Nikolai: Taking Back What’s Mine (Russian Mob Chronicles Book 2)

“Nikolai. . .” Justine’s throat works hard to swallow before she forces out the rest of her sentence. “You can’t kill your father. Y-y-you can’t.”

My knuckles popping when I clench my fists is the only audible noise over the manic beat of Justine’s heart. The lust in her eyes has faded, but that’s not what has rendered me speechless. I’m silent because of the cloud of terror briskly forming in her eyes. I’ve worked hard the past thirty-six hours renewing the life our exchange with Vladimir caused to her eyes, and now that prick is once again dousing it.

Vladimir may be the man who raised me, but he is not my father. All Vladimir’s children have eyes darkened by the ashes they were born in, so my icy blue eyes had me combatting suspicions most of my childhood. Believing they were spoken by vindictive men wishing they were me, I brushed them off as envy. Little did I know every sneered taunt was true.

I am the byproduct of a woman pushed to the brink by a man she loved. Desperate and delusional, my mother pledged to birth Vladimir a son at any cost—even her life. I am the result of that guarantee. I was raised as a prince in one world, where, in reality, I am king of another.

“It’s either me or him, Ahren. Who would you prefer?” The tick in my jaw grows. I didn’t mean for my tone to come out the way it did, sharp and direct, one I generally reserve for my crew.

Justine isn’t a member of my crew. She is unlike any woman I’ve met. She’s smart, has a face that could bring men to ecstasy just looking at it, and has a body more sinful than Satan, but that’s not why I’m attracted to her. It is the woman I see behind the shield. The one who didn’t cower when going head-to-head with a mafia prince. The one who battled the most vicious man in my crew and survived without a scratch on her. That’s the woman I crave like a drug, not the one staring at me with a pained expression on her face.

Although worry continues clouding Justine’s eyes, its rate slows when I run my index finger down her cheek before it drifts along her collarbone. She breathes noisily when my trek moves to the small bite-marks gracing the tops of her shoulder. Justine hates her scars, but I think they’re beautiful. They reveal that even angels can be sent to hell and come out the other end stronger than they went in. If someone so innocent can survive Satan’s wrath, who’s to say I can’t do the same?

“I can’t keep my promise if he remains breathing, Ahren.”

Justine’s breathing switches from shallow pants to quick gasps when my hand drops to the generous swell of her breasts. I glide my finger over her budded nipple. It hardens even more from my meekest touch. The heaviness on my chest is pushed aside for smugness. I love the way she responds to my touch, her desires more potent than her worry.

“He’ll take this away from me.” I lift and lock my eyes with hers. “He’ll take you away from me. I’d rather slit his throat than let him come between us again.”

Tears glisten in Justine’s unique aquamarine eyes as her teeth graze her bottom lip. She doesn’t need to speak for me to hear her internal battle. I can see it in her eyes, smell it on her skin. She’s not worried about Vladimir. She is concerned about what this will do to me.

She doesn’t need to fear. While raised in the shadow of a monster, I learned his greatest tricks. I know how Vladimir thinks. I know what makes him tick. So there isn’t a man in the world more suitable for this task than me.

“There must be another way, Nikolai. Murder can’t be your only option. . .”

Justine’s words trail off when I shake my head. “There is no other way. What I said was true. Anything I want, Vladimir takes. But I’ll be fucked if I let him take you away from me. I will not give you up, Justine. Not in a million years.”

An offer sneered in Russian nearly lost me the chance of making Justine mine. I will not fuck it up a second time. Roman is like a father to me; he’s been my “uncle” since the day I was born, but I wanted to slice the tendons in his thighs and watch him fall to his knees when he suggested I use Justine’s scars to diminish Vladimir’s interest in her. I should have cut out his tongue for even suggesting Justine was anything but perfect, but instead, I took the coward’s way out, deciding Justine’s safety was more vital than maintaining her dignity.

I was wrong.

The look on Justine’s face when she discovered what I had done cut me raw. I’ve fought in the most brutal battles—my body wears the medals of my triumphs—but not one scar I’ve endured my past twenty-eight years maimed me as much as it did when it dawned on Justine what I had done. The pain in her eyes scorched my soul, issuing me with a wound I’ll carry for eternity.

That wound didn’t just confirm I have a heart beating in my chest; it struck me down from a god to a mere man. I was raised believing I was a prince, and those beneath me were my servants. Now, I realize that isn’t true. There is only one king in this story. I am not him. I am the mere pawn he mind-fucked to seek shallow revenge. I am not his son. I am not even his sergeant. I am the man who will teach him his greatest lesson.

An eye for an eye.

A life for a life.

A crown for a crown.

Vladimir fucked with what is mine, and now he’ll pay the ultimate price. It’s time for the king to be removed from his throne, and who better to do that than the man who will take his place?