“Then we have ourselves a deal,” he said, voice dripping with satisfaction. He was enjoying this—twisting the knife, believing he still had some kind of power over her.
I didn’t bother with goodbyes. I ended the call and turned slowly toward the kitchen, where Mina stood frozen.
Her eyes locked on mine—wide, brimming with too many emotions at once. Fear. Confusion. A flicker of hope she was too scared to let settle.
“What did he say?” she asked quietly.
“He agreed,” I answered, voice flat, controlled. I was already running through every move in my head—every second of the next thirty days.
She stepped closer, something fragile breaking through her features. “Do you really think…”
I didn’t let her finish. I met her gaze and locked in.
“I’ll bring him down.”
And I meant every damn word.
Whatever game Mikel thought he was playing, he didn’t realize yet—he hadn’t picked a fight with some overpaid enforcer on skates. He picked a fight with the one man willing to burn his entire world to protect her.
Chapter 29
Mina
I stood in the kitchen, arms loosely folded, watching Nikolai move through morning light as if it didn’t touch him. He stood at the cutting board, slicing vegetables with mechanical precision, his jaw tight, his focus somewhere else entirely. Last night’s laughter and heat felt distant now, replaced by this quiet storm brewing behind his eyes. He was trying to keep it together, but I could see every ounce of frustration rippling through him like tension pulled tight across his shoulders.
He stopped mid-slice, knife hovering in the air as he stared blankly out the window. For a long moment, neither of us said a word. The only sounds were the tick of the kitchen clock and the low hum of the fridge—life moving on while we stood stuck in the mess Mikel had left behind.
“I’m sorry,” Nikolai said at last. His voice was gravel, low and full of regret. “For making another bet. For dragging you into this all over again.”
I took a slow breath, feeling the ache in my chest stretch a little wider. There was something so raw in the way he said it—like he truly believed this whole mess was his alone to carry. I pushed off the island and stepped closer until the space between us was nearly gone.
“You didn’t drag me,” I said gently. “I chose this. I chose you.”
His eyes met mine—dark, searching, unsure. I could see it in the flicker of his expression, the way his grip tightened around the handle of the knife. He didn’t want to believe me yet. He wanted to protect me, even from himself.
“I put you in the crossfire,” he said again, quieter this time. “It was supposed to be done after that first bet. And now…”
“It’s not your fault that Mikel won’t let go,” I interrupted, firmer now. “This isn’t about you losing control. This is about someone trying to control me.”
He looked down again, shame creeping across his features. I reached out and gently touched his hand, guiding the knife down to rest on the counter.
“You didn’t do this to me,” I told him, each word sharp with clarity. “And I’m not going anywhere.”
His eyes flicked up to mine, disbelief warring with something deeper. “You trust me?”
I nodded, not even needing to think. “Yes. Completely.”
He exhaled, and for a brief moment, I saw the weight on his shoulders shift. He wasn’t carrying this alone anymore.
I reached for his hand again, not to stop him this time, but to hold it. “I don’t need strategies or promises. Just you.”
His brow knit, like he was trying to make sense of what I’d just said—trying to fit trust into a space that had only ever been filled with pressure and expectation. “Mina…” he murmured, uncertain, as if he didn’t quite believe he deserved the faith I was offering him.
I reached out and laid my hand on his arm, steady and sure. “I know you’ll win,” I said, voice soft but unwavering. “You always do.”
Something shifted in his expression. The hardness around his eyes eased, just a little. For a fleeting second, the noise—Mikel’s venom, the headlines, the weight of public perception—seemed to fall away. It was just us again, in the quiet of our kitchen, where nothing else mattered except this moment.
“I can handle what’s coming,” I told him, needing him to hear it. “Even if it gets worse before it gets better. I’m not fragile, Nikolai. You don’t have to protect me from everything.”
