Chapter 11 - Boris

"Welcome to Noch," I say as Fiona and I enter the club together. My bodyguards are on either side of us, but the crowd parts effortlessly without their interference—several patrons nod to me as we slip past, heading for my private room.

"Noch?" Fiona asks, looking around. The lights sparkle off her eyes and bounce off her hair—she looks good enough to eat in that dress, skintight and sparkling in the light, and I'm grateful she had the foresight to order something classy.

"Meaning night in Russian," I say as we look around the space. "It was inspired by the dark."

All the features in Noch are matte black, with black lights and glowing elements to give it an almost supernatural atmosphere. We only opened this club a few months ago, but it's already near capacity every night. Our VIP section is particularly popular among the city's elites, as it offers a better degree of privacy and service than other clubs in the area.

"I can see that," Fiona laughs, groping for my arm as the song changes and the entire place is draped in darkness. I hold it out for her, a spark traveling over my skin at her touch.

I lead her through the club, taking her to the back area. The difference between the two is staggering, as we enter the bright lights of the kitchen and travel through the storage rooms where we keep the liquor.

"Noch, and all our other clubs, are completely independent of the Family," I say, clearing my throat and glancing at her. We've come to a door at the back of the building, and I put my hand on her back, gesturing for her to open it.

"What does that mean?"

"Well, the Milovs are a very powerful group around here," I say, climbing the steps behind her and staring at her ass in that dress. "That means they own a lot of businesses and property."

"Like the retirement place."

"Exactly."

"But this isn't a Milov property?"

"Not in the broad sense, no—this is just for my siblings and me. In fact, doing this was Anya's idea. She came up with the interior concept and theme for it. She also—well, Anya had a friend who was too tied up in our family. He started a business, but used one of our buildings, got funding from us, and took advantage of the Milov name. At the end of it all, his bagel shop just became another Milov holding."

"That's awful," Fiona says, breathing a little hard. "Also, where the hell are you taking me?"

"Just a few more flights," I say, laughing at the pinched look on her face. "But the point is that I want my siblings to have something outside the Family business—something that belongs solely to ourselves."

Finally, Fiona reaches the top of the staircase and stops, taking a moment to breathe before pushing open the door and stepping through.

Outside, the view is beautiful, with Las Vegas stretching out before us, glittering and bright. Fiona puts her hand to her chest, taking a shaky breath as she takes it in.

"Wow," she says, finally. "I've lived here my whole life, but I've never seen the city quite like this."

"It's the best view in Las Vegas," I say, watching as she moves to the rooftop's edge. My protective instincts alert at the sight of her so close to the edge, and I'm reminded of that first night when I first arrived in the office building to take her. It's hard to believe it was only a week ago—I've known this woman for such a short time. I think of her stabbing Viktor and fighting me, telling me that if I touch Olive, she will kill me.

Olive still seems like the best way to get to Allard. His prize jewel. If he cares about anything, it's his daughter. I shake the thought away, focusing on Fiona instead.

I'm a strong man with plenty of weapons and manpower at my disposal, and yet, looking at her as the lights of the city bounce off her dress, I don't doubt that she could. Fiona isn't the kind of person who's initially intimidating—she's the kind of person who will win through sheer tenacity. Through never stopping until she's done the thing she plans to do.

"So, why business school?" I ask, remembering how interested she had been when I was showing her around our operations. She glances up at me, shrugging for a moment, before deciding to tell me.

"Well," she says, turning her face back to the view. "For a while, I thought I might become a cop. All the training I got from my dad might have been worthwhile in that pursuit. Then I realized I hate cops and there's no way I want to be one of them," she laughs, running a hand over her hair.

"I didn't really feel passionate about anything—it wasn't like I wanted to be a starving artist or save the world. So, business felt like a good bet. It felt like a path I could take to be supported. Because here's the thing about how I grew up with my dad—we were poor. Like, dirt poor. We lived in a trailer. We ate banquet meals we bought on sale to get them for less than a dollar. For all the training I did as a kid, it was hard to gain muscle because our diet was just not right for it."

I stare at her, thinking of my own childhood. Of course, growing up in the Family meant there were certain horrors I had to endure—like accidentally walking in on an interrogation or discovering that a rival clan had murdered my uncle—but I always had everything I needed and more right in front of me.

"Business was a way for me to secure the only kind of future I care about. One in which I don't have to worry about money. One where I always have food and somewhere to live. Right now, trying to pay for tuition? Olive's kindness and her family taking me in over the summers and holiday breaks are the only things that's kept me afloat."

A heavy silence falls between us at the mention of Olive's name. The hairs on the back of my neck raise when I realize that, despite everything I've shown her in the past few days—including the atrocities Allard has committed—Fiona still feels strongly that Olive isn't involved.

And maybe that's true. But in this world, you don't give anyone the benefit of the doubt. It's guilty until proven innocent. Or until dead. I can't afford to risk my entire family because I want to spare the life of a poor little socialite who might turn out to be Allard's greatest weapon.

"I meant what I said," Fiona says, her tone quiet and violent. "About if you touch Olive. I know you're practically a mob boss, and you have all these guys willing to give their lives for you, but if you hurt her, I will make it my mission for the rest of my life to hurt you back."

"I know," I sigh, touching the cool stone wall surrounding the rooftop. "But that can't change my course of action. I wish I could take your word for it, Fiona, but the truth is that I hardly know you. My brothers aren't convinced that you're not an Allard spy—"

"— you kidnapped me —"

"—so, at this point, leaving Olive alone isn't an option. I need to secure her. That was the original plan."

Fiona steps away from me, pressing her lips together in a straight line. I can still see the protectiveness there for her friend, but also something else—hurt?

"Oh," she says, laughing a bit and looking at her feet. "You still plan to marry Olive, then."

"No—" I start, but I don't have a chance to say anything else because Fiona turns, running for the stairs. I chase after her, my brain and body flashing back to that first time, caging her in the office building, and I can't help it—I get turned on.

There's something about playing cat-and-mouse with this woman that makes me crazy.

When we hit the main floor, Fiona dashes through the kitchens, startling the staff. I apologize to them as I do the same, right on her tail, until she opens the door to the nightclub and slips into the throng of people.

My heart is pounding as I stand, nearly a full head taller than the crowd, and look for that familiar flash of hair, that sparkling dress.

But there are many women here dressed like that, and many of them seem to know who I am because they start clinging to my body, purring in my ear, and asking for a dance. Frustration rises inside me—finding Fiona is my top priority.

My nightclub is one of the safest in Vegas, at least for a Milov. But that doesn't eliminate threats. And if she goes out one of the side doors?

I try to think like Fiona and figure out what she would do if she didn't want to be found by me. She's not your average person who might just keep running through the crowd blindly, trying to get to an exit. She's conniving. Clever.

Realization hits me, and I turn, working my way to the coat check on the other side of the floor. Halfway there, I see Fiona squirming and dancing her way through the crowd.

She was on her way to steal a coat as a disguise. Would she truly have left?

When my hand wraps around her wrist, she twists, attempting to put me in a hold, but I know better. I drop her wrist and move forward so my body is pressed against hers. I can feel how quickly she's breathing and how fast her heart is beating.

Fiona looks up at me, and I realize that, for the first time since I abducted her more than a week ago, tears are running down her face.

"Fiona," I whisper, my chest squeezing as I look at her. Obviously, she cares for her friend, but there's something else to this. Fiona doesn't want me to kidnap Olive because she thinks that means I would marry her.

Would I? That was the plan in the beginning—to marry Allard's daughter and legally take her from him—but that doesn't seem like the best course of action now. And it has everything to do with the woman staring up at me.

"I'm giving you thirty seconds," she whispers, "before I'm leaving."

"I'm not going to marry Olive," I say, leaning down so she can hear me. The crowd is moving around us, manipulating our bodies, sending us into the flow of the music. "I couldn't."

"Why not?"

"You know why."

"I don't think I do."

"Well," I say, taking a deep breath. "My heart is taken by someone else."

Fiona continues to stare up at me, her eyes searching my face. Then, slowly, she puts her arms around my neck, and we give into the crowd's sway.

We dance together, slow at first, then faster when the tempo of the song changes. Fiona turns out to be an amazing dancer, her hips moving in time, sliding ever so slightly against mine, making me crazy for her.

Everywhere our skin touches feels like a spark, zipping through my body, reviving me. My hands are desperate, hauling her body against mine, feeling her ass through her dress. I don't care that we're in public; I don't care who can see me as I run my hands down the front of her body, skimming over her breasts, her stomach, and her hip bones.

I can tell it's affecting her, too—she's panting, her eyes dark and heated every time she spins around to face me. My hands tighten on her hips—this is it. I can't wait any longer. There's a room in the back that has our name on it, and when I start tugging her in that direction, she comes willingly.

I sense something is off just as Fiona tugs on my hand.

"Boris!" she says, her voice washed out by the noise, the throbbing mass of bodies, the strobing lights. Then, when I turn, I see the guy moving through the crowd too determinedly, something glinting in his hand.

A knife.

Heading straight for Fiona.

I move before I can think, I'm placing my body in front of hers, yelling for people to clear out. Clearly having lost his primary target, the guy's eyes lock on me, and before I can do anything—lunge forward, knock the knife away, punch him in the face—I feel the sharp sting of a knife burying itself in my ribs.

This is why Viktor would claim romantic love is nothing but a liability. If it was anyone but Fiona with me, I would have been clear-headed and would have had plenty of time and space to take that motherfucker out. Instead, I can feel the warm ooze of blood as it saturates my dress shirt and dinner jacket.

" Boris ," Fiona gasps, trying to catch me as I crumple to the ground. Before everything goes black, I hear a wet thump and then a loud thud next to me. Someone starts to call 911, but Fiona stops them, dialing someone else instead.

"Hello?" I hear her say as the edges of the vision blink out. "Anya? We need help!"