Page 96 of Tarnished Tyrant (Zhukova Bratva 1)

And that right there is Elise’s way of mending the broken fence between us. She’s shown a modicum of care about my physical being. She may as well have thrown her arms around me and wept into my shoulder.

“Thanks a million,” I drone. Though I do twist the cap off and take a long drink. “What are you going to do today?”

“Sleep.”

“That’s it?” I ask. “Nikolai gave you access to a driver. You could drive around the city. Visit a museum or something.”

Elise points towards the door. Her black Vans are laying in a heap by the door. “I tore through the sole of my shoe the other day.”

“What? When?”

“They were already duct taped together,” she says. “But I took the stairs from the lobby to the penthouse the other day and they fell apart. I’m not fit for a walking tour.”

I chew on my lower lip. I know exactly how much money is in my bank account: barely enough to get us back home. Definitely not enough to get us homeandbuy her a new pair of shoes.

Especially if I refuse to go back to Zhukova Incorporated and get fired.

Elise must see the concern on my face because she waves a hand dismissively. “It’s fine. I’ll steal one of these bathrobes and sell it online. Have you felt them? They’re like clouds.”

I laugh, but we both know it’s not a joke. If Elise wants a new pair of shoes, that’s the kind of shenanigans we’ll have to stoop to.

Unless I go back to Zhukova Incorporated, finish my work, and keep my job.

In the end, it’s not a hard choice.

I can’t run away from this. Not unless I want to take my little sister down with me.

* * *

Walking through the hallways of Zhukova Incorporated has always been uncomfortable, but now, it’s on another level entirely.

I study each face as I pass—Bridget at reception, Arnold tapping away in his dark dungeon of an office, all the people tucked away and quietly lying for Nikolai day in and day out.

How many of them know what is going on here? Are they part of the Bratva or are they as unaware as I was when I accidentally stumbled into this snake pit?

I try to keep my head down and my mind on the task ahead of me, but then I catch movement from the corner of my eye. Three people are in the conference room down the hall from where I’m working.

One of them is Nikolai. His back is to me, but I recognize the sharp cut of his suit jacket, the silky wave of his dark hair.

The other is Giorgos Simatou.

I should keep moving, but I freeze in place. Giorgos is wearing a suit today, most of his tattoos hidden beneath the tailored material. He looks almost presentable. If I didn’t know who he was, I wouldn’t question a thing.

Though the woman next to Giorgos would have sparked more than a few questions.

She’s long and lean. An off-the-shoulder sweater hangs down dangerously low over her chest, revealing an unbusinesslike amount of cleavage. And she's looking at Nikolai with stars in her eyes.

Someone should tell her who she's looking at. Someone should tell her what he's done. Then maybe she wouldn't be making "fuck me" eyes in his direction.

Far beneath all the jealousy boiling inside of me is a little voice wondering why I care so much. But it's obvious: I may wish I didn't want Nikolai as much as I do, but I know all too well that wishes rarely come true.

Before I can gather myself and move on, Giorgos looks over at me. His mouth twists into a curious smile that makes my skin crawl.

A moment later, Nikolai turns around, too.

His expression is unreadable as his pale gray eyes land on me. And I realize that, yet again, I’m lurking, eavesdropping on the exact kind of heinous shit I’m supposed to be steering clear of. I lower my head and practically sprint into the conference room down the hall.

My heart is racing, far too much adrenaline flooding my system, when I hear a soft chuckle.

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