Chapter 23
NIKA
Iknow we’re not on vacation. Gabe’s locked in a life-or-death struggle against my cousin and I’m caught in the middle. We’re here on business, to fight for our lives, but come on, it’s freaking Paris.
My life’s always been so small. I think that was on purpose: my father’s men kept me in a box, made sure I was provided for enough to keep me going, but never enough to let me thrive.
Me and Aunt Yelena took modest vacations over the years, mostly to the beach.
We visited the Grand Canyon once when I was twelve, which was beautiful, but my father’s men were waiting for us when we got back, and there weren’t any more big trips like that one ever again.
I’m sheltered. I know it. Which is exactly why I can’t help but gawk around and act like a tourist as Gabe drives me through the Paris streets.
“This is unbelievable,” I say breathlessly, my face practically shoved against the window. “Look at those shops! And all the people!”
“You really love it here, don’t you?”
“I mean, it’s incredible. It’s Paris!”
He fights a smile. “It’s dirty, expensive, and over-crowded.”
“Sure, sure, but Paris.”
Gabe puts a hand on my thigh. I think he’s about to tell me to calm down, we have actual work to do, but instead he leans forward and speaks quietly to the driver. “Let us off over there. Tell Daniel and his team to stay tight. We’re going to walk for a bit.”
“Yes, sir.”
I practically moan with excitement as we climb out of the car. The city smells like car exhaust, motor oil, baking bread, and pollen. Gabe loops a hand through my arm and pulls me along as the driver quietly shadows us, ignoring the other motorists when they fly around him.
The streets are packed with people. I don’t know what part of the city we’re in, but I get the feeling it’s not the most touristy spot.
But that makes me love it even more. There are little cafes with people sitting outside, drinking coffees, talking animatedly, looking like folks anywhere but also fifty-percent cooler because we’re in Paris.
I feel like such a fool, but I don’t care. “Oh my god, look at that!” I point at a little restaurant, a black sign with gold writing and teal walls. “And all those flowers over there!” Red explodes from a window box. Someone shouts nearby and Gabe moves closer protectively.
“You really haven’t traveled much, have you?”
“Sorry we can’t all be so worldly.”
He pulls me toward a cafe and sits me down at an empty table. “Stay here. Don’t move.”
“Wait, where—" But he disappears inside before I can stop him.
I sit back with a huff, but soon I’m too busy people watching to care.
Everything here is familiar but different.
The cars are smaller, the people are better-dressed, even the trash seems more glamorous.
That’s probably my Paris-tinted glasses, but I can’t help myself.
I’m gushing, doing my best not to come off like a total idiot, and mostly failing.
This is the world I’ve been denied all my life.
I know it’s a city street and not really all that special, but it’s more about what this place represents.
This is freedom in a way I never really understood or knew I wanted.
This place is another way of living, these people so different from what I’ve always thought was the right way, and it’s almost freaking me out.
Gabe returns a minute later. He’s got two small pastries, flaky dough with chocolate on top, and two strong coffees. I drink and eat, trying not to let myself laugh at how good everything is.
“You know what I love the most about this?” Gabe asks quietly, forcing me to lean in closer. “You’re so damn enthusiastic. It’s honestly killing me.”
“Come on. You had the same reaction when you traveled for the first time, didn’t you?”
He cocks his head, considering. “Not exactly. My family’s an old New York family. I grew up hearing stories about how our city’s the best city in the world. Paris is a dump compared to where I’m from.”
“You said you liked Moscow though.”
“That’s true. And I’m starting to like Paris too.”
“Why’s that?"
He looks at me, and I know the answer already.
He doesn’t say it though; instead, he lifts his coffee and turns away, and I study his profile for a long beat, marveling at his straight jaw, at the stubble on his chin.
How we’ve survived this far, how we’re still going, I don’t even know.
It’s because of him. And it’s because of him that I got dragged into this, but that was inevitable anyway.
As soon as my cousin heard I was the one in control of my father’s money, he would’ve come calling, and I have a feeling he wouldn’t have been as willing to strike a deal as Gabe’s been.
We finish eating and start walking again. This time, we take it slow. He tells me about the few times he’s been here, about the streets and their rhythms, about the other places he’s been. London, Amsterdam, Warsaw. “You have to be all over the place in this line of business.”
“When you’re a Dragon, will you travel?”
He nods toward the street. “Most likely all the time. Though my brother-in-law stays hidden away on his island fortress, so maybe not.”
“But you could?”
“If you want to travel, we’ll travel.”
“No, I mean, I wasn’t—“
“Where do you want to go? What do you want to see? When this is all over, that’s what we’ll do.”
I laugh and lean against him, lacing my fingers through his.
It feels easy and natural, and I don’t even think about it.
“God, I don’t know. I think if you had asked me that a week ago, I would’ve said Paris, but now…
” I trail off, trying to think. My world’s been so tiny, I don’t even know where I want to go. “What about Rome?”
His eyebrows raise. “Rome? Huh. Yeah. That’s a good idea.”
“Really?”
“I’ve never been.”
I elbow him and laugh. “Come on. You’re so well-traveled.”
“And Italian, but no, I’ve never had a reason.” He stops walking in front of a small junk shop, old guitars and broken radios piled in the front window. He tugs me against him and kisses me, biting down. “When I’m Dragon and you’re my queen, we’ll go to Rome. That’ll be our honeymoon.”
“Sort of too late for one of those, right?”
“Dragons can honeymoon whenever they want.”
“Must be nice.”
“It will be.”
We walk for a while longer, but soon he flags down the car and we climb back in. The driver seems to know where he’s going and I sit back to enjoy the trip, not thinking about anything but being where we are, soaking in the sights, experiencing a new city for the first time.
Right up until the car parks in front of a quiet city block lined by simple row houses. Gabe leans over and kisses my cheek. “I’ll be back. Stay here and don’t move.”
He climbs out, but before he can walk off, the driver takes out a bottle from the glove compartment and a thin white rag. Gabe accepts them through the window, casually whistling as he stuffs the rag into the bottle.
I watch, not sure what’s happening. My husband walks off, strolls right up to the front door of a house, and kicks it hard.
“What the—“
“Sorry, miss, he’ll be finished shortly.
” The driver smiles at me calmly in the rearview mirror as Gabe smashes the door in.
I watch in horror as he lights the rag, orange flames whooshing up its length and licking wildly at the air.
He walks inside, arm cocked back and throws it into the gloom of the building.
My jaw drops in pure surprise. The fire starts a lot faster than I would’ve guessed. Smoke billows from the doorway as Gabe strolls down the stoop humming to himself, a gun drawn in his hands. He watches the door for a beat, not moving, for about thirty seconds before giving up.
“Rotten luck,” he says, getting back into the car and shoving the gun away.
“No good, sir?”
“Nobody home.” Gabe grins at me as the driver takes off.
I crane my neck to watch the fire curling from the open, ruined doorway. Pedestrians are gathering out front and several of them have phones out.
“What the hell was that?”
"The opening salvo of what I suspect will be a very violent vacation.” He rubs my knee and kisses my cheek. “Now, how about we go shopping?”
I stare at him like he’s gone insane.
Until laughter bubbles up from my core.
This is crazy. Absolutely wild. I watched my husband break into a house and throw a Molotov cocktail inside in broad daylight. Then he stood there waiting for someone to come rushing out—probably so he could kill them.
And he wants to go shopping.
“I’d love that,” I say, leaning against his shoulder. “But I’m guessing I have to pay?”
“My darling, I would never.”
“Oh really? You’re the rich one now?”
“A man has his pride.”
“Your pride can’t afford the very high-end lingerie and handbags I plan on purchasing.”
His eyes light up with excitement. “I think I can manage to scrounge up some loose change.”
“Well, if you’re sure—“