Page 76 of Tarnished Tyrant (Zhukova Bratva 1)

I got a glimpse of it in the club last night, in the way he protected me from creepy men and held me close. Standing next to him, I felt treasured, taken care of.

It was… nice.

My mouth quirks up in a smile now as I give in to the fantasy for a moment.

Then Nikolai looks away. His gaze lands somewhere over my shoulder.

And cold, hard reality settles over me.

This week, whatever may happen, is nothing more than a peek behind the curtain. A look into an alternate reality where I don't scrape to get by at a shitty job with an even shittier boss. A look into feeling wanted and desired instead of forgotten and discarded.

But at the end of this week, I’ll be on a flight back home.

And I’ll never see Nikolai Zhukova again.

“Keep eating. I’ll be back,” he says, dropping his napkin on the table and standing up.

I wave him away, trying to push away the disappointment gnawing at my insides. “Yeah, yeah. I’m used to eating alone, anyway.”

Nikolai’s usually graceful gait falters as he walks away from the table. Quickly, he recovers and heads towards the kitchen.

And as the kitchen door swings closed, I realize why.

He'd spoken to me in Russian.

And I responded.

17

NIKOLAI

I saw the dark-clad man through the restaurant’s front window.

And just like that, I remembered why I’m here.

It’s been too easy to be distracted by her. By how careless she is with the private details of her life, letting juicy little tidbits slip past her perfect lips before she even realizes what she’s confessing.

Like the fact that I’m the first man to fuck her in years.

That shouldn’t make a difference to me. I’m not some vampire on the prowl for virgins. But knowing that I’m the only one in recent history to make her feel that way… it does something to me.

The problem is, I told Arslan I’d take out two birds with one stone.

And the other bird just appeared outside.

Not only is Giorgos’s spy wearing dark clothes, he’s also wearing a hood despite the fact it’s a balmy evening. Either his boss didn’t pass on my warning that I’d kill the next spy I saw, or this idiot has a death wish.

One I’m happy to oblige.

“Prodolzhay yest'. Ya vernus',” I growl, standing up and moving around the table.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m used to eating alone, anyway,” Belle replies.

There’s a half-second delay between her response and my realization.

She answered me.She answered me.

It could be a coincidence. I’m clearly leaving the table, and she doesn’t need to know Russian to jump to the logical conclusion that I said I’ll be back.

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