Chapter 20 – Niko
The city is just waking up, but I’ve been moving through the shadows for hours.
Tires hum against wet asphalt as I drive into the underground garage of the high-rise.
My hands grip the steering wheel tighter than necessary.
Every muscle in my body is tense, wired, waiting.
Anton’s ghost is everywhere I look, though I know he’s still out there somewhere.
The elevator keycard slides through my pocket with a click. I press the button, and the private doors glide open like a secret gate. The familiar hum of the lift fills my ears as I descend—or is it ascend?—toward the floor that keeps what I value most safe.
I step inside, scanning the empty space, the sleek metal walls reflecting the hard angles of my own silhouette. Every step toward the penthouse feels deliberate, calculated, like walking into a chessboard where every move could decide a life.
I think about last night, the raids, the traps set, the leads chased to dead ends. Anton slipped through every one of them. Damn him. Rage and frustration churn under my skin, but deeper than that…there’s the pull toward the woman waiting for me above. Noelle.
The elevator doors slide shut behind me.
The hum quiets, leaving only the sound of my heartbeat, steady, controlled.
I’m home. And yet, part of me feels empty without her in my arms. Every second spent apart from her is a reminder of what’s at stake, a reminder of what Anton is trying to take from me.
The lift jerks softly as it rises, and I brace myself, letting the silence stretch. In a few moments, I’ll open the door and see her again. And I’ll make sure she never feels unsafe—not while I breathe.
My fingers flex at my sides. He won’t get her. Not while I’m alive. Not while I’m Niko.
The elevator pings at my floor. The doors slide open, and the private world I’ve built for her—and for us—lies just ahead.
I step out of the elevator, boots clicking softly against the polished floor. The penthouse is quiet, almost unnaturally so, and my gut tightens immediately. Something’s off.
I move toward our room, expecting the familiar sight of her curled up in bed or sipping coffee by the window, that little spark of life that keeps me steady. But it’s empty. The sheets untouched. The scent of her gone. I call her phone, but her number doesn’t connect. I force myself to relax.
I check the terrace next, scanning every corner, every shadow. Nothing. The wind stirs the curtains lazily, but there’s no sign of her.
Panic prickles at the edges of my mind as I move from room to room, checking the guest rooms, the kitchen, even the study. Sasha is there in one of the guest rooms, fast asleep, but Noelle? Noelle isn’t anywhere.
My pulse spikes. Where the hell is she?
I rush through the penthouse, my mind racing through every possibility, every scenario. My chest tightens, breath coming shorter. Every second I waste here without her—without knowing she’s safe—feels like a lifetime.
Noelle.
I mutter her name under my breath, loud enough to carry through the empty halls.
Noelle.
The fear claws at me, sharp and real. She’s not just missing—she’s vulnerable. And if Anton even thinks….
I push the panic down, forcing my mind to function. I have to find her. Now. Every door, every shadow, every corner—she’s here somewhere. And if anyone tries to take her from me, they’ll regret it.
I stride over to the guest room where Sasha is still curled under the blanket, sunlight spilling softly across her face. I know it’s rude and mean, and I should let her sleep, but this is an urgent need. I clear my throat, and she jerks awake, scrambling up when she sees me.
“Niko?” She frowns, holding the sheet up to her body. “What—what’s going on? What are you doing?”
“Sasha,” I say, voice sharp. “Where’s Noelle?”
Her eyes flutter, bleary and confused. She blinks at me, squinting against the light.
“She’s probably asleep in her room,” she murmurs, still half-lost in sleep.
I tighten my jaw, shaking my head. “No. She’s not in the apartment.”
Sasha frowns, sitting up fully now, concern replacing sleepiness. “What do you mean? She’s—”
I cut her off, my voice low, tense. “She’s not here.”
Without waiting for more, I storm out of the room, leaving Sasha sitting up and blinking in alarm. My boots hit the floor hard as I push open the door to the terrace, my eyes scanning the empty spaces, the city beyond. Where the hell is she?
I storm down to the security station on the lower floor, the sound of my boots echoing like gunfire in the quiet hall. The guards look up, startled, a few flinching at the sharp edge in my voice.
“My wife isn’t in the house,” I bark. “Where is she?”
They look astonished. I already know they’re clueless about her whereabouts. My heart almost freezes.
“Why didn’t you catch her leaving?” I growl, glaring at each of them.
One of them swallows hard. “Sir…she never left. She’s been inside the building the whole time.”
I laugh, a short, bitter sound that doesn’t reach my eyes. “She’s not in the house. Clearly, she outsmarted you.” My fists clench at my sides, rage burning hotter with every word.
The guards shrink under my glare, their faces pale. Not one dares to contradict me further. I don’t wait. With a hard, impatient exhale, I push past them and head to the private elevator again, slamming the call button.
This time, I head to my office. Here, I call her again, but still, it doesn’t go through.
I pace the room, the quiet of the penthouse pressing in on me.
My chest feels tight, like my heart is twisting in knots.
Every second Noelle is missing, every thought of her out there alone, makes my blood boil hotter.
I can’t believe she’d slip past the guards—she wouldn’t have, not without a reason. And yet…she’s gone.
I stop mid-step and run a hand down my face, trying to steady myself, trying to quiet the storm in my chest. I sink into the chair at my desk, leaning forward, elbows on my knees, just trying to think, trying to breathe. My fingers drum impatiently on the wood, a nervous rhythm I can’t shake.
And then my eyes catch it—the faint glow from the computer screen. My pulse jumps. The chair squeaks as I push myself up, heart hammering harder. The background information folder is open, the mouse frozen over a picture of Noelle’s mother with that damned little note I’d left: Kirill Seinoff.
I know who’s been here. My gut, every instinct in me, tells me it’s Noelle.
A sharp spike of panic hits me. Did she see the folder and…misinterpret? Did she think I’m some obsessive maniac, cataloging every thread of her life, and decide she needed space? Or did she see it, understand it, and get angry—furious that I’d dig so deep, even if it was for her safety?
I hate the not knowing. The uncertainty claws at me worse than any fight or gunfire ever could.
My fists curl, then unclench, pacing again, every second stretching out like a rope around my throat.
I need her back. I need to hear her voice.
I need to know she’s safe. And I can’t do a damn thing until I find her.
The knot in my gut tightens.
Kirill.
I don’t trust him. Not one bit.
Anton’s moves, the shell corporation, the weapons chatter—it all reeks of orchestration. And Kirill? He’s already tangled in this. There’s no way Anton could pull some of this off without Kirill knowing. My instincts scream it: these two are linked, and it’s deeper than anyone imagined.
I run a hand down my face. I’ve already tasked Demyan with tracking Kirill, but knowing he’s a thread in this web twists my gut tighter.
Kirill’s loyalty is uncertain, and Anton is reckless.
If they’re working together, it won’t be long before the chaos spills over, and Noelle…
Noelle cannot be caught in that fire. Not now. Not ever.
This time, when I call and it doesn’t connect, I’m tempted to hurl my phone across the room, but I refrain. It’s not my phone’s fault. Noelle probably switched off her phone. I don’t want to think otherwise.
A knock on the door interrupts my thoughts. I stride to the door, my nerves taut, and see Sasha standing there, dressed and looking every bit as worried as I feel.
“Have you…been able to track her?” she asks, her voice tight with concern. “I’ve been trying to reach her phone, but it’s not going through.”
“I’m on it,” I say, keeping my tone firm but not harsh. “You can go home now. Everything will be fine.”
Sasha bites her lip. “I…I’m sorry. I should’ve noticed when she left.”
I shake my head. “It’s not your fault. You were asleep. I’ll let you know when she comes back. Just go, Sasha.”
She nods, giving me a quick, grateful glance, then turns and walks away, leaving the weight of the empty hallway pressing against me.
I storm down to the garage, every step sharp with frustration and worry. Sliding into my car, the engine hums to life beneath me. My mind races—Noelle gone, Anton on the move, and Kirill’s shadow looming larger than ever.
I pull up to Lev’s house, the city streets quiet under the early morning haze. The tires crunch over the gravel drive, and I can feel every second stretching as I get out of the car. I ring the doorbell, impatient, every heartbeat echoing in my chest.
The door swings open, and Lev stares at me, shock flashing across his face. “Niko? Are you okay?”
“I need Kirill’s financials,” I say immediately, cutting past his expression. “Everything on him, now.”
Lev raises an eyebrow, trying to mask his surprise with a smirk. “Relax, man, it’s just—”
I snap, my patience gone. “Noelle is missing, Lev!” The words hit like a punch, the frustration and fear threading my voice.
“I don’t know whether she was taken or if she deliberately left, but I have to find her.
And I have to find Kirill—no more messing around. I need everything, and I need it now.”