by Leslie North
Even as danger closes in around them, their attraction soon becomes undeniable. But as Nik descends deeper into his criminal ways to keep innocent Daphne safe, can he ever feel worthy of her love?
1
Nik
Nik Volkov rapped the non-descript white apartment door lightly three times and stepped back, holding the bouquet of flowers in his hand higher in front of his face. Daises and carnations weren’t really his style, nor was standing on the doorstep of strange women bearing enticing gifts. But Nik was desperate. Besides, the blooms helped block the view of his identity if said woman looked through her peephole before answering.
Nothing happened.
Growing impatient, he glanced both ways down the hall. He wasn’t a man used to waiting. Not in his profession. In his line of work, hesitation could mean the difference between life and death. A lesson his good friend, Tolya—God rest his soul—had learned the hard way. That had been three months ago. Now, there were just five weeks until his murderer stood trial and Nik planned to ensure that dirty bastard cop Nolan Hornbull got the maximum sentence that was coming to him.
That’s why he was here today—insurance. This woman was the only credible witness they had to the coldblooded slaying of his friend, and Nik damned sure meant to guarantee she survived long enough to testify.
After making sure there were no witnesses, Nik stepped closer to the door again and pulled a small black leather pouch from his suit jacket pocket with one hand, still blocking his face with the bouquet in the other. There was more than one way to get inside the apartment. He’d tried the conventional way, with no luck. So, it seemed shadier methods would be necessary. He crouched and set the flowers aside to select two picks from his collection. But just as he held them to the knob, the door flew open.
“What the—” The woman, Daphne Allman, stared down at Nik with startled eyes, her gaze darting from him to the picks in his hand to the flowers on the floor. “Why are you here?”
Nik stared up at her—wavy, dark blond hair, aqua blue eyes, an hourglass figure that would’ve made Marilyn Monroe jealous—and exhaled slow. “We need to talk.”
Her shocked expression slowly dissolved into irritation. “I’ve got nothing to say to you.”
She started to close the door, but Nik straightened and shoved his foot between the door and the jam. “Yes, you do. I know you witnessed Tolya’s murder. I am a powerful man with even more powerful allies. Talk to me, tell me what you saw, and I swear I will protect you, Daphne.”
“How do you know my name?” she said, her voice trembling slightly as the color blanched from her creamy, tanned cheeks. “Oh, God! You’re one of them, aren’t you?” Her gaze dropped to his hands, marked with Bratva tattoos signaling both his affiliation in the Russian mafia organization and his position—Avtoriyet in Russian or Brigadier in English. He’d worked long and hard to get where he was and he sure as fuck wasn’t embarrassed by his past. In his world, embarrassment and compassion were luxuries one could not afford. He also could not afford to lose his chance to protect Daphne.
Nik bent and swiped the bouquet from the floor then shoved his way inside the apartment, thrusting the flowers into the stunned woman’s hands to keep her occupied as he scanned the room for dangers and quick exits. Bright, sunny, several large windows on one side with a rusted metal fire escape outside. The walls were off white and the floors a warm honey oak hardwood. There was a small living room, galley-style kitchen with a breakfast bar, a doorway leading into what appeared to be a bedroom, another that must have led to the bathroom. That was it. Not much different than Nik’s own place in Chicago’s Ukrainian Village. Except his was about four times the size of this shoebox.
“You can’t just barge in here,” Daphne said, scowling at him around the flowers. “This is private property—I’ll call the cops on you.”
“No, you won’t.” Nik gave her a flat stare, the one his men—or Boyevik, Russian for warriors—knew meant do-what-I-say-or-pay-the-consequences. “Are you alone?”
“Even if I were, why the hell would I tell you, asshole?” She tossed the bouquet down onto the granite bar with enough force to knock some petals loose, then faced him with a mulish expression. His comparison of her with bombshell Marilyn Monroe was soon replaced by a much different one: General Patton. Daphne stalked toward him, seemingly uncaring about his frightening stare or his position as the top commander to the local Pakhan, or Bratva head. He led the most ruthless, most deadly group of killers in the Midwest, yet this woman advanced on him like an armored tank, her finger poking into his chest like a bayonet. “Listen, buddy. You’ve got exactly thirty seconds to get the hell out of my apartment or I’m dialing 911, got it?”
She waggled the phone in her other hand as proof.
“Do you know who I am?” he asked, frowning as she forced him back a step.
“I don’t give a shit if you’re the second coming of Christ himself. I want you out of my home now!”
“I am here to help you,” Nik said, bumping his leg into the sharp corner of a coffee table. He cursed loud then held up his hands in mock surrender. “I have resources that can—”
“Dialing,” she said, using her thumb to punch in numbers on her phone, her gaze never leaving his. Nik exhaled slow and struggled to keep a grip on the ever-increasing tension coiling inside him. Not because she was calling the cops. If he had a dime for every time someone called the police on him or his men, he’d be the richest billionaire in the Ukraine by now. No. There was only one law enforcement officer at the top of his mind now—Nolan Hornbull. And if Hornbull somehow intercepted this annoyingly persistent female’s message, then they were both in a world of shit. Rather than skirting the issue of what was at stake here, he went straight for the jugular of reasons.
“I know you witnessed the murder of my good friend, Tolya Sokolov. I know that even as we speak the man who killed him is looking for you too. I know that the cops can do nothing to protect you until the trial and that you will be dead by tonight if you don’t let me help you. I know this because the Bratva has discovered it was not a rival mafia that killed Tolya. It was someone much more dangerous—a dirty cop.”
“What? No.” Her thumb hovered over the phone screen, her gaze locked with his. “You’re lying. The cops promised me I’d have twenty-four seven surveillance until I testify.”
“Da?” He pointed toward the windows. “Check for yourself. There’s no one down there. No one to protect you. No one but me.”
She backed slowly to gaze down to the busy street below. “They’re probably undercover. I wouldn’t notice them.”
“I made it up here.” Nik forced his tense shoulders to relax as he watched her. His orders were never questioned. Neither was his word. Yet here was this girl, this woman, who’d challenged both in less than five minutes. Instead of irritating him as it had at first, though, he found now he kind of liked it. Maybe it was because her bravery and fire reminded him of his own dear mother. Not to mention this Daphne Allman was about the prettiest thing he’d seen in a very long time. “If I could get to you, then so can the killer. I assure you, Tolya was like a brother to me. Nothing will make me happier than to have you put the bastards who took his life behind bars for eternity. I am here to ensure that you are alive and well to do that. I mean you no harm, I swear.”
Daphne gave him an uncertain look. Smart woman to question everything. That would keep her safe over the coming days. He’d told her the truth too. His mission here, per his Pakhan, was to keep her secure until she could testify.
“No one’s threatened me,” she said, apprehension now creeping into her tone. “No one’s called or even visited this place except you. I doubt I’m in that much danger.”
“You would be wrong.” He slowly closed the distance between them, reading her wary body language and ready to react instantly if she tried to bolt. “To answer your earlier question, I know your name and your address from the police reports from the incident. Reports my men ob
tained through our contacts within the Chicago PD. And if I can find that information out, then so can Tolya’s murderer. In fact, I would guess that he most likely already has your location and is just biding his time until he attacks you.”
Her blue eyes widened and her arms fell slack at her sides. “Oh, God! If he can find me, that means he can find my mom too. I need to call her, warn her—”
She raised her phone again, this time punching in different numbers. Nik stopped while she waited for her mother to pick up. Her worried expression made him want to sweep her into his arms and soothe her fears. He frowned against the errant urge. In his line of work, in his life, he’d learned to keep business and love separate. One had absolutely no place in the other. Period. End of story. Now was not the time to change his rules on that, no matter how tempting.
“Hello?” she said, turning away from him slightly. “Yes, this is Daphne Allman, Mrs. Allman’s daughter. I was just calling to check in with her. I’d like to speak with her directly, if she’s coherent enough to come to the phone herself.” There was a pause, then Daphne’s face lit up with a smile, even as tears welled in her eyes. “Mama? Mama, it’s me. Daphne. Your daughter.”
From the sound of it, her mother was not well. Alzheimer’s, perhaps, or maybe dementia.
“No, no, Mama. We’re in Chicago now, remember? Daddy’s not here. He’s gone.” She sighed, the sound heavy and full of burden. His urge to hold her grew stronger. He understood the responsibility of family, the overwhelming care, the never-ending bonds that tied people together. “Please, Mama. Don’t cry. It’s fine. I’m fine. Listen, listen, please. I need you to be careful, okay? I love you and I’m worried about you. If anyone comes to the door, you call me right away, all right? I’ll try to come over to see you as soon as I can, but until then you promise to call me, please?”
The concern in her tone made Nik’s heart pinch. He loved his own mother more than life itself and if anything happened to her, he’d be devastated. He couldn’t imagine how hard it must be for Daphne to have such difficulties with her own mother.
“Mama, I love you. Let me talk to the nurse again, please. Thank you, Mama. See you soon.” Daphne glanced up and saw Nik watching her. She raised a dark brow at him. “Privacy?”
He held up his hands and backed away a step or two.
Daphne held the line waiting for her mother’s nurse, glancing over her shoulder at the man who was currently standing in her living room, squinting at the Van Gogh poster on her wall like he was staring at the real thing. She walked the perimeter of the apartment as she spoke on the phone, just like she always did. Those conversations with her mother and her caretakers were too stressful to stay seated or rooted in one spot. She had to move, had to keep one step ahead of the tension that threatened to choke her each time she thought about her beloved mama sitting in that nursing home all alone. Familiar guilt squeezed her chest, but there was no way she could take care of Mama any more on her own. Mama’s dementia had progressed too far and Daphne had to work two jobs already just to make ends meet. The day she’d come home between jobs and found a dishtowel aflame on the stove had been the day she’d called the nursing home.
She sighed and leaned against the granite breakfast bar, watching the dangerous man in her home. She didn’t even know his name, but he’d been right. She had witnessed that poor man’s murder and deep inside she’d known that her life was going to change from that point forward. She’d just never realized how much—like strange men bursting into her apartment and swearing to protect her.
“This is Gladys,” the nurse on the other end of the line said. “How may I help you?”
“Hi, this is Daphne Allman,” she said, turning away fast when the man in her living room swiveled to look at her again. Her cheeks heated slightly under his perceptive stare. Despite her stress, she couldn’t help noticing the guy was straight-up hot—tall, well-muscled, chestnut brown hair, green eyes. And his whole bad-boy vibe. Gah. She’d always had a soft spot for wicked men. Daphne shook off those thoughts and concentrated on her mother. She couldn’t allow herself to be distracted by Mr. Dark and Dangerous. “Mrs. Allman’s daughter. I wondered if you could tell me if anything strange has happened with my mother lately? Any new visitors? Phone calls?”
“Uh, let me check the log here.” The sound of papers rustling issued through the phone line. “No. No one’s visited or called this past week except for you today. Oh. There is a note here that a letter came,” Gladys said. “In fact, it’s clipped here to the report. Let me just open it, with your permission.”
“Yes, please.” Daphne chewed on her nail and watched her uninvited guest take a seat on her sofa, stretching out his long legs and powerful arms like he owned the place. Once more, those tattoos on his hands caught her attention. Bratva. A real, live mafia man in her apartment. Her pulse beat harder and her hands trembled. And if what he said was true, both she and her mama were in imminent danger.
“Let’s see here,” the nurse said. “This is strange. It’s only three words.”
“What does it say?”
“Watch your back.” The nurse’s voice went suddenly flat and serious. “Maybe I should contact security about this. It sounds threatening.”
Her breath caught and her knees wobbled and if she hadn’t been gripping the counter so tight, Daphne would’ve slid right to the kitchen floor. Ohgod, ohgod, ohgod. “No, no. It’s fine, thank you. Just a friend’s idea of a bad joke. Thank you again for checking,” she managed to squeak before ending the call, not even hearing what the nurse said. The man across from her narrowed his gaze and pushed to his feet, reaching her in two long strides.
“What’s the matter?” He rounded the bar and took her by the shoulders. “Tell me.”
“It’s my mom. Someone sent a threatening letter to her at the nursing home. I don’t…” she shook her head, unable to process everything that was happening. “I don’t know what to do.”
“You’re coming with me. That’s what you’re going to do.” He turned her around and pushed her toward her bedroom. “Pack your things.”
“No.” Daphne dug in her heels. She might be feeling the first signs of shock, but no way in hell was she bailing on her mother. “I can’t leave. Mama needs me. I should call the police. Tell them what’s happening. They said they’d guard me until the trial.”
“No. No cops.”
Anger sliced through the chaos inside her like a scalpel. “What the hell do you mean no cops?”
“I said I will protect you and I will, but we must get you out of here and to a safe location. This place is too exposed.”
“And I said I’m not leaving my mother.” She crossed her arms and glowered up at him. He had to be at least six inches taller than her own five-five height, but she refused to be intimidated. “I love her and she has no one else. If I don’t take care of her, no one will.”
He grumbled under his breath in what sounded like Russian as he took her arm and literally dragged her into the bedroom then over to the closet, opening it up and rooting around before switching back to English. “Stubborn, infuriating, insufferable woman.”
“Excuse me?” She wrenched free of his hold. “Stop going through my stuff. What are you looking for anyway? Why should I trust you, huh? I don’t even know your name.”
“Nik,” he said, rummaging through her closet until he found her old suitcase then tossing it onto her bed. “Nik Volkov. Now start packing.”
“Fuck you. I’m calling the cops.” She started back out the door, only to have him yank the phone from her hands and shove it into his suit pocket. “Give that back!”
“Not until I have a chance to go through your contacts and make sure they’re safe. Now start packing or you’ll have nothing but the clothes on your body until the trial.” He gave her a slow head-to-toe appraisal that felt like a physical caress. Daphne swallowed hard and ran a hand over her plain white T-shirt and faded jeans. She had a rare day off and hadn’t been expecting compa
ny so she’d not dressed up at all, pulling her hair back into a low ponytail and no makeup even. Still, if his heated perusal was any indication, he liked what he saw. Part of her kind of liked the fact he was attracted to her. The other part of her was annoyed as hell at herself for feeling that way. The last thing she should be doing right now was getting all hot and bothered over this bossy Bolshevik. “Pack. Now.”
Said in the true tone of a man used to being obeyed.
Daphne honestly wanted to tell him where he could shove her suitcase and how far, but at the moment she had too much at stake. If what he’d said was true and the killer from that horrible night three months ago was now after her to keep her from testifying, then she needed to stay safe. More important, she needed to keep her innocent mother secure. Maybe if she went along with his incessant demands for a while, it would buy her time to manipulate him into protecting her mother too. Without a better plan in sight, she reluctantly started pulling clothes from her closet and dresser and shoving them into the suitcase he’d gotten. As she threw things inside the luggage, she glanced Nik’s way only to find him still watching her, his expression now unreadable as he leaned against the wall. “I’m sorry about your friend.”
He nodded, and finally looked away. “I will make sure justice is done for Tolya.”
She had no doubt he meant that too. An involuntary shudder ran through her. She couldn’t imagine being so cold, so ruthless, that taking another human life meant nothing to you. “How do you do it?”
“Do what?”
“What you do,” she waved her hand dismissively. “All the brutality.”
“Brutality is what keeps me alive.” Nik shrugged, his gaze lowered. “It’s my reality.”