Chapter 43 Aria
ARIA
Ipace the length of the master bedroom, my fingers pressing against the bandage on my temple where the glass caught me.
The cut throbs with each heartbeat, a physical reminder of how close Matvey's men came to ending everything.
Three inches to the left and the shard would have hit my eye.
Six inches and it might have caught my throat.
I can't stop replaying those terrifying minutes.
Katya's face going pale as she pulled me into the walk-in cooler, her whispered warning making my blood turn to slush.
The frantic phone calls to husbands and boyfriends, my voice shaking as I tried to explain that armed men were outside.
The sound of furniture scraping across tile as we barricaded ourselves inside Thyme & Tide, using prep tables and industrial refrigerators to create barriers that felt pathetically inadequate.
The Bratva wives transformed before my eyes.
Irina grabbed the largest chef's knife from my block, her expression going cold and focused.
Svetlana positioned herself near the back exit, a meat cleaver gripped in both hands.
Mila's tears dried instantly as she armed herself with a boning knife, her young face hardening with determination I didn't know she possessed.
These women knew how to survive in a world built on violence.
The shooting started three minutes later.
Glass exploded inward in a shower of glittering shards that caught the light like deadly confetti.
Bullets punched through walls with sounds like thunder, leaving holes the size of my fist. My hands moved instinctively to protect my stomach, curving around the subtle swell where our baby grows, and my heart hammered so hard I thought my ribs might crack.
Then Nikolai arrived like a force of nature.
I watched him move through my kitchen with brutal efficiency, his eyes cold with lethal purpose. Each shot was precise and final, no wasted motion, no hesitation. He was terrifying and beautiful all at once, this man who would burn the world to keep me safe.
Now I wait, my body still humming with residual adrenaline and something else I refuse to name.
Something that makes my skin flush with heat despite the cooling night air.
Something that has everything to do with the way he looked at me across that destroyed kitchen, like I was the only thing in the world that mattered.
The door opens and Nikolai enters.
My breath catches in my throat.
His white shirt is soaked crimson, the expensive fabric clinging to his chest in a way that makes my pulse quicken.
Blood spatters across his face and hands, dark against his pale skin.
Some of it is his. I can see the gash on his forearm still seeping, the fabric torn where a bullet grazed him.
But most of the blood belongs to others.
He crosses to me in three strides, and I'm struck by how he moves even now.
All coiled muscle and controlled violence, the predator beneath the expensive clothes fully emerged.
His hands frame my face with surprising gentleness despite the violence still clinging to his skin, and I feel the tremor running through his fingers.
"It's finished." His voice is rough, his accent thicker than usual. "Matvey is dead. The war is over."
The words settle over me like a weight lifting. "You're sure?"
"I put three bullets in his chest myself." His thumb brushes across my cheekbone, careful to avoid the bandage. "He won't threaten you again. Won't threaten our child. It's done."
Relief floods through me so intensely, it makes my knees weak. I sag against his chest, breathing in the scents of gunpowder and copper and him. His arms come around me immediately, holding me steady, and I feel his heart hammering against my cheek.
"You're hurt." My fingers find the gash on his forearm, the blood still wet and warm. "This needs stitches."
"It's nothing." But he doesn't pull away from my touch, just stands there letting me examine the wound with hands that won't stop shaking.
"Nothing?" I look up at him, and the expression on his face makes heat pool low in my belly. "You could have died tonight."
"So could you." His jaw tightens, a muscle jumping beneath his skin. "When Cyril called and said Matvey's men were attacking your kitchen, that you were inside…" He trails off, his eyes holding mine with an intensity that steals my breath. "I've never been that scared in my life."
The admission costs him something. I can see it in the tension of his shoulders, the way his hands tighten fractionally on my waist. The Pakhan doesn't admit fear, doesn't show vulnerability, but he's showing it to me now.
"I'm okay." I press my palm against his chest, feeling the solid warmth of him beneath the blood-soaked shirt. "We're okay."
His forehead drops to rest against mine, and I feel his breath warm against my lips. "I should have anticipated this. Should have known he'd go after you while I was busy destroying his operations."
"Stop." I pull back enough to meet his gaze. "This isn't your fault. Matvey made his choices. You made yours. And now it's over."
"Is it?" His thumb traces my lower lip, the touch sending electricity cascading through my nerve endings. "The photographs still exist. Other copies could surface."
The reminder makes my stomach tighten with dread, but I force myself to hold his gaze. "Then we'll deal with it. Together."
Something shifts in his expression, something that looks almost like wonder. "Together."
"Yes." The word comes out steadier than I feel. "I'm not going anywhere, Nikolai."
And I mean it. Somehow, against all odds, I have fallen in love with this man. I've probably been in love with him since the island, but now… now, I know it to be true.
His mouth crashes down on mine, the kiss desperate and claiming.
I taste blood and adrenaline and something darker, more primal.
His hands slide down to grip my hips, pulling me flush against him, and I feel the hard length of him pressing into my stomach.
Heat floods through me despite the violence still clinging to his skin, despite the blood and the fear and everything that should make me push him away.
Instead, I pull him closer.
My fingers thread through his hair, tugging hard enough to make him groan against my mouth.
His tongue traces the seam of my lips and I open for him, letting him take what he needs.
The kiss turns savage, all teeth and desperation, and I feel my body responding with an urgency that borders on madness.
"I need you." His voice is rough against my throat, his teeth grazing the sensitive spot that makes my knees weak. "Need to feel you alive under me."
"Yes." The word comes out breathless, wanting. "But shower first. You're covered in blood."
He pulls back, and the heat in his eyes makes my core clench with anticipation. "Come with me."
It's not a request. His hand finds mine, threading our fingers together, and he pulls me toward the bathroom. The massive space is all marble and glass, the shower large enough for four people, and I watch him strip off his ruined shirt with hands that have steadied.
The serpent tattoo on his neck seems to writhe as he moves, and I can't stop staring at the way his muscles flex beneath his skin.
He's beautiful in a dangerous way, all hard edges and controlled violence, and my traitorous body responds with a flush that has nothing to do with the steam starting to fill the room.
He turns on the water, testing the temperature, then reaches for me. His fingers find the hem of my sweater, and he pauses. I nod, and he pulls the fabric over my head with surprising gentleness.
We strip each other slowly, revealing bruises and cuts and the evidence of tonight's violence. When we're finally naked, he pulls me under the spray, and I watch the water turn pink as it washes the blood from his skin.
My hands move over his chest, checking for injuries I might have missed. The gash on his forearm is deeper than I thought, the edges ragged. "This really needs stitches."
"Later." His hands slide down my sides, tracing the curve of my waist, the subtle swell of my stomach. "Right now, I need to touch you. Need to know you're alive and whole."
His fingers find the apex of my thighs, and I gasp as he circles the sensitive bundle of nerves with practiced precision. My head falls back against the tile, my hands gripping his shoulders for support, and I feel my body responding with embarrassing speed.
"That's it, Solnyshka." His voice is rough, intimate. "Let me feel you."
My phone erupts with notifications, the sound piercing through the steam and the moment. The buzzing is relentless, one alert after another, and something in my gut twists with instinct that screams danger.
His thumb continues its relentless assault on my clit while his other hand slides lower, and I feel two fingers press inside me.
The stretch is exquisite, the fullness making me moan his name against the spray of water.
He moves them slowly, deliberately, curling them to find that spot that makes my vision blur.
"Fuck, you're so wet for me," he growls, his accent thick with desire. "All mine. Say it."
"Yours," I gasp, my hips rocking against his hand. "I'm yours, Nikolai."
He adds a third finger, and I cry out, my nails digging into his shoulders. The pressure builds, coiling tight in my core, and I'm already trembling. "More. Please, I need—"
He spins me around, pressing my palms flat against the cool tile wall. The contrast of the cold surface against my heated skin makes me shiver. I feel him behind me, his hard length pressing against my lower back, and anticipation floods through me.
"Look at you," he murmurs, his hands gripping my hips. "So beautiful. So desperate for me."
He positions himself at my entrance, teasing me with the head of his cock, sliding it through my wetness without pushing inside. I whimper, pushing back against him, but he holds me still.
"Patience, Solnyshka. I want to savor this."
He enters me slowly, inch by inch, and I feel every part of him as he stretches me open. The sensation is overwhelming. The fullness, the intimacy, the raw need radiating from both of us. When he's fully inside, he stills for a moment, his forehead dropping to my shoulder.
"You feel like Heaven," he whispers, and then he begins to move.
His thrusts are slow at first, deliberate, each one sending sparks of pleasure through my entire body.
I push back against him, meeting his rhythm, and he groans, his grip on my hips tightening.
The water cascades over us as he picks up the pace, driving deeper, harder, and I'm lost in the sensation of him filling me completely.
Then my phone starts buzzing on the counter. Once. Twice. A rapid succession of chimes and vibrations that echo off the bathroom tiles, insistent and urgent.
"Ignore it," Nikolai growls against my throat, his hips never stopping their rhythm. He pulls almost all the way out before slamming back inside me, making me cry out.
But the notifications keep coming, one after another, the sound cutting through the haze of pleasure.
My body is torn between the building pressure of my orgasm and the nagging urgency of whatever is making my phone explode with alerts.
I try to focus on Nikolai, on the way he's moving inside me, but I can't shake the feeling that something is wrong.
"Nikolai, I—" I gasp, even as my body betrays me, clenching around him.
"Stay with me," he demands, one hand sliding around to find my clit. "Right here. With me."
I do. But not for long. Just enough time for us to climax and shudder. The sound is too insistent, too urgent. I pull away from him despite the protest of my body, wrapping a towel around myself as I move toward where I left my phone on the counter.
The screen is lit up with dozens of notifications. Emails. Text messages. Social media alerts. All flooding in simultaneously, and my stomach drops before I even unlock it.
Another photograph from the island blazes across my screen.
This one is worse than all the others. So much worse. I'm almost completely naked, just the barest scrap of fabric covering me, and the angle leaves nothing to the imagination. The intimacy is devastating, the vulnerability absolute, and I feel bile rise in my throat.
My phone explodes with media requests demanding interviews, reporters asking for statements, and gossip sites offering money for exclusive access. The notifications keep coming, one after another, until the screen is nothing but a blur of names and numbers.