Nikolai: The Complete Collection

28. Nikolai

28

NIKOLAI

R esolute silence falls over the Popov compound when I walk into the foyer hand in hand with Justine.

Seeing Justine alive and in one piece tells my crew everything they need to know.

A new king has been crowned, and he has his queen at his side.

Any chance of misconceiving the new reign flies out the window when Rico enters the foyer, lugging a red-faced Malvina.

Shock hangs heavily in the air as the silence shifts to murmured hums, my crew equally stunned and frightened by Rico’s return.

“Go.” Rico nudges his head to the stairwell that leads to the sleeping quarters on the second floor. “Take care of Justine. Trey and I will get everything under control down here.”

Trey’s lips quirk as he nods his agreement with Rico’s plan. “We know where to find you if we need you.”

I nod at their suggestion, not the least bit concerned by the demand in Rico’s tone. He must be on his toes, or my men will eat him alive. It’s lucky he’s more than capable of taking care of himself. Justine, on the other hand, hasn’t stopped shaking since we entered the SUV nearly thirty minutes ago.

I don’t know if she’s in shock or having a hard time working through the adrenaline pumping into her tiny frame.

Whatever it is, I won’t leave her side until the woman I see behind her shield reemerges, hopefully more potent than ever.

“Take care of everything but her,” I demand, my eyes straying from Trey to Malvina. “We’ve got a few matters to discuss before she returns to Russia. If she returns to Russia.”

Malvina swallows harshly, her pupils expanding.

I wait for Rico and Trey to acknowledge my command before I lead Justine toward the stairwell.

Although Justine weakens me, I keep my head high as we move by the thirty or so suspicious pairs of eyes gawking at us. Now is not the time to show vulnerability. Vladimir is dead, but the fight is only just beginning. My family has lived by the same rules for the past three hundred years, but all good leaders know rules are meant to be broken.

As news of Vladimir’s death circulates, my list of challengers will grow. This is not an assumption. It is a given.My opponents are smart men, but they will do their best not to underestimate me. I am well aware they only encouraged me to oust Vladimir with the hope it would open opportunities for them in our industry.

It won’t.

I didn’t solely dethrone Vladimir as a means of keeping Justine safe. I intend to take his place, meaning the Popov entity will continue to rule the West Coast and thrive under my command.

If my competitors believe removing Vladimir from his throne has compromised my crew, they will be taught a harsh lesson. My men are the strongest they’ve ever been, an unstoppable force that will have no qualms reminding those who double-cross me of the consequences of their disrespect.

Whether I’m seen as a mafia prince or a king, disrespecting me carries the punishment of death. Vladimir’s dethroning hasn’t altered that fact.

“Bring us food and water,” I instruct a group of housemaids watching my trek across the expansive foyer with ashen faces and moisture-filled eyes.

Don’t underestimate their dour response. They aren’t shedding tears of sadness—they’re relieved. Vladimir was a cruel man who had many enemies. Most were direct descendants. He governed our family with an iron fist, meaning not even those closest to him will mourn his loss. He raised me, yet I feel nothing.

Not remorse.

Not guilt.

Nothing.

I don’t know what I expected to feel upon confirmation of his death, but I anticipated it to be something greater than nothing.

Upon entering my bedroom, Justine gasps. That’s the first noise she’s made in the past forty minutes.

The reason for her sigh is exposed when I spot some of her belongings scattered sparingly around my space.

“Roman,” I explain to her shocked gaze.

The instant I denied Roman’s repeated request to join our raid tonight, his focus would have shifted in another direction. He knew I would stop at nothing to bring Justine home, so he made sure everything was ready for her return.

“My parents,” Justine garbles when her eyes zoom in on her family portrait sitting on my bedside table. She swallows several times to relieve her parched throat before asking, “Do they know I’m still in Vegas? My dad was going to pick me up at the airport. Oh god, I need to call them. They’ll be panicked out of their minds.”

She stops scanning my room for a phone when I dig my cell out of my pocket. Although I had Roman update her parents on the delay in her return home, I’m sure they’d rather hear it directly from Justine.

“Thank you,” she faintly whispers, accepting my phone.

While dialing a number she knows by heart, she paces to my bed and then sits down. I watch her in silence, both proud and in shock. I’m proud of how controlled and serene she is, but shocked at how naturally she fits into my private space.

It’s so natural seeing her here. It is like she has always belonged here—a queen in her palace.

Over the next twenty minutes, I try to keep my interest away from Justine’s conversation. I fail. Discretion has never been a strong point for me—most notably when it comes to Justine. She tells her parents on repeat that she is safe and blames her lack of contact on a dead cell battery.

Every white lie spilled from her lips adds to the red hue on her nape. I don’t blame her for lying, though. With one child already incarcerated, the last thing her parents need to hear is that she was just freed from her own prison.

After promising to call them at a more appropriate time tomorrow, Justine disconnects her call. Hating the tears glistening in her eyes, I stab out my half-smoked cigarette into an ashtray before pulling her into my chest. She is shaking even more now.

“They were so worried,” she murmurs, her warm breath tickling my neck.

“They weren’t the only ones.” I keep my tone low, ensuring she won’t hear me. She doesn’t need more weight added to the guilt on her shoulders.

We stay huddled together for the next ten minutes. I’ve barely had a moment of quiet my entire life, so this should feel out of the ordinary. It doesn’t. It’s nice. Actually, it’s more than fucking nice. It’s great. I’ve got my woman in my arms, my crown on my head, and my life back.

It can’t get better than this.

At one point today I was worried I’d never hold her in my arms again, so even with lust building between us like an out-of-control wildfire, I keep my arms glued to her waist and my lips pressed against her sweat-slicked temple.

It’s a fucking challenging feat.

I crave this woman like a drug, and every hit adds to my addiction.

“I can’t stop shaking,” Justine murmurs a short time later, her jitters resonating in her tone.

“It’s the adrenaline. I didn’t sleep for three days after my first raid because I was so hyped up.”

She peels her head off my chest. “So this is normal?” she asks, her eyes bouncing between mine. “I’m not… weird ?”

The unease in her voice makes me smile. “No, Ангел , you are not weird.” I stroke her cheek with my finger, easing the worry in her eyes. My chest puffs high when my meager touch heats her face enough that the faint bruise on her left cheek fades. “Why would you think you are weird?”

The deepness of my tone can’t hide the desire in my voice. My response can’t be helped. I’m barely touching her, but her body is responding as if I’m balls deep inside her. Her eyes are wide and brimming with lust, and the intoxicating scent of her cunt is lingering in the air. If her mental well-being wasn’t my primary focus, the only shaking she’d be doing would be the result of ecstasy.

“I’m just… Ah…” Justine grazes her teeth over her bottom lip, causing my cock to twitch.“I’m kind of horny,” she murmurs in quick succession, her words coming out in a flurry.

A growl rolls up my chest as my cock flexes against my zipper.

That wasn’t a response I was anticipating.

Upon hearing my growl, Justine stills, her seductive scent amplifying. She fists my shirt, the yearning in her eyes indisputable.

“No, Ангел . Not yet.” My words are rough, strangled by the lust clutching my throat.

Denying her is more complex than any challenge I’ve faced, but her needs must be placed before my own. She walked through the gates of hell today, so until I’m confident the endorphins roaring through her body are solely due to lust, I can’t answer the silent plea in her eyes.

I know from experience that one wrong move tonight could set her recovery back by months, so I’m not willing to risk her sanity just to have her screaming my name.

“Nikolai—”

“No, Ангел ,” I interrupt, my tone leaving nothing off the table. My reply wasn’t a suggestion. It was a command. “I will feed you, shower you, then put you to bed, but I will not fuck you. Not tonight.”

Justine groans, making my cock thicken more. It wasn’t a groan of disappointment. It was a groan of a woman on a mission. She knows what she wants and is as determined as ever to get it.

I love that about her. Her spirit. Her fight. Her insatiably greedy cunt that gets needier with every pounding I give it.

Mercifully, I’m saved from breaking my pledge when a knock at the door breaks through the heady silence teeming between us. Justine groans for the second time in under a minute. This one is a groan of disappointment.

Smirking at her needy response, I move to the door. “By the bed,” I instruct the two Popov housemaids on the other side.

Justine’s eyes bulge when they wheel a large selection of food and beverages across the wooden floorboards of my room. The wheels on the trolley have barely stopped spinning when she plucks a bread roll out of a basket and tears it apart.

“Mmm…” she moans as her eyes lift to the women serving her. “This is so good. Thank you so much.”

The two stout ladies balk for the quickest second before dipping their chins in thanks for Justine’s praise.

Compliments are a rarity in the Popov compound.

Once they remove the protective film from the mountain load of food they’ve supplied, they exit the room without so much of a glance in my direction.

Eye contact has never been highly favored, either.

“Not too much sugar.” I command, pacing over to stand next to her. “Sugar and adrenaline are a lethal combination.”

Justine rolls her eyes before popping a картофель пирожное into her mouth. The moan she releases when the fatty carbs melts on her tongue has my cock thickening all over again.

“Oh my god, what is that?”

She doesn’t wait for me to answer her question before she devours another kкартофель пирожное , closely followed by another, then another.

“You better hurry, Nikolai, or you’ll miss out,” she garbles through a mouthful of food, her husky tone revealing food isn’t the only item she is offering for me to devour.

Pretending I can’t feel my cock knocking against the zipper of my jeans, I sit on the edge of my bed, happy to watch her eat. With my stomach still dealing with that weird, twisty feeling I’ve had most of the day, I’m not hungry.

Furthermore, I need a moment to determine why my hands are still shaking. Justine is alive and well, standing right in front of me, but the shudder in my hands is undeniable. It is as strong now as when I first saw her with a noose around her neck.

Maybe that’s why my adrenaline is the strongest it’s ever been. From seeing Justine taunted to the brink of insanity in the same room that drove me insane.