He heads into the kitchen and pours some water, handing me a glass. I swish it around, examining the bubbles.
Sparkling on tap? Again, I expected nothing less.
He huffs and takes a seat opposite me, sitting forward with his hands linked between spread legs. “Talk. Why won’t you back down?”
I don’t like how silent this place is. How it’s just his voice and nothing else. No traffic sounds. No nothing. He wears a different suit now—navy.
“You seem to have an endless supply of expensive suits.”
“Answer the question,” he says firmly.
I press my lips together. I’m not in my apartment anymore. This is his territory now. I sigh, resenting how out of control I feel, sitting onhiscouch, drinkinghiswater.
“Why does it matter to you?”
“Because you’re making this my problem.”
“I never asked you to get involved.”
“I didn’t have a choice.” Something flickers in his gaze when he says those words.
I stare at him and he stares at me. “Thank you,” I say quietly.
He tilts his head slightly.
“For… you know. What you did back there.” I don’t want to say more than I need to. His ego doesn’t need inflating.
Nikolai nods, his jaw tense. “You can thank me by being honest with me.” He narrows his eyes. “Is this still about your mother?”
I sense he already knows it’s not just about her anymore. It’s about my father too, but actually admitting this feels different. I don’t know an awful lot about the Bratva, but I do know that they are good at manipulating people. Amongst other things that are morally wrong.
That’s why I’m confused when I look into Nikolai’s eyes. He looks curious more than anything, like he’s actually interested in what I have to say. Earlier in the alleyway, he looked angry, like he was a man not to be messed with, but now he looks completely different. The soft lamp light paints him differently, like he’s not just a cold-blooded killer—he’s human, too.
I sigh, deciding to respond to his question. The man just saved my life. Besides, it’s starting to look like I have no choice but to trust him. “My mom… she was killed four years ago. Nobody knows why. Everybody just wants to brush it under the rug, even my father. At first, I thought that was because it was too much of an emotional burden for him and that he didn’t want to deal with the grief, but it’s been years and he just keeps going about his business the same way he always has. I work with the man five days a week and I haven’t noticed one slip-up. Not one moment of vulnerability.” I pause, realizing that I haven’t actually spoken to anyone about this before, not even the therapist who tried to help me process the grief. Somehow, Nikolai’s presence seems more comforting than a professional’s.“I had a counsellor because I was the opposite—the grief was too much for me to bear alone. She explained that the reason I was so desperate to find out how my mother died was because I was chasing closure.” I shake my head. “She was wrong. It’s more than just closure. She deserved better. To be commemorated. There wasn’t even a service. They just cremated her body and forgot about the whole thing. I didn’t even get to see her ashes.”
Probably remembering his earlier conversation on the phone about incineration, Nikolai’s jawline twitches. He keeps the same expression, but I see something change in his eyes.
“My mother was killed ten years ago.”
My heart skips a beat and I find myself leaning forward, shocked by his words. This isn’t Nikolai trying to make the conversation about himself. This is him opening up. Trusting me with a personal piece of information.
I stare at him, processing this. Maybe we’re more alike than I realized.
Sure, he’s a criminal. A mobster. A killer.
Could he be more than that?
Could he also be a human being, who has witnessed pain just like the rest of us? Just like I have…
Once again, I feel that inexplicable pull towards him, one even greater than before. But it’s not just sexual this time. It’s something more, something that goes deeper.
“I’m sorry,” is all I manage to say. My voice comes out quiet but steady.
Nikolai continues. “My father had enemies. They wanted to hurt him. So, they killedher.” He shrugs. “Not like it worked. My father’s true colors shone brighter than a rainbow after my mother died. He didn’t care much.”
My heart judders in my chest again.
“Is your father still alive?”
