37. Nik

Chapter 37

Nik

“Relax,” I tell Kat, noticing how stiff she’s gone beside me. “It’s just Dmitri.”

Her sharp exhale cuts through the quiet, the tension in her shoulders easing just slightly. Something in my chest twists, sharp and heavy. I did this. I dragged her into my mess. I put her in danger.

Dmitri’s silver car pulls up in front of the empty house, his blacked-out windows hiding him from view. Doesn’t matter—I’d know that car anywhere. Vladmir must’ve done his part, shaken off McGuire’s men, and sent Dmitri.

I open the back door for Kat, gesturing for her to get in. She climbs in without a word.

“Let’s go,” I tell Dmitri as I climb into the front. He nods, pulling onto the road. His eyes dart between the mirrors, scanning for any sign of trouble.

“You two okay?” he asks, glancing briefly at us before returning his focus to the rearview.

I nod. Kat, though, just shrugs, her gaze fixed out the window. The faint glow from passing streetlights highlights her profile, but I can’t read her expression. She’s too still, too quiet.

Dmitri exhales, his grip on the wheel easing just a little. “All right. So, how are we doing this, Nik?”

“Doing what?” I ask, my attention splitting between him and Kat, trying to read her, trying to figure out what’s going through her mind. Is she scared? Regretting every second she’s spent with me? She hasn’t said a word since we got in the car, and the silence is killing me.

“Taking out McGuire,” Dmitri says like it should’ve been obvious.

With a frown, I glance at Dmitri, still keeping an eye on Kat through the corner of my eye.

Dmitri’s knuckles are white on the wheel, his pale blue eyes flicking from the mirrors to the road ahead, scanning every shadow and turn like the devil himself is on our tail. His blond hair is sticking up in every direction, and the flush across his face isn’t from the cool night air. He’s rattled, his usual calm nowhere to be found.

I rub a hand over my face, exhaustion crashing into me like a freight train. It’s not just the adrenaline wearing off—it’s the weight of it all. It’s all on me. I failed Kat. I failed to keep her safe. Failed to protect the bratva 's interests, too. And now, looking at Dmitri, I know I’ve failed him too.

For all his confidence, he’s just so damn young. Too young for this mess. I never wanted him hardened like Maxim and me, forced to carry the weight of this life before we were ready. I kept him protected when the threats were smaller, but this? This is a disaster I should’ve never let him near.

“Dmitri,” I say, my voice low but firm, “McGuire isn’t your problem.”

His head snaps toward me, his knuckles white on the wheel. “What do you mean, he’s not my problem? He tried to kill you, Nik. You’re my pakhan . It’s my job to deal with him.”

“No, it’s mine,” I say, my tone sharper now. “I’ll handle him. You stay out of this. You'll be needed elsewhere, and I’m not ready to call war with the Irish just yet.”

Dmitri scoffs, the sound bitter. “That ship’s already sailed.”

“Maybe,” I admit, forcing myself to stay calm. “But if there’s even a chance to stop this from turning into a bloodbath, I have to take it. That’s my job—to protect all of us.”

He exhales sharply, the tension in his jaw visible, his frustration rolling off him in waves.

“Here’s an idea,” Dmitri says, his voice too casual for my liking. “Why don’t I drop you and Kat off at home, then circle back to take care of McGuire myself? Bet you anything it’s chaos at that damn beach house right now. I could sneak in, take him out, and be gone before anyone knows what hit them.”

I don’t even let him finish the thought. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard come out of your mouth. Absolutely not.”

“Why the hell not?” he snaps, his tone pushing my patience. “It’s about time someone dealt with him. And you could still avoid war with his men. Just say I went rogue. Exile me to Siberia like you did Maxim, or fake my death. Problem solved.”

The sheer audacity. Boys and their bravado.

“Over my dead body, Dmitri,” I bark, my voice rising as irritation boils over. “I’ll be damned if I let you—or anyone else—do my dirty work. And I’m sure as hell not sending you to die or live in exile.”

Dmitri has the nerve to roll his eyes. “Come on, Nik. Be reasonable. Just think about it.”

“I’ve thought about it,” I snap, my tone sharper than I’ve ever used with him. “And the answer is no. Don’t test me on this.”

That finally shuts him up, but the way his shoulders sag stings. He means well, as idiotic as his idea is. He’s loyal—to me, to the bratva . That’s what makes this even harder.

“Yes, sir,” Dmitri mumbles, sounding defeated. I sigh, softening just slightly.

“I won’t let McGuire kill anyone else I care about,” I say, my tone quieter but no less firm. “I’ll handle him myself.”

Dmitri’s head snaps up, his voice rising as he pleads, “You can’t expect me to just sit back and do nothing, Nik. He came after you. After everything you’ve done for me and my mom—how can you expect me to let this go?”

“Because I’m telling you to,” I growl, my patience thinning to a thread. “And you’ll do as you’re told, or so help me God, I’ll teach you a lesson I should’ve taught you a long time ago.”

The silence that follows is heavier than the threat itself. Dmitri stares at me, stunned. I can’t blame him. In the decade I’ve known him, I’ve never spoken to him like this. There’s no trace of humor, no tolerance. Just cold, unflinching authority.

For the first time, Dmitri sees me as I am: his pakhan .

Suddenly, Kat’s voice cuts through the tension. “Okay, can we talk about food? Because I’m starving. I don’t know about you two, but I’m craving Chinese.”

I glare at her in the rearview mirror, but she doesn’t flinch. She just smiles, completely unfazed. It’s painfully obvious she’s trying to defuse the situation and shield Dmitri from the worst of my temper.

“I’m good with Chinese,” Dmitri mutters, still sounding bitter. “What, no food at that shitty party?”

“Oh, there was food,” Kat replies with a casual shrug. “But I was too busy to grab a bite. You know how demanding our boss can be.”

I narrow my eyes at her reflection. She responds by blowing me a kiss.

Dmitri snorts, and for a moment, I think he might actually smile. “I’ll plead the fifth on that one.”

Her face lights up at his reaction, clearly pleased with herself. Watching her smug little smile, I feel my own lips twitch against my will.

“Oh, come on,” she presses, leaning forward slightly. “You can tell us what you’re thinking, Dmitri. Whatever it is, I promise you won’t piss him off as much as I have today.”

Dmitri glances at her through the mirror, one brow raised. “Now I’m curious. What did you do this time?”

Kat sighs dramatically, like she’s about to confess a mortal sin. “Well, let’s just say Nik was already a little… tense by the time I rammed his car into McGuire’s gate. Twice. Or maybe three times. I lost count.”

She grins at me like it’s all a big joke, and Dmitri laughs—really laughs. The tension in his shoulders starts to ease with each chuckle.

“All he would’ve seen,” I cut in, voice dry, “was the face of a man who’s realized he’s been duped. I was promised a world-class thief. What I got was a mouthy brat with way too much sass and zero ability to figure out a garage door.”

Kat arches an eyebrow, her lips curving into a teasing grin. “Well, that says more about you than it does about me, kotyonok . If memory serves, I was good enough to steal from the big, bad pakhan himself—right under his nose—and walk away with nothing but a slap on the wrist.”

I smirk, leaning back. “Your recollection and mine vary wildly. I do remember a slap, but it definitely wasn’t on your wrist.”

She gasps, clutching her chest like I’ve offended her honor. It’s all theatrics, though; her eyes sparkle with amusement, giving her away.

Dmitri lets out a low whistle, chuckling—until something registers. His head whips toward Kat, his eyes going wide. “Wait. What did you just call him?”

Kat shrugs, the picture of nonchalance.

Dmitri turns to me, his eyes comically wide. “No way. Did she just— Did I hear that right? Kotyonok ? Please tell me I just heard that right. This is too good.”

I sigh, rolling my eyes, knowing exactly where this is heading.

Dmitri’s stare is laser-focused on her now, his curiosity cranked to eleven. “Where’d you even learn that word?” he asks, his voice rising with excitement.

“Irina, obviously,” Kat replies breezily. “Nik wouldn’t tell me what kiska meant—kept calling me that nonstop—so I asked her. She wouldn’t spill either, but she laughed so hard she cried and told me to call him kotyonok instead.”

Dmitri freezes, his mouth slightly agape before he bursts into laughter. He slaps the dashboard, tears forming at the corners of his eyes. “Oh, man,” he chokes out between gasps. “This is priceless. Thank you, Kat. You just made my week. No—my year. The great Nikolai Stefanovich lets you call him kotyonok because he calls you kiska . I’ll never recover.”

“Dmitri,” I warn, my tone sharp enough to cut. But there’s no heat behind it, and he knows it.

He waves a hand at me dismissively, still laughing. “This is gold . No one will believe me. Fuck, I wouldn’t believe this if I hadn’t just witnessed it.”

Dmitri shakes his head, still laughing so hard he can barely get the words out. “I’ll tell you what it means—but first, I need you to spill everything about him calling you kiska . Don’t hold back.”

Kat’s eyes gleam, clearly delighted. “Oh, he calls me that all the time. It’s sweet, really. But for some reason, he refuses to tell me what it means. I’ve been meaning to Google it, but, you know, life gets busy.” She pauses for dramatic effect, then adds, “He mostly calls me that when we’re in the middle of?—”

“ Enough ,” I snap, cutting her off before she can finish. “This conversation is over.

Naturally, they both ignore me completely.

“Well?” Kat turns to Dmitri, practically bouncing in her seat. “What does it mean?”

Dmitri’s grin widens, his eyes glinting with barely contained glee. “ Kiska , my dear Kat, means kitten,” he says, drawing out the word for maximum effect. Then, with a knowing smirk, he glances at me and mutters something in Russian under his breath.

“Hey!” Kat protests, pointing at him accusingly. “Not fair. English, please.”

I grit my teeth, silently grateful she doesn’t know enough Russian to understand his comment: You’ve got it bad, my friend .

Bad doesn’t even begin to cover it.

Her gaze sharpens, and before I can react, she scoots closer, leaning into my space until her face is inches from mine. “Kitten, huh?” she says, her voice dripping with teasing amusement. Her smirk is pure mischief, and I can feel my carefully constructed cool slipping.

“Don’t let it go to your head,” I reply, my tone flat as I try to play it cool. But even I can hear the edge in my voice. The truth is, if she ever figures out just how far she’s got me wrapped around her finger, I’m ruined.

She rolls her eyes, clearly unimpressed with my attempt at indifference, and turns back to Dmitri. “You know, Dmitri, he’s trying to act all tough right now, but earlier, he was so mad at Vladmir for daring to touch me that he straight-up smashed the poor guy’s hand.”

Dmitri’s head snaps back and forth between us, his jaw dropping in disbelief. “No way,” he breathes, his voice tinged with awe. Then, with a loud gasp, he exclaims, “Holy fucking shit. She’s not joking. You did !” He’s practically doubled over, his shoulders shaking with laughter.

I glare at Kat, shaking my head in exasperation.

“What?” she says, all wide-eyed innocence. “You did .”

“You’re making me sound like some simpering idiot,” I grumble, though my heart’s not really in it.

With an exaggerated pout, she shrugs, her lips twitching with barely concealed amusement. “Well, if the shoe fits, kotyonok ... No shame in it.” She winks at me, leaning forward to press a quick kiss to my cheek.

And just like that, simpering idiot that I am, she has me as sweet as a kitten, my reputation be damned.

Dmitri, however, isn’t as easily distracted. He’s still laughing, shaking his head as he navigates us back home. The sound of his chuckles fills the car, and somehow, it carries all the way into the garage.

The moment the elevator doors open, he breaks into another laughing fit, clutching his sides.

“Enough,” I bark, pinning him with a glare. “We have work to do. If you can manage to stop giggling like an idiot, I might actually find a way for you to make yourself useful.”

“Yes, sir,” he says, attempting to stifle his laughter but failing miserably.

“And you—” I turn to Kat, who’s already watching me with a mischievous grin. “I’ll deal with you later. Until then, stay out of trouble. If that’s even possible.”

“Aye, aye, captain,” she replies with a mock salute, spinning on her heel and sauntering toward the kitchen like she owns the place.

I catch the brief, amused glance she shares with Dmitri, and it takes every ounce of willpower not to throw them both out the window. Just what I need—an audience for my slow descent into madness. I’ll let it slide—for now.

Dmitri’s laughter eventually dies down, replaced by the grim reality of what’s ahead. Hours of strategizing and shoring up defenses follow—I won’t make the mistake of underestimating McGuire again. By the time the plans are set and the men disband, the tension in my chest has eased—but only slightly.

I go looking for Kat, craving the distraction of her presence. After searching the penthouse and coming up empty, I call out for her. She answers from the kitchen, and I follow her voice—only to stop dead in my tracks.

The sight catches me off guard. My thoughts scatter. “You… waited for me to eat,” I blurt out like an idiot.

Kat shrugs, so casually, as if what she’s done is no big deal. She pours me a glass of wine—from my most expensive bottle, of course—and hands it to me. “Figured you’d be starving too.”

While I was holed up planning, she turned the kitchen into something straight out of a rom-com—candles flickering, lights dimmed, and Chinese takeout spread out like it’s a five-star meal.

“Did Vladmir make it back okay?” she asks, her voice soft but steady.

I nod, taking a sip of the wine she offered, but I can’t bring myself to say anything. My throat feels tight.

She exhales in relief, her lips curving into a small smile. “Good. Thank God. Now, come on,” she says, pulling out a stool for me. “Let’s eat. I’m starving.”

I do as she asks, and we eat in a comfortable, almost surreal silence. The only sound, aside from the occasional clink of chopsticks, is the soft jazz she’s got playing in the background. Now and then, my hand brushes against hers as I reach for a takeout container, and her eyes meet mine—deep and impossibly blue, like the ocean at night.

She smiles, and it takes every ounce of willpower not to throw her onto the kitchen island and fuck her senseless.

But her day’s been hell, and the last thing I want is for her to feel drained—emotionally or physically—if we go there. Who am I kidding? When we go there.

So I behave myself, even though every muscle in my body protests. I feel like I’ve been edging myself for days—constantly brought to the edge of relief, only to be yanked back down to earth, over and over again.

And yet, as she smiles and her fingers toy with mine, something strange washes over me. Not frustration, not desire—though that’s still there, simmering just beneath the surface. No, it’s something quieter. Something almost... content.

It’s unsettling. Kat soothes me, and I don’t know what to do with that.

“You do know I have a dining room, right?” I blurt out, my voice gruffer than intended. I don’t know how to handle this side of her—the softness. Feisty, sharp-tongued Kat I can handle. But this? This sweet, tender creature? She leaves me completely unarmed.

“I like the kitchen,” she says with a shrug, her smile warm and teasing. “Good memories have been made here.” Her eyes flick to the counter, and her foot slides up the inside of my thigh. My body jerks in response, and I nearly choke on my wine as I adjust my now-unbearably tight pants.

Her smirk is positively sinful.

With a sigh, I pull the handgun from the back of my waistband and set it on the island in front of her. “Here. I want you to have this.”

Her brows shoot up as she stares at the gun. She doesn’t reach for it right away, her confusion plain as she looks back at me.

“It’s untraceable,” I say, nudging it toward her. “Take it.”

“Why?” she asks, her voice a mix of surprise and hesitation. She picks it up reluctantly, holding it like it might explode in her hands.

“Because I want you to be safe. Do you know how to use it?”

Kat’s expression shifts instantly, her eyes narrowing in indignation. “Of course I know how to use it,” she says, offended. “Just because I don’t like guns doesn’t mean I don’t know how to handle one.”

Her sass should annoy me. Instead, it makes me smile. “Good,” I say simply. Before I can think better of it, the words tumble out. “I meant what I said. I’ll protect you with my life. My men will do the same. I’ll do everything in my power to make sure you’re never in a position where a gun might be necessary. But trouble seems to follow you like a shadow, Kat, and I can’t always be there. I don’t want you relying on anyone else for protection. Whatever it takes to make sure you never feel helpless again, I’ll do it.”

She freezes, staring at me, her expression unreadable. Then, without warning, her lips crash into mine. The kiss is scorching, her urgency lighting a fire under my skin. My groan escapes unbidden as she grips me tight, her body pressing into mine.

And just as abruptly as it starts, it ends. She pulls back, panting, her eyes blazing with heat and something I can’t name.

“What was that for?” I rasp, struggling to catch my breath.

She exhales sharply, shaking her head like she’s trying to clear it. “You’ve got to stop doing stuff like that.”

“Stuff like what?” My brow furrows as I try to follow her train of thought.

“ That ,” she says, gesturing between us. “Stop saying things that make me want to kiss you. Do you have any idea how hard it is to control myself around you? Twenty-four-seven? What am I supposed to do, Nik? Just let myself get dick-whipped?” She throws her hands up, exasperated. “I don’t have time for that. So stop. Just stop. I’m so damn tired of resisting you.”

Her words knock the air out of me, leaving me stunned. Breathless. I stare at her, searching for something to say, and then it spills out before I can stop myself. “Then don’t.”

She scoffs, rolling her eyes. “Shut up.”

“Come here and make me,” I dare her. I beg her.

“That’s probably a bad idea,” she mutters, her voice shaky. “Unless we’re ready to… you know. Go all the way.”

My chest tightens, and I exhale heavily. “ Kiska …” The word comes out like a prayer. “I can’t think straight—can’t sleep, can’t eat, can’t fucking breathe —without dreaming about you. About having you. All of you. But it’s your call. Because if we go there—” I pause, my throat tight as I force the words out. “If you come to my bed, there’s no going back, you hear me? You’ll be mine. Forever . So think carefully. Choose your next words wisely. Don’t—” I swallow hard, my gaze locked on hers. “Don’t play games with me.”

The air between us hums with tension, every breath crackling with unspoken words. Slowly, she lifts her hand, her fingertips tracing the edge of my lips. I stay perfectly still, not daring to breathe. Then, too soon, she drops her hand and shakes her head.

I let out a heavy sigh. Too bad .

“I… we need to sleep on it,” she finally says.

I tilt my head, studying her. “A goodnight kiss, then,” I barter, my voice rough, a little desperate.

Her lips twitch into a soft smile, and she bites her bottom lip, thinking it over. After a long pause, she nods. Something in my chest loosens as she steps closer.

“I don’t think I’ll ever be able to resist you when you smile at me like that,” she whispers, so quiet I almost miss it.

I frown slightly, puzzled, but before I can say anything, her lips meet mine again, soft and achingly sweet. The kiss undoes me, and my hands find their way into her hair, pulling her closer, deepening it. For a moment, nothing else exists but her.

And then, too soon again, she pulls away, leaving me dizzy and raw.

“Sweet dreams, Nik,” she murmurs, her voice like a caress, before walking away, leaving me standing there, hard and wanting.