Chapter 3
NICO
“You sure that inviting the Ghost was a good idea? We don’t even know whose side he’s on.”
Vincent’s voice is quiet enough that no one else in the cathedral can hear him whispering to Luc as the two of them stand at the front of the church before the ceremony begins.
But I can hear everything. Part of what makes me such a lethal killer is my ability to use my heightened senses to see and hear everything.
My targets never see me coming, or leaving, for that matter.
And currently, my “target” is the conversation that the two of them are having, which gives me no pause in walking right up to them.
These are skills that allow me to hide in plain sight.
“Congratulations,” I say to Luciano as I extend my hand.
Neither of them saw me walking up behind them, and it’s clear from their unsettled expressions that they are now both wondering how much of their conversation I’ve heard.
“Thanks,” Luc says, shaking my hand. “But technically, I’m not married yet.”
“I'm going to take that as my cue to go find my seat,” Vincent says as he excuses himself. “Good to see you, Nico.”
“Likewise,” I nod. The pleasantries are standard. I never trust standard, though. To be fair, I never trust anything or anyone.
“Thanks for coming,” Luc says once it’s just the two of us standing together. “Honestly, I’m surprised that you accepted the invitation. I know how rare it is for you to make a public appearance.”
“No offense, but I didn’t come to celebrate your wedding. I came to make sure that Valentina and the unborn child are safe. You said you’d send her to me, and you didn’t. She was almost lost.”
“Yes, I know that, but circumstances changed, and I made adjustments to the plan.”
“Brave,” I say. “And also likely stupid. You took a gamble with the life of the woman you love, and with your unborn child. I never would have done such a thing.”
“Well, lucky for you, it wasn’t your decision to make.” Luc’s words are tense now. He doesn’t like being confronted, but it was necessary. When someone asks for my help and my involvement, I don’t take it lightly when they change course midstream, especially not when innocent lives are at stake.
“Well, I should take my place at the altar now,” he says as the music begins to play. “The ceremony is about to begin.”
“Of course,” I say, taking a step back toward the side of the cathedral. “My congratulations again.”
Luc stands smiling at the altar as the doors at the front of the church open and Valentina begins her walk down the aisle.
From the shadows, as always, I stand in the cathedral’s corner and watch.
She looks lovely, an ivory flurry of lace and billowing satin and flowers as she walks toward her waiting groom, more like waddles due to the growing child in her belly.
But it’s not her that catches my eye—it’s the woman standing at the back of the church, her insatiably curious hazel eyes scanning the crowd as if she’s hoping to find something at the edges of the event. Perhaps something like me.
I can see her slipping back into obsession again.
I’ve spent years watching Elle Monroe from afar, keeping my distance for good reason as she tries to hunt me down in this game of “cat and mouse” that the two of us have been playing for years.
She doesn’t know who I am. To her, I’m only a nameless Ghost and the obsession that keeps her chasing at my heels.
But I know who she is, and that is exactly why I’ve kept my distance all this time.
When the music stops, the priest begins the ceremony, and I sink further back into the shadows until Elle’s eyes can no longer see me here.
I watch as vows are exchanged and the guests in the pews whisper things that only I can hear.
Some comment about how lovely the ceremony is, while others are busy scheming their next moves.
Family, business, or both connect everyone in this cathedral.
I, on the eve of my thirty-fourth year of life, am the exception.
I make a point of not being involved in the lives of these people.
I choose willful withdrawal, emotional detachment, and a life lived in the shadows, avoiding connection, responsibility, and purpose— when the world seems as if it is burning around me.
Perhaps it’s a flaw of mine, or maybe even a sin, the type of sloth that keeps me from acting when others would.
But I embody it by staying hidden and refusing to engage.
Distance equals safety. The bigger sin would be what I could do to the people around me if I wanted to.
I was born in Russia, raised there for all of my formative years, and trained to be a lethal assassin, skills which I used as a Bratva operative and one of the most ruthless fixers Moscow had ever seen.
When I left Russia and moved to the States, I transitioned my skill set to serve as an underworld enforcer.
And although still a bloody job, I have found my time in Vegas to be much less brutal than my days in Russia, the days that garnered me several notable scars along my hands and forearms. Scars that I’ve tried to tattoo over in order to cover up my violent past, but that still visibly persist to serve as reminders of all that I came from and who I have become as a result of what I have done and endured.
Not all ghosts do the haunting—their own past, guilt, loss, and regret also haunt some.
As the ceremony continues, my eyes drift from the bride and groom and all the ornate gold filigree and stained glass encapsulating this moment of sacred union, to her—Elle Monroe.
I vividly remember the night in the alley where someone shot and killed her mother, as if it happened yesterday.
She was so young then, and even now she’s too young for me, if I ever wanted to let myself grow attached to anyone, which I don’t.
But yet I’ve held an almost consuming fascination with her from afar since first laying eyes on her.
She’s smart—too smart for her own good. I’ve done my homework about her, and I’ve kept an eye on her since that night.
Her file paints the picture of a brilliant psychological profiler, able to analyze and predict complex behavior with an admittedly astonishing accuracy rate.
I wonder if that’s true. I’ve also heard that she’s fearless in the face of danger, which doesn’t surprise me since she had the guts to chase after me that night in the alley.
I’m not so sure that I would consider that trait an asset, though, especially not when she regularly places herself in peril just to achieve some misguided, purpose-driven sense of justice or closure.
Those are the kinds of fool’s errands that get you killed.
The whispers about me are true, at least in the sense that I’m everywhere, see, and hear everything.
I’ve heard from Elle’s colleagues that she’s defiant and independent to a fault, that she refuses to rely on others, especially authority figures, and often goes rogue without permission from her superiors.
I suppose that’s not a surprise considering that she’s Hale Monroe’s daughter.
That detective is about as corrupt an asshole as you can get, playing both sides of the law and twisting it to his advantage.
I don't doubt that Elle’s mother shielded her from much of that while she was alive, and then after her death, Elle likely grew up emotionally isolated.
How could she not, with a father like Hale Monroe?
It’s men like him who are the real sinners, hiding behind a badge while looking the other way when atrocities are committed just so they can line their pockets.
But there are other things that I can sense about Elle just by watching her from a distance and seeing how she moves around in the world.
She’s skeptical, curious, and observant but also wary.
And although she is definitely not corrupt like her father, Elle’s moral compass doesn’t always seem to point true north.
The fact that she seems driven by personal codes rather than strict legality means that she struggles with shades of grey when it comes to her morality.
I don’t judge that since I can most certainly relate. In truth, I find her fascinating.
If I let myself linger on her for too long and stare at her lean, athletic build and the way her pants hug the curve of her waist, it would be easy to get distracted. She’s beautiful, classically graceful, and entirely enticing, but also strong enough to be dangerous in more ways than one.
I’ve spent years staying out of the fray and away from her, not only for her safety but also for my sanity.
Staying detached from the woman who insists on continuing her pursuit of her mother’s mysterious watcher on that fateful night hasn’t been entirely easy.
Especially considering how driven and obsessed she is with it.
But staying away from her has meant keeping everything that I know about the circumstances of that night away from her, too.
I saved Elle that night, and I’ve vowed to keep her safe every day since.
I might be a ruthless monster, but not when it comes to innocent people.
My code exists, and like Elle, my demons won’t overcome me, even though it involves ethical ambiguity.
I do what I can to clean the blood off my ledger these days, including staying away from her and tempting fate.