Page 120 of Tarnished Tyrant (Zhukova Bratva 1)

“You’re here because I want you here,” he continues, his voice a low growl. “That’s all you need to worry about. That’s the only truth that counts.”

It sounds nice. I wish I could take it at face value. But his words bounce off of me, unable to penetrate the walls I’ve been constructing for years and years.

“I don’t think you do anything simply because you want to,” I tell him. “You could… but you don’t. You have too many responsibilities. Everything serves a purpose.”

“And how would you know?”

“Takes one to know one,” I tell him with a shrug.

“Hm. I suppose you’re not wrong.”

“Called it.”

“You are here because I want you here,” he says, turning to lean against the sofa. “But you’re also here because someone else doesn’t want you here. And I don't take orders from anyone."

I blink. Now, that is surprising. I wasn’t expecting that.

“Who doesn’t want me here?”

Before Nikolai can answer, there’s a knock on the door. He turns and answers it, accepting our food from one of his staff. And even though he pays their salaries, he slips the man a cash tip large enough that the man actually bows in gratitude.

Nikolai comes back in and arranges the food on the coffee table in front of us. He hands me a toasted bacon and arugula sandwich with burrata cheese and honey, all of which I know only because there’s a handwritten note pinned to the serving tray.

Then he pours me a mug of hot chocolate from a stainless steel thermos. The liquid comes out a thick, milk chocolate brown. It looks nothing like the watery crap I’m used to.

I take a sip and bite back a groan. “Holy shit.”

“Good?” he asks, chuckling.

“Beyond,” I say, taking another sip. “I feel like I’m drinking from Willy Wonka’s chocolate river.”

He blinks as my words fail to land.

“Don’t tell me you’ve never seen that movie.”

Nikolai shrugs. “Then I won’t tell you that.”

“You’re an alien,” I mutter. “Absolute freaking alien.”

He shrugs again. “I didn’t have much time for stuff like that.”

"Too busy playing war?"

"Too busy surviving," he bites back.

“Maybe we have more in common than I thought.”

Nikolai takes a bite of his sandwich and then pushes mine towards me with his pinky, silently encouraging me to eat. I listen, grabbing the sandwich with both hands and taking a bite. As expected, it’s insanely delicious.

“Elise made it sound like the two of you didn’t exactly have a family from a Norman Rockwell painting,” he remarks.

I’m impressed. Pretty diplomatic phrasing for a man who doesn’t usually mince words.

“To say the least,” I agree bitterly. “The very least.” I sigh and lean back on the couch. “I tried to make things better for her. I’m so much older. And I at least had some idea of what a good parent could be. I mean, I had…”

My voice fades away, the words lost to the emotion constricting my throat.

“Had what?” Nikolai prods.

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