6. Nik

Chapter 6

Nik

I make it to the sidewalk just in time to see the bright orange car peel out of the driveway. It stands out like Charlie Brown’s fucking Great Pumpkin, impossible to miss. My chest heaves as I try to catch my breath and watch it disappear into the night, frustration bubbling just beneath the surface.

She’s faster than I expected, but here’s the thing: she can run, but she can’t hide. She’s slipped through my fingers for now, but not for long. I’ll find her.

Maybe it’s for the best, though. She’s a complication I don’t have the time—or patience—to deal with. My life is already chaotic enough. Running the bratva isn’t exactly a nine-to-five. Twelve-hour days are the norm, and that doesn’t include keeping the legitimate side of my business afloat. Running a Fortune 500 company isn’t light work.

On top of all that, there’s the issue with the Irish and Patrick McGuire. With Maxim back in the picture, things are already complicated enough.

Forgetting her might be a matter of survival. I can’t afford to be distracted by a woman, not when everything I’ve built is on the line.

Still, I’d hoped the night would end differently. I wanted her to leave the party with me so we could pick up where we left off. Instead, she brushed me off like I was nothing more than an infatuated schoolboy.

She didn’t even tell me her name. I’ll be stuck thinking of her as the woman —and I know I will. Often.

Her initial disinterest intrigued me; now, my pride feels bruised that she ran from me after the kind of mind-blowing sex most women would beg to relive. I know I pleased her—her body told me so—but apparently, it wasn’t enough to earn even her first name.

Was she faking it? I don’t think so, but what do I really know about her?

I can’t remember the last time I reacted to a woman like this. Meeting her felt like fate, every detail about her crafted to bewitch me. But I don’t believe in fate—or coincidences. Trusting divine intervention—or strangers—isn’t in my nature.

Sure, I’ll miss her. Maybe it’ll even haunt me that I won’t experience the pleasure of being inside her again. But if one quick fuck can make me this irrational, it’s probably for the best she made herself impossible to find. Otherwise, I might end up chasing her.

Now, I can focus on what really matters. I’ll return to the party, find Dmitri and Maxim, and surround myself with people I know and trust.

I won’t think about her at all.

I smirk, shaking my head as I head back inside. But when I walk past the backroom, I can't resist peeking inside. All that remains is the faint scent of her perfume lingering in the air—and her heels, abandoned beneath the desk.

I bend down, picking one up, turning it over in my hand. The craftsmanship is unmistakable. Custom-made. Beautiful—and conveniently traceable.

“Got you,” I murmur, a slow grin curling my lips as I trace the delicate straps with my thumb. “You’re not getting away that easily, kiska .”