“Yes, you are,” Nikolai said, his voice low and stern. “I’ll call a car for you. And I’ll take Nadia home myself.”
Maxim looked absolutely furious. He balled up his fists and opened his mouth to argue. But there wasn’t much he could do with Nikolai looming over him. Even if he had been sober, he stood no chance in a fight. And he was all alone in the house, while Nikolai could call any number of men with a snap of his fingers.
“Fine,” Maxim spat resentfully. “Nadia, call me the minute you get home.”
“Alright,” Nadia said hesitantly.
She wasn’t much more pleased about the arrangements than Maxim himself.
Still, she followed Nikolai back down the hallways toward the front door.
“Wait here,” Nikolai ordered. “I’ll get your coat.”
* * *
10
Nikolai
Nikolai drove his Zenvo down the dark roads toward Zhukovka. In his peripheral view, he could see Nadia’s lovely but rather stiff figure, sitting as far away from him as possible.
He hadn’t intended to steal her from her fiancé so immediately and forcefully, but he couldn’t help himself. He’d felt a genuine flash of rage when Maxim had grabbed her by the arm. What did that sniveling little shit think he was doing, laying hands on this beautiful creature?
Nikolai couldn’t allow it.
And in truth, he hadn’t wanted to let Nadia out of his sight anyway.
He’d been enjoying talking to her. She had such a mischievous and expressive face. Those eyes were bewitching. And those dimples, when she’d actually smiled—they were every bit as charming as he’d imagined. He loved the way they flashed into view, bracketing the sharp white smile that burst into existence and then extinguished again almost as quickly—as soon as she looked at her boorish fiancé.
That was a tragedy that had to end at once.
Even if he hadn’t been given the task of wooing Nadia, Nikolai couldn’t stand to see her with that idiot. What was her family thinking? It was like giving a priceless Ming vase to a toddler. Maxim Oleksei could never understand or appreciate her. He could only damage her.
In fact, Nikolai could see the faint marks of a bruise rising on her upper arm, where Maxim had grabbed her. It made Nikolai want to tear his fucking face off.
He wondered, for a moment, if that would be the easiest way to accomplish his goal. He could have Maxim murdered, perhaps even that night. It would be so efficient, and so satisfying.
But then, Nadia would have to mourn her boyfriend, and that would take too long.
Far better to steal her away. That should be even easier than Nikolai had expected. It was obvious that Nadia and Maxim’s relationship was already hanging by a thread. All Nikolai had to do was find the right pair of scissors...
“So,” he said to Nadia, “what are you doing in Moscow?”
“Just visiting family,” she said.
“Where are you staying?”
“My grandfather’s house. It’s on—"
“I know where to go,” he assured her.
She shot him a quick, suspicious look.
Nikolai knew she didn’t trust him. She was aware of the history between their families, or some of it at least. He’d have to work hard to put her at ease.
Asking about the grandfather wasn’t any good—Nikolai knew the old man was a senile wreck, and it would only remind her of the very things Nikolai wanted her to forget. Was she aware, for instance, that their grandfathers had once nearly killed each other in a bathhouse in Sochi? Nikolai’s grandfather had shown him the silvery net of scars on his back where Stanislav Lebedev had thrown him into the brazier of heated stones.
No, the relatives were a touchy topic.
