Nikolai shakes his head. “He got caught up in something. Happens in the Bratva.”
A shooting pain slices through my chest.
Oh my God.
He got caught up in something.
Happens in the Bratva…
Because you’re making this my problem now…
My breathing becomes shallow.
Have I put Nikolai’s life at stake?
I never thought about the possibility of that. I was so blinded by my own goal that I never considered what my actions might cause for other people. I have never thought about what might happen after I give birth to our child, but it’s only occurring to me now that I might not need to push Nikolai away—come nine months, and he might be dead in his grave.
“I’m… I don’t know what to say,” I mumble. “I’m… sorry.” I know I’m repeating myself, but I really don’t know what else I could tell him—both for what happened to his mother, and for the problems I brought to his doorstep.
I pick up the glass and take a sip of water, suddenly aware of how thirsty I am.
“I know what you’re going through,” he says. “And I can help you if you just tell me what you have found so far.”
I look down at my feet. My fingers brush against the USB stick still sitting in my blouse pocket. I find myself biting my lip, still unsure whether I should trust him or not. I could tell him about the names—Sentinel InternationalandR. Aslanovfound in one of my father’s encrypted folders, but… should I? Let’s face it, I’m out of my depth here. This is the freakingPakhan, I’m talking to. The Bratva boss. No matter the effect he has on me, no matter the connection we have, he’s still the most dangerous person I’ve ever encountered.
I remain quiet for now. “All I know is that my father is not an angel. And… that maybe… the death of my mother is a downstream consequence of something he did.”
Nikolai fixes his eyes on my face, studying me like he’s trying to piece something together. God, those ocean blue eyes could move mountains. It’s no wonder I’m so drawn to him.
“Why are you looking at me like that? What are you not telling me?”
Nikolai swipes a hand over his chin. “I know who is responsible for my mother’s death.”
“You do?”
“Da.And I’m wondering if the same bastard could be responsible for yours.”
Chapter Eighteen
Nikolai
It’s been three days since Lauren moved into my penthouse.
Three days since I saved her from that bastard who tried to choke her to death. Now she’s kneeling over in my bathroom, vomiting into the sink.
I lean in the doorway, watching. She was throwing up all night. I heard the sounds from my bedroom.
I catch her reflection in the mirror and feel a pang in my chest. She looks dreadful, all of the color gone from her face. Her hands, barely clutching the sink, shake like leaves. She can barely get a firm grip. Pieces of brown, disheveled hair are falling around her face.
I find myself wanting to gather up the strands and hold them back, but I already tried that yesterday and it didn’t work. She’s too independent, too used to doing everything alone.
I tilt my head, wondering how she turned out like that. It likely has something to do with her father. Lauren’s actions make it clear that she has spent her whole life learning to take care of herself, to survive on her own, rejecting help because she mistakes it for control.
Finally deciding to intervene, I walk into the bathroom and turn on the shower, wetting a washcloth. I approach the sink and gently press it to the nape of her neck to cool her down. As expected, she stiffens, but this time she doesn’t fight me off.
“I’m okay.”
Ignoring her defiance, I rub slow circles against her back. “I know you are, but you’re shaking.”
