Nikolai

by Shandi Boyes

  Maya is my half-sister—well, she would have been if I had Vladimir’s blood as my mother lead me to believe. Her mother was a French tourist who was as blinded by Vladimir’s dark insides as she was the bright lights of Vegas.

  Vladimir pulled all his best tricks on her. A promised penthouse with views of the strip, a sleek new ride, and a sworn oath to end his promiscuous ways.

  All she ended up with was a dungeon-like room in the basement of the Popov compound, and three children who are treated more like slaves than family.

  Although Rico endeavored to help as many as he could before he was killed, the effort was bigger than anyone could have comprehended. Over the past fifty years, Vladimir has had many whores. With his view on protection as lax as his ideas on equality for women, his off-spring grew exponentially each year. The age of his children extends from forty-three to six weeks old, his latest daughter compliments of the twenty-three year old Scandinavian woman he purchased on the black market the middle of last year. Their daughter wasn’t immaculately conceived, nor was she born in the safety of a hospital.

  If last reports are accurate, her conception and birth dramatized her mother so much, Vladimir is on the verge of sending her to live with Maya’s mother in the underbelly of the Popov mansion. It is gruesome, but it’s a better outcome than the one Vladimir’s other insubordinate whores were handed. Her life will be spared, although I can’t guarantee it will be full of rainbows and sunshine.

  I’m pulled from my thoughts when Sergei enters Justine’s dining room on Trey’s heel. I hate that I’m being forced to bring Sergei into this, but he is a master on removing tracking devices without alerting the authorities. The scope of my ankle bracelet perimeter should include the alleyway where Officer Prentice is about to meet his timely demise, but I’d rather local law enforcement officers not know I was in the alleyway at the time of their fellow officer’s death.

  It’s easier to get off a murder conviction when you have a solid alibi, hence the reason Justine’s apartment is being swarmed by members of my crew and the whores who keep them occupied during stints of chaos.

  After slumping into one of the chairs squashed around the dining table, I hook my foot onto the warped wood, then nudge my head to the swinging door. “Go with Trey, Maya. Lia brought some clothes for you to change into.”

  I need to get things moving. Justine left nearly twenty minutes ago. If she shops as quickly as she comes, I don’t have a minute to spare.

  After giving me a warning look, announcing his unease about my plan, Trey guides Maya into the living room where Lia is waiting. I had originally intended to use Lia for my ruse. She’s another one of Vladimir’s many daughters, but instead of cowering in the shadows like Maya, waiting for the scraps Vladimir’s sons leave behind, she fights for her share. Not even a run in with Satan himself saw her knees knocking in fear. All it did was make her more determined.

  Lia will never been seen as an equal in the ruthless, male orientated world she was born in, but she has earned the respect of siblings the past ten years. Some say that’s compliments to her sharing my bloodline, but I’m not so quick to agree. She has the determination and grit of our mother, and refuses to settle for anything less than perfection.

  Regrettably, those traits made her unsuitable bait to lure Officer Prentice out of his car parked on a pedestrian-littered street, so I had no choice but to look elsewhere.

  Maya is the perfect candidate. Her short height and petite frame make her appear years younger than she is, and she gives off the vibe of a woman beaten into prostitution—Officer Prentice’s ideal plaything. His run-in with a teen prostitute last month wasn’t his first soiree with underaged women. His unknown ‘record’ is almost as long as mine.

  With my blood hot with annoyance, I lock my eyes with Sergei’s almost black gaze. If the bags under his eyes are anything to go by, he didn’t mourn Nina’s decision to return to LA for long. Since he wrongly believes he’s ‘one of the crew’ now, he used his membership to the exclusive club to his advantage. He only left Cliché’s because Trey dragged him out of there at my request.

  “What will it take to get this removed?”

  Sergei twists his fat lips as I wish I could his neck. “These units aren’t worth the materials used to make them.” He yanks my foot to the left before slowly dragging it to the right. “The GPS portion of the tracker doesn’t work everywhere, so if you’re staying close to base, you don’t need to remove it. Just hit it on the brickwork a few times to weaken its signal.”

  “Who said I’m staying close to base? You know me, Sergei. Forever restless.” My voice is calm and collected even though I’m anything but. He’s digging for information he’s not privileged to know, and I don’t fucking like it.

  Sergei smiles a slick grin, loving my ruffled appearance. “Just assumed, that’s all. From your eagerness last night, I thought it would be a day or two before you’d go back to your old ways.” He twists his lips again, this time more in mockery than amusement. “Perhaps her cunt isn’t as sweet as the generous swell of her tits.” He watches my hands ball into fists before continuing, “Or perhaps you didn’t fuck her how she needs to be fucked—hard and brutal like the many whores before her.”

  Snickering at my narrowed eyes, he threads a thin wire-like contraption through little loops in the side of my tracker. He thinks his birthright will excuse his arrogance. He’s dead fucking wrong. I don’t care who you are. If you disrespect me, expect to die.

  After fiddling with my ankle monitor for a few seconds more, Sergei raises his scheming eyes to mine. The bigheaded glint in his eyes tells me he has no clue how thin the ice is beneath his skates. “I bet it would only take a cut or two to have her whimpering beneath me.”

  A jeering grin touches his lips when I fail to respond to his rile. He knows he has me wedged between a rock and a hard place. Without him, my ankle monitor will remain, and Officer Prentice will get off his charges scot-free, but by keeping him around, I need to remain cautious, because his crimes are as vile as the man I’m attempting to prosecute.

  He doesn’t just cut women.

  He kills them too.

  With my annoyance hidden as well as I plan to hide his body, Sergei returns to disarming my ankle monitor. You’d think he’d need more than a thin piece of wire, a bolt, and a nut to get the job done, but within minutes, the lock mechanism pops open without the tracking light missing a beat, and I have Sergei nailed to the wall of Justine’s kitchen by his scrawny fucking throat.

  He claws at my hand like a girl when my death-like grip stills his legs. His pulse is fading fast, the light in his eyes almost diminished in under a minute.

  “How many times do I have to tell you, Sergei? How many times must I warn you about goading me the way you do my brothers?” I tighten my grip, loving the blue tinge of his lips that are attempting to disperse the same excuses he always gives me. “You were joking, right? Just playing. Having fun. You’re my cousin, my blood, so I should know you didn’t mean to upset me with your comment. You were keeping things interesting, right?” I sing, canarying the excuses he constantly gives me.

  My clutch on his throat prevents him from nodding, but not even being on the brink of death can hide the agreeance in his eyes.

  “But the thing is, Sergei, you didn’t just disrespect me this time around. You disrespected her.” When his eyes bulge, seemingly confused, or perhaps because I’m squeezing his neck too tight, I endeavor to squash his confusion. “You called Justine a whore.”

  It’s virtually impossible for him to do, but he manages to shake his head in denial.

  “You may not have straight up said it, but you implied it.” And it pissed me off more than I can explain.

  I’ve been surrounded by whores my entire life. I was raised by them, fed by them, and fucked many of them, but hearing Justine being called a whore caused something inside of me to snap. Sergei is family, killing him guarantees I’ll be dead by the end of the week, but no matter
how much the voice inside my head demands for me to loosen my grip, I can’t. I’m nobody’s savior, but I sure as fuck want to be Justine’s.

  By killing him, I’ll terrify them all.

  By freeing him, I’ll terrify no one but myself.

  Usually, I’d end a life without a second thought, but even with hate heating my blood so much its turned black, I know there’s more at stake here than just the repercussions of my actions. Every decision I make from here on out will affect Justine as much as it does me. I told my men she’s off limits, I warned them what we happened if they so much as look at her the wrong way, so I’m just as confident it won’t be solely them questioning why I sentenced Sergei to death years after his crimes. Vladimir will make enquiries as well.

  With that in mind, I loosen my grip on Sergei’s neck before issuing a threat I’ll uphold no matter how affluent his DNA. “If you touch a single hair on Justine’s head, I’ll slit your throat and leave your body for the vultures. Because even a shallow grave in a roadside ditch is too good for you.”

  As Sergei slumps to the floor to suck in some lung-deprived breaths, I push through the swinging door of Justine’s kitchen, more than eager to get the party started.

  “Let’s go. I want Prentice’s blood hosed off the sidewalk before Justine returns from the store.”

  After snatching the letter opener off Justine’s desk, I make a beeline for the door with Trey, Roman, and Maya closely shadowing me. Even with my emotions belonging to those of a stranger, I know who I am.

  I am not a vigilante or an adversary of the devil.

  I am Nikolai, Russian Mafia Prince.

  Chapter Eleven

  My steps into Justine’s guest bedroom slow when I detect I am being watched. I’m used to being eyed, men want to be me, women want to be bedded by me, but this stare is different. It’s pronged with admiration, but it has no infatuation attached to it—thank fuck. That would have been awkward considering the watchful gaze is coming from my sister.

  Lia acts unaffected by the blood-splattered clothes and boots dumped at the end of my bed. She’s accustomed to the gore associated with our childhood. Sometimes, she was even the perpetrator of it.

  With my exchange with Sergei still in the forefront of my mind, Officer Prentice’s death was swift and unpleasurable. The stab wound I inflicted to his chest bled more than I anticipated, but that had more to do with the fact Justine’s letter opener wasn’t as sharp as I’d hoped.

  Don’t get me wrong, it got the job done, but my knife usually leaves my face blood-free. Since that didn’t occur this time around, I had no choice but to shower for the second time before midday.

  I finish drying droplets of water on my chest before dumping my towel onto the bed housing Lia’s backside. “Where’s Maya?”

  Lia twists the top half of her body to face the wall, granting me the privacy to tug on a pair of boxers and jeans while she says, “Trey is taking her back to the compound. She’s a little shaken up, the poor thing.” She’d seem more sincere if she weren’t picking at the varnish on her nails. “I really wish she would have accepted your offer to move her out of the compound. She’ll never have a life if she remains under Vladimir’s reign.”

  I jerk up my chin, agreeing with her. “She would have given it more thought if it weren’t for her mother. She’s still under Vladimir’s spell.”

  I inwardly laugh at Lia’s gag. Even with her sharing Vladimir’s DNA, she loathes him almost as much as me. I’m not surprised. Our mother continually placed Vladimir before us when we were children.

  Lia is four years older than me, and was despised by our mother on sight because she was born without the required equipment between her legs needed for her to become the next heir of the Popov entity. That honor went to Rico, who was born three weeks after Lia.

  “You can’t fix stupid.” After checking the coast is clear with a quick glance my way, Lia pivots back around to face me. “Did he cry actual tears?” She clasps her hands together like she’s watching a sappy movie. “I bet he did. The cry-for-my-momma vibes were pumping out of him when you grabbed him unaware.”

  I arch a brow in suspicion. “You watched me serve Prentice his punishment?”

  “Of course.” A hint of her husband’s English heritage highlights her tone when she attempts to act innocent. I say ‘attempt’ as it isn’t a look Lia can pull off without an immense amount of acting. “Adrian said a direct hit to the precordium almost always results in death, but he won’t let me put his theory into practice.” She sighs like she’s annoyed her husband saddled her down with responsibility and kids, where, in reality, she adores him. “Talking about theories, I better get back on deck before the next shipment comes in. Adrian’s men still believe compromises begin with words. Us Popov’s know busted kneecaps work much better.”

  She stops gathering her purse from a set of drawers on her right when I say, “I promoted Adrian to head of operations at Knightsbridge.” Her eyes dart between mine, but she’s too stunned to speak. It’s for the best, as my terms aren’t up for negotiation. “We need someone with his skillset while endeavoring to overtake Davies operations on that side of the continent.”

  She doesn’t buy the lie I am selling as she knows this has nothing to do with business. “You said a move was years away, Nikolai. That you’d give us plenty of notice.”

  “Things change—”

  “Not in a weekend. Jesus.” Nothing but unbridled panic is heard in her tone, aware that this is more than a wish to coerce my attorney into my bed. This goes way deeper than that. “Are you sure you’re ready for this?”

  Nodding, I brush the back of my index finger across her cheek to wipe away a blob of moisture balled there. She is as surprised by her tears as I am my chivalry. Kindness was not a trait our mother instilled in us.

  After clearing her cheeks of moisture, she steps closer to me, her eyes begging. “Let us stay. Let us help your campaign.”

  “No, Lia. We discussed this. Adrian and you were to move back to the UK before I commenced my bid for Vladimir’s throne.” As images of her punishment the last time she sided with me over Vladimir flash before my eyes, I step back, placing distance between us. We’re not overly close, but I still don’t want to see her hurt. “If you won’t do this for Adrian, do it for your girls.”

  It’s low of me to bring her daughters into this, but I know they’re the only things needed for her to agree to my request. Lia is all about blood and gore… until her eyes lock on her twin girls. They are three years old, yet they’ve never met their grandfather. Lia would fall onto a knife before she’d ever introduce her daughters to the monster from her nightmares.

  “Fine. I’ll go. Adrian’s parents have been expecting us for months.” She wipes her wet cheeks again, straightens her spine, then locks the dark brown eyes she was gifted from her father with mine. “But if you don’t get the job done, I’ll come back and do it for you.”

  When I dip my chin, she moves to a mirror tacked to the wall to check her face. Her knees are shaking so much she can barely walk, but she puts on a brave front. The last thing she’d ever want is for my crew to know she’s rattled. It took her years to gain their respect, and she won’t let it slip for anything.

  While she clears away a minute slither of mascara smeared under her eyes, I move to the cracked open door of Justine’s guest bedroom, stunned that the almost deafening buzz of my men has dulled to barely a murmur.

  They still have the tits of my whores in their mouths, and my drugs running through their veins, but their eyes are rapt on the same thing: Justine.

  She’s also mine, my crew are just unaware on how far my fascination extends.

  The same can’t be said for Lia. It only takes her noticing the narrowed squint Justine’s eyes get when she walks out of my room to know the real reason I’ve brought motions into play to take back what’s mine years earlier than predicated.

  “Is that her?” When I nod, Lia’s smile heats my cheek. “I se
e in her eyes what Rico saw in yours. She’s not lost. She just needs to learn not all crowns are made out of rhinestones and gems; some are from determination and courage.”

  I nod again, agreeing with her. “I can see the fire in her eyes. She just needs someone to relight it.”

  I realize I said my comment out loud when Lia says, “You can do that for her, Nikolai. You did it years ago, and you can do it again, except this time, you’ll get more than the admiration of your big sister for your efforts.”

  When I roll my eyes, Lia’s breathy chuckle fans my neck. She knows she is treading water in a shark-infested ocean, but since she’s also aware Adrian will have her bags packed before she’s returned home, she is willing to test the waters.

  “Call me if you need anything.”

  She waits for me to jerk up my chin before planting a goodbye kiss onto my cheek. Her lips barely touch my skin, but her contact is enough to burn jealousy through Justine’s veins. She watches us from across the room, the bag of groceries held close to her chest incapable of hiding the frantic thrust of her lungs.

  Jealousy has never looked so good.

  After watching Lia’s trek out her front door, Justine returns her eyes to mine. I could act ignorant to the possessiveness flaring through her unique colored eyes. I could pretend the same annoyance isn’t knocking at my chest from my men eyeing her like she’s a feast they’re about to gorge on, but since this is as new to her as it is me, I slant my head and arch a brow, placing the ball back into Justine’s court.

  When she returns my serve with a dramatic exit, I attempt to follow her. I barely make it one foot when the woman I see in her eyes stops my feet as quickly she does my heart. Her scorned stare is wicked, and proves what I’ve always known. Only a woman worthy of a throne can switch from being numbed by jealousy to straight-up gangster in under a second.