Chapter 16 – Niko
I take the phone from her hand, my thumb dragging across the screen, eyes narrowing at the message.
You are just like your mother.
Noelle is tense beside me, her gaze burning into my profile, waiting for my reaction. Lev watches too, his usual smirk dimmed to something sharper.
But me? I’m not confused. Not the way she is.
I know exactly what this could mean.
A slow, cold current works its way through my veins.
Anton doesn’t send words without purpose.
He doesn’t waste his time with riddles unless he’s drawing blood some other way.
If he’s bringing family into this, if he’s digging into her past, then it means he’s closer than I thought.
It means he’s found threads I hoped were long buried.
I school my face into silence, sliding the phone flat on the table.
Noelle swallows hard. “Why…why would he say that?” Her voice cracks on the words.
Before I can answer, Lev plucks the phone from the table. His eyes skim the message, and his jaw tightens, muscle ticking as he exhales through his nose.
I glance back at Noelle. She’s unraveling right in front of me—eyes glassy, lips pressed tight, shoulders rigid like she’s bracing for a blow she can’t see coming.
Lev slips the phone back into her hand, but his gaze lingers on me, sharp and knowing. “I’ll see what I can dig up,” he mutters, shoving his hands deep into his pockets. “Restricted numbers aren’t impossible to trace. If Anton’s hiding behind one, I’ll smoke him out.”
Without waiting for an answer, he strides to the door. It clicks shut behind him, the sound echoing in the penthouse like a final note.
Now it’s just us.
Her and me.
And the weight of a ghost neither of us is ready to face.
Noelle’s voice slices through the silence, raw and trembling.
“Niko…what does this mean? How can my mother be dragged into this?” She shakes her head, hair falling loose around her face.
“I haven’t seen her in years. Not since I ran away at twelve.
I don’t even know if she’s alive. I don’t know what became of either of them. ”
Her eyes find mine, wide and desperate, searching for answers I wish I had. Or maybe answers I wish I could give.
“I thought I buried that part of me,” she whispers, her hands twisting together in her lap. “I thought it was gone. Why would Anton use her against me? Why now?”
I move closer, my chest aching at the sight of her so exposed, so afraid. She’s fought tooth and nail to build walls around her past, and now Anton’s tearing them down with a single poisoned sentence.
I take her hands, steadying them between mine. My voice comes out low, rough. “Because that’s who Anton is. He doesn’t just come for the body—he comes for the soul. He’ll reach for anything sharp enough to cut you, even if it’s from a past he has no right to touch.”
Her breath shudders, and she leans into me, small and breakable in a way she never lets herself be.
Inside, my rage coils tighter. If Anton thinks he can drag her ghosts into this war, then he’s already signed his death warrant.
“But he doesn’t know my mother,” she insists. “He never met her. I swear by it.”
Her words dig at me—sharp, desperate.
I draw in a long breath, steadying the storm in my chest. Maybe it’s time. Maybe she deserves to hear the truth I’ve kept buried.
“Noelle,” I murmur, guiding her to sit. She perches on the edge of the couch, her eyes wide, her knuckles white where they clutch her knees. I lower myself in front of her, close enough that she can’t look away.
“When everything with Anton exploded—when you finally left him—he didn’t just stop at trying to ruin your reputation. He wanted to scorch the earth beneath your feet.” My jaw clenches. “He started telling people you were unstable. That you were just like your mother.”
Her whole body stiffens, but I press on, my voice low, deliberate.
“And the reason it stuck, the reason people whispered…was because your mother was tangled in our world. Years ago. There was an arms deal. It went south. Badly. And the story that spread—whether true or twisted—was that she betrayed the Bratva.”
Her lips part, but no sound comes out. She looks at me like I’ve just carved the ground out from under her.
“She vanished right after,” I add, softer now. “Disappeared completely. To outsiders, to men like Anton, that was enough proof to brand her a traitor.”
Silence stretches, heavy and suffocating. I can see the storm behind her eyes, disbelief warring with the faintest recognition. Like she’s piecing together fragments of a past she’d locked away.
Then her lips part, trembling. “No. No, that’s not true.
” She shakes her head hard, like the motion alone could shatter the words I’ve spoken.
“This is just Anton. Another one of his games. Another one of his lies. He said those things about me after I left him, to make himself look good. To make me look—” her voice cracks, “—like I was broken. Crazy.”
Her eyes brim, wide and pleading. “You believe that, don’t you? You believe he was lying?”
Her denial cuts sharper than a blade, because I know what she’s really begging me for—certainty, absolution, a clean past that no one can twist against her.
I want to give it to her. God, I do.
But my silence speaks louder than any lie I could tell.
She sees it. Her jaw tightens. She pulls her hand from mine and wraps her arms around herself, as if the only shield she has left is her own body.
“This is just another story Anton poisoned,” she whispers, more to herself than to me. “He wants me to be haunted. But I’m not. I’m not.”
Her eyes finally meet mine, raw and glistening, daring me to contradict her.
I hold that gaze, steady and unflinching, even though every part of me wants to look away and let her keep her illusions. “I thought the same,” I admit quietly. “For a long time, I thought Anton was just running his mouth. Trying to ruin you the way men like him always do.”
Her breath hitches, the tiniest flicker of relief sparking in her expression—until I go on.
“But after we married….” I exhale slowly, my jaw tight. “I had Demyan run a full background check on you. Not because I didn’t trust you,” my voice drops, hard, “but because I needed to know every angle Anton could use against you. Against us.”
Her face pales, her throat working as if she’s trying to swallow the weight of the words.
“I found things, Noelle. Your father….” My voice catches for the briefest second, but I press on. “He died of a drug overdose. Just a few months after you ran away.”
Her eyes widen, brimming with disbelief. She shakes her head once, then again. “No—”
“And your mother,” I cut in gently, because if I stop now, I won’t be able to keep going.
“She was already in deep with the bratvas, dealing with people she shouldn’t have.
She moved in circles. Dangerous ones. At one point, she was tied to the Rusnak Bratva in an arms deal that went south.
After that….” I let the silence fall heavy for a beat.
“…she vanished. No one knows if she ran. If she was taken. Even her body was never found.”
The color drains from her face, leaving her skin chalk-white. She stumbles back a step like I’ve physically struck her, her hand gripping the edge of the sofa for balance.
“You’re lying.” Her voice is faint, fractured. “You’re lying, Niko. You have to be.”
I don’t move toward her. If I touch her now, she’ll shatter.
But inside, rage sears through me like a live wire. Rage for the life she was dealt. Rage at Anton for ripping open old wounds. Rage at myself—for being the one to put this truth in her hands.
Her breaths come shallow, ragged, like she’s drowning on dry land. Her hands claw at her hair as if she can rip the thoughts out before they consume her.
“Noelle—” I step toward her, but she staggers back, eyes wild.
“I should’ve known,” she chokes out. “Of course. Of course I’d end up here. I’m my mother’s daughter, aren’t I? Chaos follows me. It’s in my blood.” She laughs, broken and bitter, the sound ripping through me. “I’ll die just like her. Just another body no one bothers to bury.”
“Stop.” My voice cracks sharper than I intend, but she keeps unraveling, words tumbling out faster, sharper, cutting herself with every one.
“I’m nothing, Niko. Nothing but white trash.
The daughter of a criminal and a junkie.
Did you really think I could ever be a doctor?
That someone like me could save lives?” Her throat works, strangling on the sob that tears free.
“No. This—this fucking mess—it’s my fate.
The bratva. Blood. Guns. Graves. That’s what I was born for, and that’s what will kill me. ”
I cross the space between us in two strides, catching her wrists before she can claw herself raw. She thrashes once, twice, but I hold on, firm but gentle.
“Noelle, look at me.” My voice drops, low and commanding, the way I’d ground a soldier in the middle of a firefight. Her gaze flits everywhere but mine, her chest heaving, until I grip her chin and force her eyes up.
“You are not your mother. You are not your father. You are you.” Each word comes out like a vow, hammered through my teeth. “And you are not going to die. Not while I breathe.”
Tears spill down her cheeks, hot and relentless, but her body stills under my touch.
I press my forehead to hers, my chest heaving with the weight of my own fury and fear. “You want to talk about fate? Then listen. Fate didn’t drag you here. I did. I chose you. And I will burn this world down before I let it take you from me.”
Her lip trembles, her breath hitching, and I can feel the way her heart pounds against mine. She doesn’t believe me yet. Not fully. But she wants to. And that want is the only thread holding her together.
Her sobs break open, raw and unguarded, each one tearing something loose inside me. My chest aches with it, like I’m being carved hollow from the inside out.