Chapter 34 Nikolai
NIKOLAI
"Marry me."
The words hang in the air between us like smoke, and I watch Aria's face cycle through emotions faster than I can catalog them.
Shock first, her dark eyes going wide, her lips parting on an inhale she doesn't release.
Then fury blazes across her features, turning her cheeks pink and making her hands curl into fists at her sides.
"What?" The single word cracks like a whip.
"You heard me." I keep my voice level, controlled, even though my heart hammers against my ribs in a way that has nothing to do with strategy. "The price for saving Maya is marriage. To me. Right away."
"You can't be serious." She takes a step back, her hand moving instinctively to her stomach where our child grows. "You think you can just buy me? Trade my sister's life for my compliance?"
"I'm not buying you." I force myself to remain still, to project the calm authority that has kept me alive for two decades. "I'm offering you protection. Legitimacy. A name for our child that means something in this world."
"It means you're a criminal." Her voice shakes with barely controlled rage. "It means our baby will grow up knowing their father kills people for a living."
The accusation should sting, but I've heard worse. I've been called worse by people who matter far less than this woman standing before me, pregnant and furious and so beautiful it makes my chest ache.
"Yes," I say simply. "But they'll also grow up protected. Safe. With resources most people can't even imagine."
"I don't want your blood money." She wraps her arms around herself, a defensive gesture that puts another barrier between us. "I want my sister alive and my life back."
"Your old life is already gone." The brutal honesty makes her flinch, but she needs to hear it. "The tabloids are destroying your reputation. Your business is suffering. And when the pregnancy leaks, which it will, you'll be painted as the gold digger who trapped a billionaire with a baby."
Her face goes pale, and I see the moment reality crashes over her like a wave. She knows I'm right. She's smart enough to understand the game being played, even if she hates the rules.
"Marriage changes the narrative," I continue, pressing my advantage. "You become my fiancée, then my wife. The mother of my child. Untouchable."
"Owned." The word looks like it tastes bitter on her tongue. "That's what you mean. I become your property."
"You become my family." I take a calculated risk and close the distance between us, my hand lifting to cup her jaw. Her skin is warm beneath my palm, her pulse hammering visibly in her throat. "There's a difference."
"Is there?" Her dark eyes search mine, looking for deception, for the trap she knows must be hidden in this offer. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you're using my sister's life to force me into a cage."
"I'm using your sister's life to keep you both alive.
" My thumb brushes across her lower lip, and I feel the tremor that runs through her body.
"Matvey Ignatyev is circling. The blackmailer is still out there.
And now Maya's loan shark has been selling information about you to God knows who.
You need protection, Aria. Real protection.
The kind that comes with my name and my ring. "
She closes her eyes, and I watch a single tear slide down her cheek. The sight of it makes something crack in my chest, guilt mixing with the triumph of knowing I've won.
"I hate you right now," she whispers.
"I know." I lean closer, my forehead resting against hers, breathing in the scent of her hair. "But you'll forgive me eventually. Because deep down, you know this is the only way to keep everyone safe."
Her shoulders slump, the fight draining out of her like water through a sieve. When she opens her eyes again, they're filled with resignation that looks too much like defeat.
"Yes." The word is barely audible, but it might as well be a shout for how it reverberates through my chest. "I'll marry you."
I should feel victorious. I've secured what I wanted, bound her to me in a way that will satisfy the Bratva council and protect our child. Instead, I feel like I've just broken something precious, something I'm not sure I'll ever be able to repair.
"I need to handle something," I say, stepping back before I do something stupid like apologize. "Cyril will stay with you. Don't leave the house."
"Where are you going?" Her voice is flat, emotionless.
"To deal with Cane Harris."
Understanding flashes across her face, followed by something that might be satisfaction. Good. She should want the bastard to pay for what he's done.
I find Cyril in the hallway, his gray eyes assessing me with uncomfortable accuracy. He knows what just happened, what I just demanded of her. His expression remains neutral, but I see the question lurking beneath.
"She agreed," I say, answering what he hasn't asked.
"And the loan shark?"
"I'm handling it personally." I check the gun holstered at my hip, the familiar weight a comfort. "Keep her here. Safe."
He nods once, sharp and final, then disappears back toward the living room where Aria waits. I take the stairs two at a time, my mind already shifting into the cold calculation required for what comes next.
The drive to the industrial district passes in a blur of traffic and red lights that test my patience.
Cane Harris operates out of a warehouse near the docks, the kind of place where screams go unnoticed and blood washes away with the morning rain.
My men have been watching him for days, cataloging his routines, his security, his weaknesses. He has plenty of the latter.
I park in the alley behind the building and enter through the back door that my advance team left unlocked.
The interior reeks of mold and desperation, cheap cologne failing to mask the stench of fear that clings to these walls.
Cane's office occupies the second floor, accessed by a metal staircase that groans under my weight.
He's alone when I enter, hunched over a desk covered in ledgers and cash. The moment he looks up and sees me, his face goes the color of old snow.
"Mr. Alekseev." His voice cracks on my name. "I wasn't expecting you."
"No." I close the door behind me with a soft click that sounds like a gunshot in the quiet room. "I don't suppose you were."
He tries to stand, his chair scraping against concrete, but I'm already moving. My hand closes around his throat, slamming him back into his seat with enough force to rattle his teeth. His eyes bulge, his hands clawing at my wrist, but I don't squeeze hard enough to cut off his air. Not yet.
"Maya Levin," I say, my voice dropping to something cold and lethal. "Tell me about her debt."
"I don't know what you're talking about." The lie comes out strangled, pathetic.
I tighten my grip fractionally, watching his face turn red. "Try again."
"Fifty thousand!" The words burst out in a panicked rush. "She owed fifty thousand for drugs and interest. But she's been paying it down. I swear."
"With information." I release his throat and step back, giving him room to breathe. "About me. About Aria. About our lives."
He rubs his neck, his eyes darting toward the door like he's calculating his chances of escape. They're zero, but I let him hope for a moment before crushing it.
"I needed to know if you were legitimate," he stammers. "If the girl's sister was really with you. For collection purposes."
"Collection purposes." I let the words hang between us, heavy with disbelief. "You thought it was smart to investigate me? To squeeze my woman's sister for intelligence?"
"I didn't know she was yours!" His voice rises to something close to a shriek. "Not at first. By the time I figured it out, I was already in too deep."
"So you kept going." I pull my gun from its holster, the movement casual, and watch him flinch. "You kept pressuring Maya. Kept collecting information. Kept making yourself a problem I need to solve."
"Please." Tears stream down his face now, mixing with the sweat beading on his forehead. "I'll forgive the debt. All of it. Maya doesn't owe me anything. Just let me go."
"I'm not here about the debt." I chamber a round, the sound echoing off concrete walls. "I'm here about what you did with the information you collected."
His face goes even paler, if that's possible. "I didn't do anything with it. I swear."
"Liar." The word comes out soft, almost gentle, which makes it more terrifying than shouting ever could. "You sold it. To who?"
"I don't know his name!" The confession bursts out like he's been holding it in too long. "He was Russian. Paid cash. Asked about your routines, your security, your relationship with the girl."
Ice slides down my spine, settling in my stomach like a stone. "Describe him."
"Older. Maybe fifty. Gray hair. Expensive suit. Had an accent like yours but thicker." Cane's words tumble over each other in his desperation to cooperate. "He knew things about you. About your organization. Said he was interested in your vulnerabilities."
Matvey. It has to be. The description fits, and the timing makes sense. My rival has been collecting intelligence, building a case against me, using Maya's addiction and Cane's greed to gather ammunition.
"How much did he pay you?" I ask, my voice deadly calm.
"Ten thousand. For everything I had."
"And what did you have?"
"Your schedule. When you leave the house. How many guards you take. Where you go." He's sobbing now, snot running down his face. "Information about the girl. Her business. Her sister. Her routines."
Every word is another nail in his coffin. He's given Matvey everything needed to plan an attack, to identify weaknesses, to strike where I'm most vulnerable. The knowledge makes rage build in my chest like pressure in a sealed container.
I don't waste time with speeches about loyalty or consequences.
My hands move with practiced efficiency, and Cane's screams echo off the concrete walls as he realizes the fatal mistake he made.
The interrogation is brutal but necessary.
I extract every detail about Maya's debt, about the meetings with Matvey's representative, about everyone who knew.
When it's finished, Cane lies broken on the floor, his breathing shallow and wet.
I stand over him, my gun trained on his head, and feel nothing. No satisfaction. No remorse. Just cold calculation about whether he's more useful dead or alive.
His blood-flecked lips move, words barely audible as he gasps for breath. "Sold… information about Aria… to someone very interested."
My finger tightens on the trigger. "Who?"
But his eyes are already glazing over, his chest going still.
My blood runs cold. I never got the buyer's name.