45. Chapter 41
Chapter 41
Nikolai
O ne month later
My knuckles hit the hardwood. Three short knocks that should have happened a lifetime ago.
I sway back and forth. I put my hands in my pockets. Then I fold my arms. Then I put my hands back in my pockets. Then I take them out again. What the fuck do I usually do with my hands?
Fuck this.
I turn around and receive a damning look from the car.
“I’m a fucking Bratva and she looks at me like I’m a school kid.” I mutter under my breath in Russian.
I turn back to the faded blue door with a sigh. They’re not home. I should leave. This is a sign.
The door opens slowly, and I want the ground to open up and swallow me.
“Nikolai.” Her voice isn’t as harsh as I thought it would be all the times I’d imagined this moment in my head. She’s just… surprised.
Anton’s mother peers out from the other side of the door. She barely looks a day older than when I last saw her, the week when we were taken. Anton was always buying her skincare products, said she never stopped talking about sun-cream. The stuff clearly works.
I wonder what I look like in her eyes? Gruff, aged by the pain, flecks of salt finding their way into the pepper of my beard.
“I owe you an apology. An apology and an explanation.”
She flashes a sad smile, holding herself together as she invites me over the threshold.
I slip back into the car, feeling light. I’m emotionally drained, but years of guilt are lifting from my shoulders. It feels like I’ve paid a long-standing debt.
“I’m glad you did that, Nikolai. I’m proud of you.” Isabella’s hand finds mine and squeezes.
“I couldn’t have brought myself to come here without you.” I say, truthfully, before leaning over to her and planting a soft kiss on her perfect lips.
Adrienne jumps up and claps her hands. “Magnifique!” She exclaims, as she pulls the pie from the oven. “Your pastry is perfection!” She gives the apple pie a chef’s kiss that makes Isabella blush.
Greyson nudges me as we lean against the counter-top, watching them fuss over the pie. “How hard can pastry be?”
Adrienne turns in a flash of French rage. “What would you know, Mr Amour? You haven’t made a piece of toast since you got here.”
Greyson throws his hands up defensively. “I see pastry in every other shop. Can’t be that hard.”
Adrienne snatches the pie from a laughing Isabella and holds it up to Greyson’s eye-level, which has her arms fully extended because of their height difference. “You see this?” She pulls at the pastry. “You can’t get this in any shop.” She spits the word shop like it’s a stray hair in a soup. “This is perfection!”
Greyson leans forward, observing the pie. “I don’t see it.”
Adrienne rolls her eyes and curses in French. “You have the name Amour, but there’s nothing about you that’s French.”
Greyson narrows his eyes and they roll into a squabbling match everyone in the house has heard a million times before. Despite the show, my eyes are fixed on Isabella. She’s back in her own style, all the piercings back in, and she’s dyed blonde highlights into her hair that look fucking unreal. And she’s all mine.
I shuffle over to Isabella and wrap my arms around her as we watch the two of them bicker. “You think we’ll ever be like that?” She asks with a smile.
“As long as it doesn’t result in any gunshots or stab wounds, I'm cool with it.”
She strokes her chin and pretends to think. “I’ll consider your request.”
We smile at each other and lean into a kiss.
“Are you ready to come upstairs? Let the pie cool down?” I whisper.
A devious look flashes through her eyes, but she shakes her head. “I said I’d play piano with Greyson.”
“I don’t know if I can wait that long.” I growl into her ear, making the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end.
Her hand brushes over my belt for a torturous moment before she pulls it back to fix her hair. “Good thing I like you frustrated.”
A lifetime of this will kill me, and I love it.
I kiss her again. “Fine, but don’t complain when I take my frustration out on you.”
Greyson reaches for the pie that’s now cooling on the table, only for Adrienne to slap his hand away. “You, wait! It’s not ready. It has to sit.”
“It’s a pie. It’s meant to be eaten!”
“My kitchen, my rules.”
Greyson takes in a deep breath and looks at Isabella. “I’ll be in the piano room. Join me whenever you’re ready.”
Isabella and I chuckle as he marches out of the kitchen and Adrienne switches on her charm to keep Isabella here as long as possible. They’re like divorced parents fighting for the attention of a child.
I leave her to enjoy all the attention and go for a walk in the grounds to get some fresh air.
I find Aleksander standing at the foot of the door as if he’s been waiting for me to appear. When Viktor called for backup to find Isabella and me in the lifeboat, a drunken Aleksander overheard and rushed to help. I don’t understand why he was willing to help after, but not before. Maybe he thought appearing at the end would stop me from taking revenge on him? In reality, I’m only holding back my blood lust because of Viktor and because I know we need the support of the Bratva to keep the Cosa Nostra from making another attempt to take Isabella back. I'll strike when the time is right.
Isabella and I believe he's behind the destruction of the Blue Moon. It's a strange situation. His intervention to send backup saved me from bleeding out in the lifeboat, but he's also done unforgivable things. Isabella refuses to speak to him, and I'm only maintaining the peace until the time is right.
He flicks a half-smoked cigarette to the floor and stomps it out.
“We need to talk, Nikolai.”
“Yes, Pakhan.” I keep my voice monotone, giving nothing away.
We walk through the grounds together. He’s unarmed, and I’m almost back to full strength, so I take my chances if this turns bad.
“You started a war.” He growls.
“It was inevitable. Don Leonardo wanted war. You can’t stop something if the other party wants it to happen.”
“You were the spark to set the firewood alight.”
“So? What now? Kill me? Beg at Don Leonardo’s feet for forgiveness?”
Aleksander spat at the sound of Don Leonardo’s name.
“I will never beg.” He lights another cigarette, bringing it to his lips with shaking hands. He stops under the willow tree, as he always does. “There’s no point killing you, Nikolai. I need you for the war. I should have cut you off the moment you brought her -”
“Isabella.” I growl.
“-Isabella,” a flash of fire flickers in his eyes at the correction, “into my home. The moment I let her stay here was the moment all hope of maintaining peace was lost.” He runs his hand through his hair. “I was trying to keep you alive.”
“Next time, let me die in peace.”
The past simmers between us.
“We need to put this behind us, Nikolai. For the Bratva.”
“As long as Isabella stays safe, I’ll fight for the Bratva.”
But never for you.
“We don’t need to be friends, but we do need to keep each other alive.”
I nod. “ Da .”
Alek offers me a cigarette. I barely ever smoke, but I take one. I need something to take the edge off the tension.
“Was all that shit about Damon part of your lies?” I ask bluntly.
Aleksander shakes his head as he re-lights the cigarette hanging from his lip.
“No. He’s back, probably watching us fight and laughing. I don't know what he's planning, but I know he's coming.”
I study Aleksander’s sharp features. He’s hard to read.
“If he truly is back, he’s the one you should watch out for, not me.”
“We all should. If Damon gets his way, he’ll blow up this house and everyone in it.”