Page 189 of Tarnished Tyrant (Zhukova Bratva 1)

Five minutes into searching, it’s obvious that, wherever the paper trail is for all of Nikolai’s many sins, it isn’t here. This room is giving up a whole lot of nothing.

With a groan, I flop back in his desk chair and twirl around. And that’s when I see it.

On the middle shelf straight in front of me… are two framed pictures.

Drawings, actually. Sketches.

From my sketchbook.

I stand up slowly and creep towards the shelves as if the drawings might disappear if I move too quickly.

The first one is the sketch Nikolai stole from me in the conference room at Zhukova Incorporated. A half-finished pencil drawing I did just to ease my nerves. I can still see the creases in the paper where Nikolai folded it into fourths and tucked it in his pocket.

The thought of him pulling it out later, unfolding it, slipping it into a frame… I swallow a lump in my throat.

The sketch in the next frame is the one I worked on in Iceland. A fantastical house that defies the laws of physics. Because that’s what it felt like to be with him in that hotel. Hiking across the gorgeous countryside, soaking in hot springs, and sneaking into the kitchen for midnight snacks felt so unreal. So removed from my normal life.

For the first time in as long as I could remember, I was relaxed. I was happy.

And Nikolai kept the drawings.

“What does that mean?” I whisper.

I know what Iwantit to mean. He kept some part of me with him even before he knew I was pregnant. He framed it and placed it in his office where he’d see it everyday.

Maybe he isn’t trying to manipulate me. Maybe he really does love me.

Maybe Xena could be wrong about him. MaybeIcould be wrong about him.

Under all of his scowls and taunts and bloodstains and darkness, Nikolai Zhukova might actually have a heart. And maybe, just maybe, I managed to find my way into it.

A smile pulls at the corner of my mouth.

Just as I hear Nikolai’s voice in the hallway.

47

BELLE

There’s no time to get out of the room.

Nikolai is in the hallway. And close, by the sounds of it. He’s going to catch me in here. So the only option is to not look as guilty as I feel.

I shut the last drawer I opened, push his chair back under his desk, and straighten the stack of papers on the corner. Then I drop down into the leather chair in the corner, cross my legs, and wait with what I hope is a convincing smile.

When the door opens, my heart is pounding.

But considering the devastating cut of his jawline and the tight pull of his muscles as he walks into the room, I think my heart would be pounding regardless.

He notices me immediately. “What are you doing here?”

“Waiting for you.” The lie sounds good. At least, I think it does.

He pushes the door closed behind him. The latch clicking into place sounds final. Suddenly, the room feels claustrophobically small.

“You been waiting long?” Instead of moving to sit behind his desk, he rests on the lip closest to me. His knee brushes across mine. I jolt at the contact, then curse at myself silently for it.

“Not long. I noticed your room was empty, too.”

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