10. Nik

Chapter 10

Nik

I should be having a great time. And yet, I’m miserable.

Seeing Kat again is bliss—and torture. I want to kill her. I need to kiss her.

Will this maddening hold she has on me ever end? Even lessen?

I’m incredibly disappointed with myself, really. The woman stole my most prized possession and may have even had a hand in my best friend’s murder. Yet here I am, wanting her as much as before.

Last week was a blur. Moments after learning of Maxim’s death, I was told that my priceless red diamond was missing. My recollection of the aftermath—and the commotion that followed both events—is uncharacteristically dim. Everything since has been a haze, a jumble of duties and obligations as Maxim’s next-of-kin, the diamond’s owner, and the bratva ’s pakhan .

There will be time to grieve. Time to unleash the rage I’m holding back. But for now, I have to set aside my emotions and do my job.

Just a day after that unforgettable night, I learned the shocking truth about Kat’s involvement in the theft of the jewel. To say I was surprised would be putting it lightly.

Here’s a refined version that keeps the tone sharp and fitting for Nik’s voice while enhancing flow and intrigue:

When Lucien Wroth, my long-time friend and occasional sovietnik —or, as the Italians say, consigliere —came to me with news of her connection to the heist, I didn’t want to believe him. But Lucien’s connections are unmatched, and his information is always thorough.

Lucien’s a consultant of sorts, though that term barely scratches the surface. Most call him the kingmaker—though never to his face.

He told me the museum’s security had been tampered with by a very unique and distinctive—and, therefore, easily identifiable—electronic device. His contacts named the apparatus’s creator, a woman named A.J. Michaels. And A.J., it turned out, was close friends with none other than Katherine Devereaux, con woman and thief extraordinaire—or Kat, as most call her. The woman apparently has an infamous reputation in certain criminal circles.

At first, the name meant nothing to me. But when I saw her picture in the dossier Lucien handed me… There are no words to describe the all-consuming rage and betrayal I felt then. The woman from the gala—the one who’d given me the most mind-blowing night of my life—was out to get me all long.

But Lucien’s investigation was extensive. Piece by piece, he’d traced her every move, before and after the party. The evidence was airtight. She was the thief.

At first, I was torn. My thoughts kept swinging between heated memories of her touch and cold fury at her deceit. But when Lucien admitted he couldn’t rule out her involvement in Maxim’s death, I felt disgusted with myself. How could I even think of her when my oldest friend lay dead somewhere?

So I tracked her down. Once I had her name, it wasn’t difficult. I didn’t even need her pretty custom-made shoes to find her. For days, my men followed her discreetly, bringing me photos, reports, and videos of her every move.

Each new image felt like a punch to the gut. Since the party, she’s been living her best life—indulging in luxuries, smiling like she hasn’t got a care in the world—while her actions have turned mine upside down.

I finally gave the order then. I told them to bring her to me. I thought my feelings for her were acceptably rational at last. I was ready to retrieve my diamond, to show her the consequences of crossing me. The Flame of Mir might be nothing but a bauble to her, but it holds sentimental value to me. And I had to know: was she involved in Maxim’s murder? It would be incredibly dumb to set out to avenge his death without a clear picture of what really went down that night.

But the moment I saw her, I knew I’d been an idiot.

I am an even bigger fool than I first assumed. Because I should’ve known better by now. There are no excuses for my stupid disregard of her effect on me.

She stole from me. She may have even been involved in Maxim’s murder. But when I walked into this room and saw her big, beautiful blue eyes, I was a goner. Again.

All my fears and suspicious about her have been confirmed. But one look at her, and none of that matters.

“Miss me?” I break the silence, watching as horror and fear flash across her face. It pleases me more than it should.

I missed her. I didn’t think I did; I told myself her deceit had soured my feelings for her. I thought I’d moved on. But just being here, seeing her in the flesh, feels like releasing a long-held breath. The tension I’ve been carrying all week begins to ease.

“Nikolai, what’s going on? What are you doing here? What am I doing here?”

I’m not sure what I expected her to say, but I feel too emotionally raw to deal with her games. If she thinks that playing the part of a damsel in distress will save her, then she’s underestimated me.

“Isn’t it obvious? You took something of mine, so I took you.”