Nikolai 2 (Her Russian Protector #6)

by Roxie Rivera

  "Bobby." The old man leaned back in his worn leather chair and sighed. "He's always been a greedy little shit. He's too smart for his own good. It's always about the fast money." He tossed his pen onto his desk. "Kids these days! None of them want to work. Build slow and steady. That's the real way to make money."

  "No arguments there."

  "What has Bobby done?"

  "He's tied up with a federal judge's daughter. The judge is my neighbor, and he's asked me to get her free."

  "I told him to cut that girl loose."

  "Well he didn't. That girl or Bobby or maybe both of them poisoned the judge's dog yesterday. With cocaine," Nikolai added gravely. "I can't have that in my backyard, Lu. If you won't deal with it, I will."

  "Cocaine? You're sure?" Mr. Lu seemed surprised. "He moves counterfeits."

  "He's been seen taking meetings with cartel players."

  "The Houston crew? Julio? Lalo?"

  Nikolai shook his head. "Hector Salas."

  Lu cursed in Vietnamese. Reluctantly, he admitted, "I didn't know."

  "I didn't think so. You're not stupid enough to try to go around Julio." Nikolai picked at the fabric of his trousers. "I don't have to tell you how this will play out when Julio figures out that the reason he's losing market share is because your nephew is trying to cut out the middleman to get his hands on product."

  Mr. Lu turned even paler. "I'll take care of it."

  "Soon."

  "Before Sunday," he promised.

  "If it's not done before I leave for London…" Nikolai didn't have to finish the rest of his warning.

  "It will be done."

  "Good." Nikolai stood up and headed for the door. He paused before leaving. "Good luck, Lu."

  Back outside, Nikolai grimaced at the suffocating heat that slapped him in the face. The humidity was off the charts, and the three-digit temperature made the heat nearly unbearable. He couldn't wait to get out of Texas for a week. The prospect of visiting London and getting that close to his old life in Moscow hadn't thrilled him. He could think of a dozen reasons why getting within thumping distance of Maksim was a bad idea, but he had set them aside and focused on supporting Vivian's career. She had earned this chance. She deserved it.

  As Arty navigated the rush hour traffic, Nikolai allowed his thoughts to wander. He didn't want to dwell on the fact that he had fought with Vivian two days in a row. He really didn't want to think about other arguments that had cropped up between them. Rolling through his mental calendar, he tried to narrow down the start of the problems.

  Worry speared his heart when he arrived at the date. All the friction had started after they had discovered they were pregnant. What had Vivian said last night? That they weren't ready to be parents…

  Was this normal? Did other couples argue more when there was a new baby in the picture? It seemed likely. He had rushed Vivian into marrying him and had gotten her pregnant only three months later. Was it too fast? Was it too much too soon?

  He thought about Dimitri and Benny. The pair had been friends for five years before one night together had changed their relationship forever. They had gone from dating to pregnant to married to parents within nine very quick months. They had weathered an assault and an arson plus the usual problems that cropped up when running two small businesses. They seemed even stronger together.

  But Dimitri was always talking about Benny as his partner. The couple discussed everything and made decisions together about each other's businesses. He couldn't do that with Vivian. They weren't ever going to be equal partners. There were always going to be imbalances.

  Like money. Vivian's admission about asking for money added to his guilt. He should have seen that one coming. She had been standing on her own two feet for years. He had asked her to stop working at Samovar because it would have been unseemly for his wife to wait table. He was the one who had cut off her income, and he hadn't even considered that she might feel uncomfortable about having to rely on him for everything. In his mind, she was his wife so that meant everything that belonged to him belonged to her. So why didn’t you tell her that?

  "You okay, boss?" Arty glanced at him as they idled at a street light.

  He ignored the question and asked one of his own. "Did you talk to Ilya or Boychenko?"

  "Ilya says that there's been some tension."

  "Tension?"

  "That's all he said." He accelerated through the intersection. "Are we going to have trouble with Mr. Lu?"

  "Lu has cancer."

  "Shit. Is it bad?"

  "He's nearly seventy years old. Everything is bad at that age."

  "What happens if he dies? Who is the heir?"

  Artyom hit the nail right on the head, as usual. "The son is straight as an arrow. He's in Austin, and I don't see him coming back to take over the business."

  "What about the daughter? She's his right-hand girl, right? She's the one who runs the businesses."

  "An? She's pretty straight. I don't think she's ever handled any of the smuggling or counterfeit work. I see her at Chamber of Commerce meetings and other business functions around the city."

  "She's his daughter. She knows the score."

  "The men in the family might not like answering to a woman."

  "She doesn't need a dick to make them money."

  Nikolai laughed at that astute observation. "True."

  "It will get messy if they start fighting among themselves," Artyom warned. "I don't have enough soldiers to referee an internal disagreement among the Asians and keep the peace with the Albanians, the Hermanos and whatever the fuck is going on with the cartel. We need to bring in reinforcements."

  Nikolai wiped a hand down his face. "Even if they're legal, we'll have immigration up our asses. Once ICE is done with us, Santos and his gang task force friends will start shaking us down. Besian and Nickel Jackson will start to complain that there are too many of us in the city. Lorenzo and the rest of the cartel will get nervous that we're planning something."

  "Which we are," Artyom cut in. "We're planning to protect ourselves and our business interests."

  "The others won't see it that way. They'll think we're building up our numbers to force new terms and take territory. This city is already a powder keg. I won't be the one who sets off the first spark."

  "I don't think you have to worry about that, boss. There's a long line in front of you with lighters in hand."

  Artyom had a good feel for the pulse on the streets so Nikolai took his warning to heart. He didn't want the added headache of dancing with ICE or fending off Vivian's cousin and his gang squad, but he refused to leave his men exposed. Like Artyom, he could feel something coming. There was a shift in the air, an electrified sensation that prickled the skin, and a foreboding darkness that settled in the back of his mind. His very bones ached with a pulsing hum of warning.

  He had to be ready. He could not fail.

  When they reached the jewelry store, he hopped out of the SUV and left Artyom sitting in a curb-side parking spot. He stepped into the shop and spotted Kostya at one of the counters. The cleaner swiftly pocketed a small box and turned toward the main entrance as if nothing had happened. Kostya's love life was none of his business so he pretended not to notice.

  A flash of white-blonde hair caught his attention. Dressed in a very conservative dove gray skirt with pink blouse, Zoya emerged from a back room with three slim Prussian blue boxes embossed with the gold seal of the company in her hand. The only child of the store's owner, she had followed in her father's footsteps as a gemologist and jewelry designer. She had big dreams and the talent to make them happen. There was no doubt in Nikolai's mind that his investment in the company would continue to bear fruit for years to come.

  "Mr. Kalasnikov, how are you today?" She retrieved a black velvet tray from behind the counter and placed the boxes on top of it.

  "I'm fine. How are you, Zoya?" He made a point of replying to her in Russian

  "Busy, busy, busy," she said with a l
ittle laugh. "It's wedding season so that door chime is ringing nonstop."

  Her Russian was technically perfect, but she had that same habit of coloring the syllables with a hint of Texas twang. Vivian and Boychenko did the same thing. Would his Houston-born child do the same thing?

  Opening the boxes, she revealed the beautifully feminine jewelry that she had designed for Vivian. The gold and diamonds of the necklace, bracelet and earrings glittered under the lighting and made the sunbursts look brilliantly bright. "I handled this one myself this morning."

  "It's perfect." He fought the urge to stroke the polished gold and twinkling diamonds. "The insurance paperwork?"

  "Right here." She lifted the jeweler's loupe from her neck and used the key dangling from the chain to unlock a drawer beneath the register. She retrieved an envelope and handed it to him. "It's all in order. If anything happens, you come back to see us, and we'll take care of everything." She placed the lid back on the box. "Would you like me to wrap this with ribbon?"

  "Please," he said with a nod. While Zoya artfully decorated the boxes with gold ribbon, he skimmed the insurance paperwork.

  Kostya had worked his way over to his side and waited for the transaction to be completed. He leaned against the counter and asked, "Did Sergei find the perfect diamond?"

  Nikolai glanced up from the paperwork upon hearing the question. Earlier in the week, he had visited the store to make the final approval on the celebratory jewelry he had ordered for Vivian. He had run into Sergei on his visit and had learned his former prize fighter was going to propose to Bianca. He had his suspicions about why the two would rush into a marriage, but it wasn't any of his business. Unless he was specifically asked for his opinion, he was staying out of it.

  "He did." Zoya smiled at them. "Abram set the stone this morning. It's gorgeous. I think he'll be very pleased, and Bianca will love it." She finished the tying the ribbons and carefully placed the boxes into a bag that matched the boxes and decorated it with a few sheets of gold tissue paper. "All done. Here you go."

  "Thank you." He took the bag from her and retrieved his wallet. He plucked one of the credit cards free and handed it to her. After signing the receipt and pocketing his wallet, he wished her a good day and left the store with Kostya at his side.

  "How was the meeting with Mr. Lu?" Kostya as soon as they were outside.

  "He didn't know about his nephew's side deal. I've given him until Sunday to turn the girl over to the judge. If he doesn't…"

  "I'll handle it."

  Nikolai put on his sunglasses. "Did you know he has cancer?"

  Kostya nodded. "I found out last week. I didn't think it mattered. Cancer or old age, that guy is headed out the door soon enough."

  "It matters. Don't keep shit like that from me again."

  A few seconds of silence stretched between them. "Yeah. Okay."

  "What do you know about An?"

  Kostya glanced at him in surprise. "You think she'll inherit the old man's kingdom?"

  "Who else is there? Bobby might make a play for it, but he's weak and stupid."

  "I'll dig up what I can on her."

  "What about Mando?"

  Kostya shook his head. "Nothing yet. I'm digging, boss. I'll find him."

  "I don't care who you have to pay or turn. We need to get to him. Handing him over to Julio and letting the cartel mete out their own brand of justice is the only way we hold off a war."

  "And when the MC finds out we gave their sergeant-at-arms to the cartel?"

  "They'll understand that actions have consequences. They'll learn that my connection to Romero doesn't give them a free pass to kill kids in my city." Nikolai put his hand on the door of the SUV but didn't open it yet. "Did you know Vivian was gambling?"

  Kostya betrayed himself by flashing his tell. "Look, it was only a little bit of money here and there. If she had gotten into trouble, I would have taken care of it."

  The idea of another man, even one he trusted and loved as much as Kostya, coming to her rescue burned him up with jealousy. It wasn't a reaction that he was proud of but there it was.

  "When I found out, she was just a kid, boss. She was working for the restaurant part-time, and I could tell she needed the extra money. They were small bets, and she was careful about it. She wasn't yours yet so I didn't see the point of bringing it to your attention." He rubbed his thumb over his key ring. "I thought she had earned the right to a little fun. It wasn't hurting anyone."

  Nikolai started to tell Kostya that he should have come clean after he had married Vivian, but that wasn't on Kostya, was it? It was on her.

  "The last bet, the one she put on the fights? I figured that was her way of making sure that Sergei and Bianca could be together. You know how she is about her friends. I didn't realize you were going to sell him to Bianca until after that deal was made."

  The harshness of the way Kostya described that particular transaction almost made him flinch. For all his righteous indignation about staying out of the skin trade, Nikolai hadn't hesitated at the chance to buy Sergei's contract from Maksim. He might not have been forcing Sergei to live in a ramshackle whorehouse or service dozens of men a night, but he had forced the man to break bones and spirits. He had forced Sergei into a cage to fight other violent men with the unspoken threat that if he didn't do as he was told Maksim would find a way to extract payment from Sergei's mother and brother. How was he any different than the madams and pimps he sneered at?

  "Boss?"

  Shoving aside thoughts of Sergei, he looked at Kostya. "If you need me tonight, I'll be at the house."

  "How is Ten working out?"

  "He's fine." He will be, once I've had a chance to straighten him out.

  "Good." Kostya took a step back and reached into his pocket for his lighter. "I'll let you know if I have any luck smoking out Mando."

  Nodding, Nikolai slid back into the SUV and buckled his belt. He gestured for Artyom to drive. His mind raced in a thousand different directions. There were so many variables to plug in to the various equations. Very few of the outcomes pleased him.

  When they arrived at the house, he sent Artyom home for the night and hoped the captain would use the time off wisely. Come Sunday evening, Kostya and Artyom would be holding down the city for him. If anyone was going to be stupid enough to make a move, it would be done the moment he was out of town. To outsiders, the family would be in a weakened position. That assumption couldn't be more wrong. His men would bloody the streets before they lost even an inch of territory while their boss was away.

  "Boss." Ilya greeted him from the back porch. "Your wife and her friend are inside with Ten. I sent Boychenko home. He has to be at the gym early in the morning."

  "That's fine." Remembering what Arytom had said, he asked, "So…tension?"

  Ilya shrugged. "It's the first day. It will get easier for both of them."

  Hoping that was the case, he entered the house and hid the gift bag for Vivian in the mud room closet where their heavy winter coats were stored. Certain the two women would be in the library, he made his way across the house. His lips drew tight when he spotted Ten leaning against the wall with his arms crossed and a scowl on his face. "What's wrong?"

  Not moving off the wall, Ten jerked his head toward the door. "She locked me out."

  "What do you mean?" He tested the door handle and found it locked. Irritated by the discovery of a locked door, he rapped his knuckles on the door. "Vee!"

  She took her sweet time unlocking it. The fact that she opened the door only far enough to peek out riled him up even more. Addressing him in Russian, probably to spare Bianca the inevitable uncomfortable urge to eavesdrop, she asked, "Yes?"

  "You know how I feel about locked doors." He hated the panic that gripped him when he heard a door lock. It was a holdover from his early years in that horror house of an orphanage. The irrational reaction was one he couldn’t control and one that embarrassed him to even admit. Vivian knew that. He had told her that in thei
r first weeks together living in this house as man and wife. She had promised not to put locked doors between them.

  Her frustrated expression softened. "I wasn't locking you out." She opened the door wide enough to peek out and glare at Ten. "I locked him out."

  "Why?"

  "Because he's a jerk."

  "So?" Nikolai wasn't going to argue that point. "He's not here to be your friend, Vivian. He's here to be your bodyguard. He can't do that if he's out here in the hallway."

  "He doesn't need to be attached to me like a parasite when we're here in the house."

  "That's his call to make. He's the one with his ass on the line if something happens to you."

  "Like what? A paper cut? That's the worst thing that might have happened to me in the library." Her eyes narrowed, and she studied him with a suspicious stare. "What are you hiding from me? Why are you so worried about my safety all of a sudden?"

  "You know why I'm worried about you." He cast a pointed look at her stomach.

  "No," she argued. "That's not it. Not all of it, at least. What aren't you telling me?"

  His patience thin, he hissed harshly, "Are you sure you want to open that door, Vivian? Do I need to remind you about the bag of money that was dropped in our kitchen this morning? You're the one who wants truth and honesty—but only from me. What happened to no secrets, Vee? Huh? So much for us being partners."

  She blinked a few times. He realized a moment too late that he had never snapped at her like this. Never. Not once. The fact that he had chosen to do it in front of two other people made him feel worse.

  "Vee, I—"

  "It's all right." She smiled weakly. "You're right." Glancing over her shoulder, she seemed to remember that Bianca was waiting. As if nothing had happened, she opened the door and gestured for him to come inside. For a moment, he lingered there in the doorway and simply studied her face. Artyom was right. Vivian was changing. She was learning to use masks.

  And it killed him. It fucking slayed him.

  All the things he loved about her were the things that made it so difficult for her to play the role of perfect little mob wife. If he wasn't careful, he was going to lose her. He was going to push her and squeeze her and mold her into someone he didn't even recognize.