Page 56 of The Russian's Bought Bride

I stare at Nikolai in disbelief while frustration burns in my chest all over again, instantly reminded that no matter how gentle he was last night, and no matter how soft he looked touching me in the dark, he’s still Nikolai.

He’s still dangerous and someone used to getting his way.

Before I know it, the warmth lingering from last night feels a lot colder than it did this morning.

Chapter 17 - Nikolai

Pressure is nothing new to me, since it was something I felt from an early age.

Pressure was Roman teaching me how to keep my mouth shut when I was sixteen and bloodied after my first real fight, and learning how to look calm while holding a gun. Pressure came from understanding that one mistake in our world doesn’t just cost you, but it costs everyone associated with you.

So in essence, pressure itself doesn’t bother me.

What bothers me is Dani and the look she had on her face before I left the house this morning. It keeps replaying in my head, no matter how hard I try to shove it aside.

She looked so hurt and angry after what I said last night, forcing her into becoming guarded all over again, like she regrets letting me close.

Gripping the steering wheel tighter as the Strip looks more muted in the daylight, I silently tell myself to forget about it. Even from here, the city feels alive with tourists flooding casinos, music spilling from rooftop clubs, and drunk idiots wasting fortunes they’ll likely never get back. Most of them probably don’t even know what day it is, since they normally come to Las Vegas to lose themselves.

Men like me run the parts they never see while they pay to forget everything else.

“Keep thinking that hard, and you might hit a pedestrian or two.”

Ivan’s voice cuts through my thoughts from the passenger seat, breaking my focus before I can repair it again.

I glance at him briefly before looking back toward the road. “Are you going to psychoanalyze me now?”

“Depends,” he murmurs with a shrug. “You paying?”

A quiet snort leaves me despite myself, and I shake my head.

Ivan’s always been calmer than the rest of us despite everything going on, and he carries his strength in a quieter way than Roman or Sergey. Half the time, people underestimate him because he doesn’t feel the need to dominate every room he walks into, and that’s usually their last mistake.

We pull into the warehouse district near the east end a few minutes later, headlights sweeping across rows of industrial buildings that look unimposing for the most part. This is the part where most people don’t go, but it’s typical for us.

The trade itself is routine.

Inventory will be transferred, and cash will be moved. It’s nothing glamorous, but we need the weapons shipped through the proper channel before they enter distribution, and the two of us are here to oversee it, given everything going on lately.

Men move around us efficiently while Ivan checks his phone, occasionally barking instructions when he needs to. I lean against the hood of the SUV and scan the perimeter automatically while trucks unload nearby.

Despite maintaining the usual focus, my mind wanders occasionally, and I feel the exhaustion tugging at me slowly but surely.

I’ve been out almost all day, and while that isn’t out of the ordinary, it’s also intentional. Something in me has been reluctant to go home, where I’ll be forced to feel Dani’s disdain and cold shoulder.

As much as I know I’m the reason for it, it doesn’t make being iced out any easier to bear.

“You look tired,” Ivan remarks after a while, sparing a glance in my direction.

“I’ve heard that before.”

“Is that right?”

“Mhm,” I murmur, letting the words leave before thinking about them, “You sound like Dani.”

Immediately, Ivan’s brows lift slightly as if I placed some kind of emotional bomb in that statement.

“Did you let that slip accidentally, or…?” he asks with a knowing look.