Chapter 14 – Niko
A few days pass before I can finally take Noelle back to the clinic.
She’s been patient, though I can tell she’s restless.
I’ve postponed it longer than I should—partly because Lev has been eating up all my hours, partly because the thought of her going with Demyan made my blood boil.
No. If she’s stepping foot there again, I need to be the one by her side.
I lean against the doorway, watching as she drags on her jeans, the fabric swallowing most of her curves. She’s trying so hard to hide herself, and it hurts me. She should show off. She’s beautiful, and no one—no one—gets to dim that. But I don’t say anything.
She turns to me then, tying her hair up in a bun.
“Niko?”
“Yes?”
“Can you grab my coat from the closet, please?”
I grab her coat from the closet, running my fingers over the fabric. Something in one of the pockets feels heavier than it should. Frowning, I slip my hand inside and pull it out.
A burner phone.
My eyes narrow, and I storm back to her. “Do you know anything about this?” I ask, holding it out to her. “Did someone give it to you?”
Noelle blinks, confused. “No…I don’t know anything about it,” she says, her voice steady. Her eyes meet mine, wide and sincere.
I study her for a long moment. The hesitation, the honesty—I see it, really see it. She isn’t lying. She’s not hiding anything. My chest tightens with a mixture of relief and something darker, sharper. She’s telling the truth, and I can trust her reactions now.
“Alright,” I say slowly, my voice low and firm. “I believe you.”
I hold the phone in my hands, turning it over, examining every detail. My fingers swipe across the screen, checking the contents. But it’s clean—completely wiped.
A sharp edge of suspicion slices through me, but I don’t let it show. Whoever left this phone wanted it untraceable, unconnected. Whoever it was, they wanted secrecy.
I glance at Noelle. Her eyes are steady, calm, but my gut tells me this isn’t just a coincidence. Something about this feels deliberate. The phone is clean, too clean. Which means it isn’t.
I take Noelle with me to my study, drop the burner on the desk, and pull out a small matte-black device from the drawer—a forensic scanner. Compact, deadly efficient. I’ve used it on dozens of burners before.
Noelle’s eyes flick to it. “What is that?”
“Something that tells me the truth,” I mutter, connecting the phone. The device hums to life, cables snaking into the burner’s port. A few keystrokes later, data starts spilling across my monitor.
To the naked eye, the phone’s wiped. Factory reset. But the scanner digs deeper, pulling up what most people think is gone. My jaw tightens as I scroll.
Ping records. Cell tower metadata. Last known signals.
Anton’s name is practically written across the screen. Two nights ago, this phone pinged near one of his safe spots—him and his crew.
I lean back in my chair, staring at the black glass of the device as if it had just whispered betrayal into the room.
Noelle shifts beside me. “What does it mean?”
“It means,” I say slowly, “this isn’t random. Someone put this in your pocket, and they want me to know Anton’s watching.”
“What?”
“It was him.” My voice is flat, certain. “Anton planted this on you. One way or another.”
Noelle’s breath catches, her hand tightening on the edge of my desk. “What? That’s not possible. I haven’t even seen him since—since I came down to Chicago. Over a year ago.”
Her eyes search mine, desperate for logic, for an explanation that makes sense.
I shake my head. “Doesn’t matter. He doesn’t have to see you to reach you. He has people. Loyalists. Rats who’ll do his work for scraps. Someone slipped this into your coat, maybe while you were at the clinic, maybe even before. He’s making sure you feel his shadow.”
Her throat bobs as she swallows, confusion and fear flickering across her face. “Why would he—why me?”
My hands curl into fists on the desk. I want to put them through something solid, but instead, I steady my tone, low and sharp.
“Because you were his once. In his mind, you still are. This is how he plays—control from a distance, poison in small doses. And now….” My gaze cuts to the phone, cold rage tightening my chest. “…now he’s daring me to come after him. ”
Silence swells between us, heavy and suffocating. I can feel Noelle’s eyes on me, searching for reassurance I can’t give her. My jaw clenches until it aches.
“This is on me.” The words scrape out of me like gravel.
“I should’ve been more careful. I should’ve checked everything before it ever got near you.
Your room, your clothes, every inch of this fucking place.
” My chest tightens, the fury now laced with guilt.
“If Anton’s filth touched your coat, then he’s closer than I thought. Too close.”
Her lips part, but I cut her off with a raised hand, needing to finish.
“We can’t stay here. Not anymore.” My voice drops lower, iron in every syllable.
“It’s better if we leave the estate—go somewhere locked down, somewhere only my men know.
Until Anton is arrested, until he’s executed, until this is over—you’ll be safe at my side.
No risks. No shadows. No one touches you again. ”
The words are a vow, sharper than any blade I’ve ever held.
Her brows knit, her voice trembling but stubborn. “Leave? Now? Niko, I’ve only just started to settle here. I finally feel like I belong somewhere again, and you want to uproot everything?” She shakes her head, clutching her arms around herself. “I’ll be fine. You don’t have to do this.”
I close the distance in two strides, my hand curling tight around the edge of the desk to keep from grabbing her. My voice cuts, cold and absolute. “This isn’t up for debate, Noelle. I said we’re leaving, and that’s final.”
Her breath hitches, and I see the hurt flash across her face like a wound. She stares at me, eyes shining with something raw—disappointment, hurt, maybe both. Then she turns sharply, her shoulders stiff as she walks away from me, each step pulling her further out of reach.
The door closes softly behind her, but it feels like a slam inside my chest.
I stand rooted, fury at Anton coiling with the sting of her silence, my own choices cutting us both open.
I curse under my breath and push away from the desk, chasing after her. She’s already in the hallway, her steps sharp, shoulders rigid as she marches toward our room.
I catch her wrist before she can slip inside, spinning her gently toward me. Her eyes flash, wounded and wet, but I don’t let her pull away. I lower my head, pressing a kiss to her forehead, holding there for a beat.
“I’m sorry,” I murmur against her skin. My voice cracks in places I don’t let anyone hear.
“I know it feels harsh. I know you’re finally breathing here, finally finding your place.
” I ease my grip, tracing my thumb along the delicate bones of her wrist. “But Anton—he doesn’t play fair.
If he can plant that phone in your coat, he can do worse. And I won’t risk that. Not with you.”
Her breath trembles, but she listens. I cup her face, forcing her to meet my eyes. “This isn’t about control. It’s about keeping you safe. If I have to drag you from the fire to do it, I will. Because I’d rather have you angry with me, alive, than lose you to him.”
Noelle swallows, her lips parting. “What about my ID? Can we still go get it?”
I press another kiss to her forehead, softer this time, a smile tugging faintly at my mouth. “Yes. But only after we reach the safe house first. I’ll have Demyan search the clinic and bring it back to you. Is that okay?”
Her shoulders drop just slightly, a weary kind of acceptance. “Yes.”
“Okay.” I brush my knuckles down her cheek before pulling away. “Come.” I lace my fingers through hers and lead her back toward our room. “Pack your things. I’ll go find Demyan, get the cars ready.”
Her silence follows me as I turn, but this time it isn’t a wall—it’s trust, fragile and heavy, and I carry it like a vow.
Once I’m sure she’s safe in the room, the door shut behind her, I force myself to walk away.
My chest is tight, my pulse sharp. I need movement, something to burn the edge off, but there’s no time.
I head upstairs, following the faint thud of iron against mats until I find Demyan in the gym, sweat rolling down his temples as he presses a bar back onto the rack.
“Get the cars ready,” I tell him without preamble. My voice is steel. “We’re heading out. Noelle and I. One of the safe houses.”
Demyan grabs a towel, wiping his face, frowning. “What happened? Everything alright?”
I step closer, lowering my tone but not my intensity. “We found a burner in her coat pocket. Wiped clean, but the metadata pinged Anton’s crew two nights ago.”
His brows knit, the casualness draining from him in an instant. “Fuck.”
“Exactly,” I growl. My fists itch to break something, but I steady them at my sides. “He planted it on her. One way or the other. Which means he’s closer than I thought, and I’m not gambling with her safety.”
Demyan studies me for a beat, then nods. No hesitation. “I’ll get the cars ready.”
“Good,” I mutter, dragging a hand through my hair. The fury doesn’t cool, but at least it has direction now.
I head back to our room, every step tight with impatience.
She’s sitting on the edge of the bed when I come in, her small suitcase open, clothes folded in neat little stacks.
I cross to the dresser and start pulling out my own things, shoving shirts and spare weapons into a bag.
It feels wrong—packing like this, like we’re running.
But I remind myself it’s temporary. A move, not a retreat.
The silence between us is heavy, but not cold. She glances at me from time to time, and when our eyes meet, I give her a faint smile, something to reassure her even as my insides burn with the thought of Anton’s game.
Nearly twenty minutes pass before there’s a knock at the door. Demyan steps in with two of the guards, all business. They collect our luggage quickly, efficiently. Noelle rises, handing over her bag without a word, her eyes flicking to mine as if to ask, Are we really doing this?
“Yes,” I murmur under my breath, close enough that only she hears.
Demyan gives me a sharp nod once the last bag is taken. Then he closes the door behind him, leaving us alone again.
The quiet returns, thicker this time. Just me, her, and the reality of leaving everything behind for a safer shadow.
I study her face, needing to know, needing to hear it from her lips. “Are you afraid?”
She surprises me—again. Instead of shrinking or trembling, her mouth softens into the widest smile I’ve seen from her yet. It lights her whole face, pulling me under like gravity. “I was. But whenever I’m with you….” She brushes her fingers along my arm, light as silk. “…I feel safe.”
The words rip straight through me. I feel them in my chest, my ribs tightening around them like a vice.
Nobody’s ever said that to me—and meant it.
I take her hand and press it to my lips, my voice coming out low, rough.
“You are safe. I’ll protect you, Noelle.
That’s the only thing you’ll ever need to know. ”
She studies me for a beat, eyes searching, soft but sharp. “Will they catch him? Anton?”
“They will,” I say, tone clipped with certainty. “Lukin, Adrian, Lev—they’re all on it. It’s only a matter of time.”
She exhales, almost like she believes me. But inside, my gut twists. Because the truth is, if it wasn’t for her, Anton would already be nothing but ash. I’d have found him, dragged him through the dirt, and slit his throat for daring to even whisper her name.
But every time I try to pull away—to focus, to plan—she distracts me. She owns me. The feel of her hand on mine, the way her eyes soften when I say her name—it unravels me. I should be plotting Anton’s death, but instead I’m counting her breaths, memorizing the curve of her smile.
I’m weaker with her. Stronger, too—but in all the wrong ways.
My gaze lingers on her lips, parted as if she’s about to ask another question, and I know I’m lost. I can’t bring myself to leave her side long enough to be the man who hunts Anton.
I always want her near, within reach. She steadies me, and yet she’s the one thing standing between me and the war I should already be ending.
And the worst part is, I don’t care. Not enough to change.
Because if it comes down to Anton’s blood or her warmth in my bed—I’ll choose her. Every time.
“Let’s go,” I murmur, my voice rougher than I intend. I take her hand, needing that tether, and lead her out of the room.
We descend the stairs together, her palm warm in mine, her steps quiet but steady. The air feels heavier the closer we get to the garage, like the walls themselves know what it means for us to leave the estate behind.
The doors slide open, the cold bite of concrete and metal greeting us. The car waits. Demyan is already behind the wheel, posture sharp, eyes flicking up to the rearview mirror the moment he hears us approach.
I open the back door and guide her inside before sliding in after her. My hand never leaves hers. She doesn’t let go either, her grip soft but unyielding, as if she knows I’d shatter without it.
The leather seats swallow us up, the faint scent of oil and steel clinging to the air. The engine hums alive, but the world feels muted compared to the quiet weight of her body curled against my chest.
Her head rests there like it belongs, her breath seeping through my shirt, steady and warm. I tighten my arm around her shoulders, anchoring her to me, and for the first time in days, my heartbeat slows.
She’s still mine. Still here. Still safe.