, watching him leave the office before I turn back to the window.
For a moment, I just stare out the window, letting the city lights blur together. I wonder if I’m putting desire above duty. Is this the right thing to do, or is this my selfish desire to own and possess?
I push the thoughts aside and step out of the office, down the hall, and through the main doors of the estate.
The cool night air hits me as I make my way to my car.
Guards stationed along the drive straighten at my approach, bowing sharply in silent deference.
I acknowledge them with a mere tilt of my head and settle into the leather seat.
The engine roars to life, and I pull out of the compound, my car gliding onto the streets of Chicago.
Neon lights reflect off the hood, the city’s pulse matching the rapid thrum of my own.
Skyscrapers blur past as I speed through avenues and side streets, the hum of the tires on asphalt merging with the thoughts I can’t shake.
Finally, I ease the car to a stop in front of a high-end jewelry store, its windows gleaming with displays that glint like captured stars. I step out, pulling my jacket tighter against the evening chill, and stride toward the entrance.
As soon as I enter, two staff members notice me.
“Mr. Volkov,” one greets, bowing slightly. “I’ll fetch the manager.” The other gestures for me to follow.
I allow myself to be led into a separate room reserved for VIP guests, the soft lighting making the display cases gleam like liquid gold.
I sit, crossing my legs at the ankle, observing the subtle elegance of the space.
Moments later, the manager appears—tall, wiry, his posture formal, a practiced bow greeting me.
“Mr. Volkov. It’s an honor to have you here. How may we assist you today?”
I meet his eyes, expression neutral. “I’m getting married. I need a ring for my wife.”
Thomas blinks once, barely hiding the flicker of shock, then recovers with professional composure. “Of course, sir. Please, follow me.”
He leads me into a private room where an array of high-end rings rests under carefully lit cases.
Each piece gleams like a promise. Thomas gestures toward the cases with a practiced flourish, voice calm and precise.
“This one here,” he says, lifting a platinum band with a cluster of small diamonds, “is handcrafted by a Venetian jeweler, using ethically sourced stones. Notice the setting—it maximizes brilliance while remaining delicate. Perfect for someone who prefers understated elegance.”
He moves to the next, a rose gold band set with a single princess-cut diamond.
“Here, the contrast between the warm gold and the clear diamond makes it stand out. It’s ideal for someone with a bold personality, yet refined taste.
Each facet is cut to catch the light at every angle, ensuring it sparkles continuously, even in dim lighting. ”
He continues, showing band after band, explaining the minutiae of cuts, clarity, and carat weight. I listen, but only half. My mind is elsewhere, scanning the rings for the piece that’ll draw me in, instead of just going with what he’s trying to sell.
Then—It catches me.
One ring, a flawless round-cut diamond set in a simple white gold band, seems to burn in the light, every facet scattering it like tiny flames. Ogonek. Just like her.
Something inside me stirs, primal and unrelenting. I don’t even hear Thomas start explaining the diamond’s origin, the clarity grade, the cut angle. I cut him off with a sharp motion.
“Enough,” I say, my voice low, deliberate. “That one. Give it to me.”
Thomas freezes, then nods slowly, clearly understanding the weight behind my words.
“I’ll handle payment,” I continue, pulling my card from my jacket pocket. I don’t hesitate. The transaction is swift, silent, and final.
The ring is placed carefully in a black velvet box. I lift it once, letting the light catch the diamond again, then tuck it into my coat pocket. Without another word, I stride out of the store. The door closes behind me with a soft, definitive click.
I drive back to the estate in silence, the city lights blurring past like streaks of fire. When I reach the gates, the guards bow as I step out, and I move up the stairs, down the hallway, until I reach the door. The passcode clicks open, and I step inside.
Noelle is lying on the bed, sprawled like she owns the space, and she springs to her feet as the door opens. Her eyes blaze at me.
“Your man locked me in here!” she snaps.
“It’s according to my orders,” I say evenly. “The room stays locked until the ceremony.”
She frowns, disbelief flickering across her face. “You don’t trust me?”
I don’t miss the flash of indignation in her gaze. I shake my head. “I don’t trust anyone. Best get used to it.”
Her frown deepens. I almost laugh at her defiance.
“Come here,” I command.
She hesitates, like she’s weighing whether to obey a lion. My patience thins. “I don’t like repeating commands.”
Reluctantly, she shuffles forward, stopping a few feet from me. My eyes trace her form—beautiful, defiant, impossible to ignore.
I hold out the black velvet box. “Your ring.”
Her hand hovers for a moment before taking it, the heat in her gaze not leaving mine. She lifts the lid, and the diamond catches the light, scattering tiny flames across the room. Her eyes widen just slightly, awe flickering over her features, and I feel the pull tighten in my chest.
I take the box from her, letting my fingers brush hers as I lift the ring out. My gaze doesn’t waver from hers as I slide it down her finger, slow and deliberate.
It fits perfectly, causing my gaze to lower. I pause, staring at it on her hand, the way it sparkles like fire—like her. My chest tightens, a low, unbidden pull pressing through me.
She shifts suddenly, then she jerks her hand away, eyes flashing, and starts to walk off—but she missteps, almost toppling.
Instinctively, I catch her, my hands gripping her waist. Fuck.
She’s soft—warm, pliant, impossible. My fingers sink into her clothes, and a pulse thrums low and insistent through me.
She rights herself, pulls back, and murmurs, “Thank you,” in a quiet, almost shy voice.
I don’t respond. I walk toward the door, the heat pressing low, my pulse thrumming in sync with something darker, primal. My body betrays me, but my face remains calm and controlled.
“You’ll have enough wedding dress options,” I say, voice clipped. “Demyan will have them delivered. Choose your best.”
She nods, eyes flicking down briefly before meeting mine again.
I want to tell her about Violet and Sasha being at the ceremony, but I decide against it. She’ll see soon enough. Let her simmer in anticipation.
I can’t stop noticing her—every movement, every sharp tilt of her head, the way her chest rises and falls under those oversized clothes.
There’s a fire in her that claws at something inside me, a reckless pull I’ve never felt.
She’s defiant, untamed, and it makes me ache to possess her fully, not just in duty but in want.
Every inch of her, every sharp edge of her personality—it’s a threat and a lure all at once.
I reach the door, and with a slow, deliberate motion, I close it behind me. The lock clicks, echoing like a verdict. My eyes linger on the handle for a fraction, and then I turn away, letting the sound of the lock seal the space—and the tension—between us.