Chapter 12 – Niko
It’s been a week. A week of dead ends, conflicting reports, and headaches that feel like knives driven into the back of my skull.
I’ve been in my study since morning, hunched over Anton’s file, staring at reports that make less sense the longer I read them.
Every line is a ghost trail—rumors of bribes, whispers of shipments, false names that lead nowhere.
My temples throb, and I press my thumb and forefinger against my eyes, trying to will the fog away.
The door swings open without a knock. Demyan strides in, his face pale under the harsh light.
“We just got word,” he says, voice tight. “Anton’s planning to hit one of the Rusnak safe houses today.”
I lift my head slowly. “Which one?”
“The underground clinic in the west.”
“That’s where Noelle used to work.” The words are gasoline on fire. My body reacts before my mind catches up—my chair scrapes back violently, my pulse slamming in my ears. “Where is she right now?”
“She went in this morning.”
My blood runs cold. “You let her leave?”
Demyan stumbles back a step, his mouth working. “She said she had your word.”
I stare at him, disbelief turning sharp and deadly. Because Noelle did have my word. I told her she could resume her shifts at the clinic, but that was before Anton escaped custody. I thought she had changed her mind.
The weight of my own words hits me like a hammer. I did tell her. I gave her that freedom, never thinking she’d use it now.
“You should have told me before you let my wife leave the house.” Rage surges up, black and poisonous. I slam my fist against the desk, papers scattering like frightened birds. “Get the car. Now.”
Demyan nods quickly, already backing toward the door.
“Move, Demyan!” I roar, my chest a furnace.
Because if Anton gets to her before I do—if he so much as touches a strand of her hair—then it won’t just be war. It’ll be the end of everything.
Moments later, the door bursts open again. Demyan is breathless. “Car’s ready.”
I snatch my coat from the chair and head for the hall, my boots pounding against the marble. My chest is tight, my breath sharp.
We’re almost at the front doors when Lev comes striding through. He takes one look at my face, and his hand goes straight to the gun at his hip. “What happened?”
“No time,” I snap. “Get in the car.”
He doesn’t argue. Lev falls into step beside me as we hit the afternoon air. The cold bites, but it’s nothing compared to the storm boiling in my blood.
Inside the car, as the driver guns the engine, I fill him in—the message we just got, the underground clinic, Noelle. Lev listens, jaw clenched, eyes dark with calculation.
After a beat, he says, “Then we need to hide her. Send her into the city. Back to her roommate. Keep her off Anton’s radar until this ends.”
I whip my head toward him, my voice low and lethal. “No.”
Lev frowns. “Niko—”
“She stays with me.” I cut him off, my glare sharp enough to draw blood. “She’s safest in the estate. Beside me. Always beside me.”
Silence fills the car, thick as smoke. Lev doesn’t argue again. He just studies me, like he’s seeing more than I want him to.
I turn back to the window, fists clenching on my knees, watching the city flash by in a blur. Every second we waste is a second Anton might be using to reach her.
And God help him if he does.
Beside me, Lev’s phone buzzes. He glances at the screen, reads fast, then mutters a curse under his breath.
“What?” I snap, already at the edge of my control.
He lifts his eyes, steady but grim. “I’ve been digging.
Trying to clean up the financial mess Anton left after his last ploy.
” His fingers tighten around the phone. “The Rusnak accountant just confirmed something. Noelle’s ID—her credentials—were used in encrypted financial movement trails.
Someone’s funneling money and making it look like her. ”
For a second, the words don’t register. Then they slam into me, a brutal punch to the chest. “What the fuck are you saying?”
Lev’s voice is measured, careful. “I’m saying someone inside is setting her up again. Only this time, they’re smarter. They’re using her name to move money under Anton’s shadow. If anyone outside gets a whiff of it, Noelle will look like a traitor. And if Anton is behind it—”
“He’s not just trying to kill her,” I growl, my jaw aching from the force of my teeth. “He’s trying to destroy her. Ruin her in my eyes. In everyone’s.”
Demyan shifts uneasily in the front seat. “Boss…if word spreads before we get proof, the men will start doubting her. They’ll start doubting you.”
The car swerves hard as we round a corner, the city lights streaking past. My pulse hammers with rage and fear.
“Noelle is mine,” I say, each word a razor’s edge. “And if anyone in this family thinks they can lay that kind of dirt on her, they won’t live to see another dawn.”
“We’ll get to the bottom of this,” Lev says.
I drag a hand down my face, trying to pull my control back into place. “Kirill said Anton was forming a small army. He’s not working alone.”
Lev hums, the sound deep in his chest, like he’s not surprised.
By the time we screech up to the warehouse, my blood is already a drumbeat in my ears. We storm in, boots pounding across concrete. The place reeks of disinfectant and fear. Nurses and orderlies scatter at the sight of me, their chatter snapping off like a candle blown out.
“Demyan, find Noelle. Now!” My voice cracks across the space like a whip.
“Yes, Boss!” He bolts down the hall, weapon already in hand.
I shove past a cluster of staff, their wide eyes following me. “Out of my way.”
Somebody tries to stammer that they don’t know what’s happening, but I don’t stop to listen. My chest is iron tight, every second without her face in front of me another knife carving deeper.
Lev is a steady shadow at my back, scanning, calm where I’m fire. “Easy,” he mutters. “Panicking won’t bring her faster.”
“She should’ve never been here,” I grind out.
“Niko.”
The sound of her voice cuts through the static in my skull.
My head snaps toward it. Noelle steps out of a side door, tugging off a pair of bloody gloves, her fingers trembling just slightly before she tosses them into the trash.
Her scrubs are splattered, her hair pulled back, but she’s whole. Safe.
Our gazes lock. Relief slams into me so hard it almost knocks the air out of my lungs. She blinks, startled to see me here with Lev and Demyan, but she doesn’t say a word.
“Get your things,” I order, voice rougher than I intend. “You’re coming with me.”
For once, there’s no argument, no stubborn tilt of her chin. She nods, quietly, obediently, and disappears back inside. My fists unclench only when I hear the shuffle of her bag being grabbed.
Lev arches a brow at me, but he doesn’t comment. He doesn’t need to. We both know I would’ve burned this place to the ground brick by brick if she hadn’t walked out of that door.
When she reappears, clutching her bag tight, I step forward and take it from her, slinging it over my own shoulder. She frowns, but I don’t give her the chance to protest. My hand finds the small of her back. “Stay close. Don’t let go of me.”
She doesn’t.
Outside the clinic, the air feels sharper, heavier. My grip on Noelle doesn’t ease until she’s beside me on the pavement.
Lev falls into step at my side. “I’ve got a lead,” he says under his breath. “Something I need to chase down. I’ll update you when I have more.”
I give him a curt nod. There’s no time for questions. If Lev is following a trail, I trust he’ll bring it back bleeding.
The next second, he’s gone—slipping into the shadows like he was never there.
I don’t slow down. My only focus is Noelle. I get her across the lot, into the waiting car. Only when the door shuts and the locks click into place do I let out the breath I’ve been holding.
Another familiar guard is in the driver’s seat, because Demyan is staying behind to ambush Anton when he shows up. The car pulls us away, tires crunching on gravel. I glance at Noelle beside me—her silence, the way her fingers are twisting together in her lap.
We’re moving. She’s safe. For now.
But if Anton was aiming for that clinic, then this is only the beginning.
Beside me, Noelle finally breaks the silence. “What’s going on?”
I drag a hand over my jaw, my pulse still a hammer in my throat. “We got word Anton was planning to attack the clinic. That’s why I came for you.”
Her lips part, but she doesn’t argue. She only nods, her gaze fixed out the window, and the quiet between us grows heavier.
By the time we reach the estate, her face is pale, her shoulders tight with shock. I don’t let her walk in alone. I take her hand, cold and trembling in mine, and lead her upstairs. She clings to me the whole way, and when we finally step into my room, she exhales shakily.
“Thank you,” she whispers, eyes glossing as they meet mine. “For bringing me out of there…in time.”
Before I can answer, my phone buzzes. Demyan. I answer on the first ring.
“The attack went down,” his voice comes clipped, grim. “We hit them hard—took out a lot of Anton’s men. But…” a pause, “Anton slipped away.”
My grip tightens around the phone, a curse burning the back of my tongue. Still, relief crashes through me. She wasn’t there. She wasn’t caught in it.
“Good work,” I tell him, ending the call. My gaze shifts to Noelle—still shaken, still clinging to me as if I’m the only solid thing left in her world.
Anton may have escaped. But she didn’t fall into his hands. And for now, that’s all that matters.
I pull her into my arms, crushing her against me like I need proof she’s still here.
Her heartbeat thrums against my chest, her warmth anchoring me while shudders rake through my body.
I’ve faced bullets, blades, and betrayals without blinking, but the thought of her in Anton’s grip nearly broke me.
She stiffens slightly, then softens, her hands pressing into my back as if she can feel the raw edge of fear I’m trying to bury. The realization of my fear flickers across her face. It stuns her, moves her in a way words can’t.
I pull back abruptly, searching her eyes. “Noelle…can I mark you?”
Her brows lift, confusion softening her exhaustion. “You mean…like a hickey?”
I shake my head, lips twitching, but my voice is low and serious. “No. Something more permanent.”
Her breath hitches, but she doesn’t pull away. “Permanent?”
I nod once, decisive. “A mark that says you’re mine. Not Anton’s, not anyone’s. Mine.”
For a long moment, she just looks at me, uncertainty flickering in her eyes. Then, quietly, she says, “Okay.”
That one word feels like a vow.
I reach under the bed and pull out a black leather kit. The zipper rasps open, revealing sterilized needles, inks, gloves—the works. She goes still, her pulse skittering beneath her skin.
“You’re…you’re serious.”
“I’m licensed,” I tell her, unfolding the tools with practiced ease. “And I’ve had more practice than you’d believe. Every tattoo on my body?” I glance down at the ink curling along my arm. “My own hand.”
She studies me for a moment, then smiles faintly and nods, like she’s surrendering to whatever this means.
“Where’d you want it?” I ask, my voice low.
Her eyes don’t waver. “You tell me.”
That answer sparks something primal in me. She’s giving me control—choosing me.
I pull her pants down, slow, deliberate, until I reveal the curve of her upper thigh. My hand lingers there, warm against her skin. “Here,” I murmur. “Where no one else will ever see it. Only me.”
She exhales shakily but doesn’t resist, doesn’t flinch. She’s letting me brand her, letting me stake my claim.
The buzz of the needle fills the room, sharp and intimate.
Her body tenses at the first sting, but then she relaxes into it, her hand clutching the sheets.
I keep my other palm firm on her thigh, steadying her, grounding her, and I work with precision.
Stroke after stroke, ink seeping into her skin, a permanent truth being written.
When it’s done, the Rusnak insignia stands stark and proud against her flesh—my family’s mark, my mark.
I meet her gaze, half-expecting regret. But all I see is trust. Willingness. The quiet acceptance that she belongs to me now, in a way words could never capture.
And for the first time in years, something inside me eases.
“Do you like it?” I ask, my voice rougher than I intend.
She glances down, then back up at me. Her lips curve softly. “Yes.”
The answer should be enough, but I can’t stop myself. “Why did you agree so easily, Noelle? This isn’t small. This is forever.”
She doesn’t hesitate. “Because I’m beginning to like the idea of belonging to you. To you, and no one else.”
Her words punch straight through me, sharper than any blade, warmer than any fire. For a moment, I can only stare, caught between shock and a savage kind of joy.
And then I can’t hold back anymore. I catch her mouth in mine, kissing her with the kind of possession that burns. Her lips part under mine, and I pour everything into it—the relief that she’s safe, the pride in her surrender, the hunger that’s only grown since the first time I laid eyes on her.
She belongs to me now. And I’ll carve that truth into the world as ruthlessly as I carved it into her skin.
The knock at the door grates, dragging me from the fire of her lips. I growl low in my throat, but Demyan doesn’t wait—he pushes the door open, a box balanced in his hands.
“This was left outside the compound,” he says. His tone is clipped, his eyes flick once toward Noelle before darting back to me.
I sit straighter, still keeping her close. “Did you open it?”
“No. But we scanned it. No explosives, no toxins.” He places it on the table. “Clean. At least on the surface.”
I nod once. “Leave it.”
He doesn’t need to be told twice. Demyan inclines his head and slips back out, shutting the door behind him.
The room is suddenly too quiet. I rise, cross to the table, and flip the lid.
Inside—photographs.
Noelle’s photographs. Her laughter, her smiles, her hand tucked in Anton’s. Every memory of her with him, frozen on glossy paper…and drenched in blood. My jaw tightens until it aches.
Noelle gasps softly behind me.
There’s a note tucked on top, written in bold, angry strokes. I pluck it free, read it once.
You are still mine.
Signed, Anton.
My vision tunnels, red bleeding in at the edges. The box creaks in my hands from the force of my grip.
Behind me, I hear Noelle whisper, shaken, “Niko….”
I turn, the fury in my chest a roaring storm. He thinks he can brand her with blood? With fear?
No. She’s branded already—by me.