Chapter 30 Nik
NIK
“You’re a terrible wingman,” my sister says, leaning into the bar with her wine glass.
“I’m literally just standing here,” I mutter.
“You’re scowling at every guy who looks my way.”
“They’re all losers. Not good enough for you.”
Her brows shoot up. “Your countenance is horrible tonight. What the fuck’s wrong with you?”
“What’s wrong with you?” I shoot back.
“I need to get laid,” she says loudly enough for half the bar to hear.
I cringe and stare into my glass. “So crass.”
She elbows me. “I think you do too.”
“Ugh. No.”
She narrows her eyes, watching me too closely. “Is there someone I don’t know about?”
“No,” I snap—too fast. She knows me better than anyone.
A slow grin spreads across her face. “Ah. The Campisi girl.”
“No, it’s nothing,” I repeat, but my voice is weak, and she knows she’s cornered me.
“It didn’t look like nothing last night,” she says, sipping her wine with exaggerated calm. “It looked hot enough to melt paint off the walls.”
“She’s beautiful,” I concede. “But anyone with eyes can see that.”
“Beautiful, sure,” she says, leaning closer. “But whatever that was between you two? That wasn’t just two hot people dancing for the sake of diplomacy. You looked ready to kill anyone who tried to cut in.”
I don’t answer. My silence says enough.
Her brows shoot up. “Have you fucked her?”
I keep my mouth shut.
“Oh my God, Nikolai. Seriously? When? Just last night or…”
“Shut it, sister,” I growl through my teeth.
She’s practically vibrating with excitement now. “You have to tell me everything. This is huge. Like—huge. What are you going to do? Are you in love with her?”
“I don’t do love,” I say flatly. “You know that.”
My sister makes a doubtful sound. “You always say you don’t do love,” she says slowly, “but I’m pretty sure you would, if it were the right match.”
“Match,” I echo with a humorless laugh. “Matches are political. What political sense would that make?”
“A lot, actually.” Her eyes glint with mischief as she leans in.
“Think about it. Lars and Antonio are in that room right now, hammering out whatever tenuous agreement comes from the bombshell you dropped today. You forced him into a corner, and now he has to play nice in the sandbox. But he’ll be seething about it, right?
So offer yourself up. Say you’ll marry his daughter and unite the Barkovs and the Campisis. Together, it would be…”
She makes an exploding head gesture.
I stare at her, caught between disbelief and reluctant curiosity. There’s not a snowball’s chance in hell Don Campisi would ever allow it, but I can see the logic in my sister’s idea.
Still—marriage? The thought alone makes my stomach turn.
Not because I don’t believe in the idea, but because I know exactly how it can be weaponized.
Love makes you reckless. It makes you weak.
I’m already a wreck thinking about someone using Misha against me.
Or Lars. Or Volya. The idea of a wife, or children, being pawns? Unbearable.
“No.” It’s all I can manage to say out loud.
“Just… no?” she pushes. “Maybe it would be a good match. It could open doors for both families, perhaps even preventing what feels like an inevitable war. You should go talk to them about it right now.”
I groan and drag a hand down my face. “No. Go away. Go… find someone to bother. Whatever.”
“Gladly. Killjoy.” She huffs, rolling her eyes before strutting off toward a group of Barkov men fresh in from Russia. She lays a hand on the bicep of one of the younger ones, and he beams at her like he just won the fucking lottery.
Shoving the thought of my sister’s sexual exploits way, way down into a pit, and deciding the best possible outcome tonight is a blackout.
I’m going to get blind drunk.
I text Dominic my plan, and he sends me a bunch of question marks, then says he’ll be in to join me.
We sit at the bar for hours, drinking ourselves into oblivion.
“Are we still grabbing the Princess?” he asks quietly, before we’re both too drunk to speak coherently.
“Meh,” I swat the thought away.
“The apartment is ready, boss,” he says. “Tomorrow, maybe? While everyone is trying to get their cars. It will be chaos.”
My brain feels foggy; my thoughts are sloppy. “If it’s… Lars is negotiating now. Maybe it’s not…”
“Not necessary?” Dom finishes for me. He shrugs. “Maybe not. But come on, you know Campisi. Even if Lars pulls off a miracle, nothing that lands on our side is going to sit right with them. He’ll find some way to screw us. Better to have leverage in hand. We can preempt it.”
I sigh, long and heavy. He’s not wrong.
“Okay. Sure,” I say, slurring my words a bit. “Yeah, okay.”
Dom nods, tosses back a shot of vodka, and smirks. “Good. Ah, speak of the temptress herself.”
My head snaps around, and there she is.
Her hair is in a messy braid that falls over one shoulder, and she wears a simple denim jumpsuit that hugs her torso, her breasts on artful display, before widening into wide legs. She wears several layers of gold chains, and those infernal, sexy heels finish off the look.
“Goddamn it,” I mutter. “Fucking…shoes.”
Dominic chokes on a laugh. “Got the hots for a girl in high heels?”
“Something like that.”
“Well, looks like the match negotiations must be moving along. The skinny nerd from last night is back.”
Indeed, the skinny nerd is back, and Leanna is looping her arm through his as they make their way to a high-top table. She takes a seat, smiling at him as he holds up a finger and bolts to the bar to order drinks like an obedient errand boy.
Her ability to compartmentalize is unnerving, like she didn’t just cry in my arms hours ago. Now she’s polished, dressed to kill, and putting on a show with a man who couldn’t possibly be in her league.
And, of course, he walks right up next to us to place his order with the bartender.
“Two house reds,” he says.
“Fucking pussy,” I mutter into my glass.
“I’m… sorry?” he stammers, turning toward me.
I swivel my head slowly, and he reels backward just a little.
“I said you’re a fucking pussy,” I say, enunciating every word. “Fucking red wine? Get a real fucking drink.”
The nerd makes a face, half nervous, half unsure if I’m joking. His eyes dart to Dom, maybe hoping for backup. I don’t even need to see Dom’s expression to know he’s probably fighting back a grin.
“I don’t… I’m not sure what I did to upset you,” he says carefully. “I was just trying to—”
“Get drinks for you and Leanna Campisi,” I cut in, my voice dangerously low. “Yeah, I’ve got eyes. I can see. And here’s the thing, you’re swinging way outside your weight class, kid.”
“I’m… what?” the guy stammers.
I lean in. “She’s out of your league. By a mile.”
He glances at Leanna, then back at me. “Listen, you danced with her once, and everyone was on edge. So maybe back off? She might be out of my league, but her father picked me. I’ve got a better shot than you right now.”
The words hit a nerve. Before I even think, my fist is in his face.
It’s instantaneous. He drops to the floor, blood in his hands as he tries to hold onto his busted lips.
The room goes still, then chaos detonates. Men reach for guns; Barkovs and Campisis are ready to blow each other up.
Leanna drops to her knees beside him, then shoots to her feet, fire in her eyes as she jabs a finger in my face. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” she spits. “You could’ve killed him!”
I grin, drunk and mean. “I wish I had. Lucky for him, I didn’t.”
“Guys! Everyone, put those away!” Her voice slices through the noise. “It’s fine. Everything’s fine.”
Thankfully, the Campisi men listen well, and once they put their sidearms away, so do the Barkov men. Leanna asks her men to take Trace out of here and get him some medical attention.
Trace. That’s his name.
Fuck, what a pussy name.
After he’s gone, she grabs my arm and says, “You and me. We’ve got beef. Let’s go.”
I stand and try to look menacing at the guys who try to follow her —probably her security detail. She holds them off with a wave of her hands and pretty much pushes me out of the bar and into the hallway.
“What. The. Fuck?” she demands, once we’re on the elevator to the twenty-first floor.
“Back at you,” I sulk.
“You don’t own me,” she says, and not for the first time since I’ve known her. “You are not my boyfriend. You can’t say you don’t care, don’t want me, and then get in my business when I’m with someone else.”
The elevator doors open, and she shoves me again, this time in the direction of our room. Moments later, we’re inside. The curtains are thrown wide, and the late afternoon sun spills through the space.
“You wrecked me,” I finally say.
“I wrecked you?”Leanna asks, incredulous. “You have had me all this time. You took me…I was a…”
“So what?” I snap, bitter and spoiling for a fight. “So you lost your virginity. It had to happen sometime. And don’t pretend you were saving yourself for marriage. Jesus, you rode me until you came the first night we were together.”
She lets out a sound of pure frustration. “I fucking hate you.”
“No, you don’t,” I scoff. “You already tried to tell me you love me once tonight. Now you hate me, because I punched some nerd who wasn’t good enough for you by far?”
“You don’t know what you want,” she fires back. “You want to own me, fuck me, protect me, push me away, then drag me back. Nik, this will never work. I made peace with that. But then you—” she stabs her finger at my chest, “—you come in like a fucking caveman. What am I supposed to do with that?”
“You came in and fucked with me on a dare,” I snarl. “Some spoiled rich-girl dare. How entitled of you, that you can come in and make a joke of a man when he’s vulnerable.”
She rolls her eyes. “Vulnerable? You? Please. You’re just as dangerous blindfolded, drunk, or stone-cold sober. You were fine. I was the one in danger every week.”
I step forward until I’m in her space. “You were never in danger with me.”
She knows I’m right. She had a safe word. She used it, and I stopped. I could have hurt her, but I didn’t, and she knows I never would.
“This is stupid,” she mutters, turning away. She stomps into the bedroom, and I follow, only to find her packing her belongings.
“Where are you going?” I ask.
“Nowhere. And it’s none of your business.”
“It is my business.”
“Why? Because we fucked? No, Nik, it doesn’t work like that.”
“Because I…”
She cuts me off with a sharp, manic laugh. “No. You don’t get to say it. Not now. Keep your mouth shut.”
“But I do,” I growl. “I care. Okay? I care.”
“You care because you don’t want anyone else to have me. You care because without me, you don’t get to play your little games. Well, guess what? I’m done playing. Whatever this was, it’s over. And good thing, because I’m not sticking around for this shit.”
She’s ranting. She’s furious and hurt, but she’s serious about leaving. Her bag is packed, her mind made up. She storms past me, straight for the door.
“Goodbye, Nik. For real this time.”
The door slams.
Rage detonates in my chest. I smash everything within reach, glass, furniture, whatever my fists can find. My knuckles split, blood mixing with vodka as I down another drink.
By the time Dominic knocks and I let him in, the room looks like a war zone. I’m barefoot, bloodied, liquor in hand, the wreckage of my temper scattered around me.
He takes one look and mutters, “Oh, fuck.”