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I’m not exactly murderous by nature, but this woman sparks such gashes of jealousy and dislike in me that I want to shoot her. Just a little, nowhere life-threatening.
In the twinkle of the lights from the city, Nikolai leans down and murmurs against my ear, “One, I see her, and two, that look on your face is liable to give me a hard on. Wait here.”
Before I can speak, Garcia takes my other arm as Nikolai strides off. “In the boat,” he says.
I try and shake him off, but his grip is as granite as his face.
Nikolai and Adelaide exchange words I can’t hear, and Niko’s back in record time, face set.
I wait until we’re settled in for the ride to the other end of Venice. “Well?”
“Rose,” he says, giving nothing away, and I know it’s a warning. It’s in his stillness, the soft steel of his voice. “Not the time.”
“It’s never the time.”
He flicks his gaze towards me. “She has no power here, and I don’t intend to hand her a thing.”
“And if she breaks in?”
He smirks. “She won’t find a fucking thing but a visit to the inside of a prison cell.”
He doesn’t say she’ll stop breathing, doesn’t say she’s not going to. There’s no deadly, low-key Niko thunder—just pure, placating, regular Joe behavior.
I’m immediately worried. What the hell is he planning to do? If he’s being reasonable, then he’s going to do something stupid—if it comes down to it—to keep me safe. It’ll get him killed. If not here, then down the line. He’ll second guess, not do his job, all for me.
I’ll do anything to stop that, to save him, even if it’s from himself.
He shifts in his seat opposite me as the boat skims over the water. We’re undercover in the sleek black machine, and he slides a hand up under my skirt. “Rose, this won’t be like any place you’ve been. It’s dark and deadly. I’ll keep near you as much as possible. You’ll be safe there. It’s harder to get in than a one-on-one with the fucking president, and you’re more than marked as mine.”
“I can—”
“No, you can’t take care of yourself. It’s not that sort of place. Think underworld trade in secrets, death, and debauchery.”
I swallow, fear for him rising.
“Make no mistake, I’m not into theperksof these places, and you’ll be wanted. I’m not fucking happy with you going, but here you are. So, stick close.” I nod. “I’m after something, so I might not always be next to you, so for fuck’s sake, do as I say.”
I nod again, and from the moment we get out of the boat and head down twisting, narrow streets, he isn’t a Nikolai I know.
This is the unfeeling, remorseless killer with a vindictive, sadistic edge.
When we step into a dark, warm room, I’m in another world. The crowd has a savage, feral gleam of hunger and avarice, and debauchment stains the air.
Half-naked women in exotic underwear sit on the laps of some men, many of them being openly fingered, some by more than one man. There’s a woman bent over a table with a man hammering her on either end, but Nikolai’s gaze is cold and empty. Only the tug on my lead, or the slight graze of his hand on my back, let me know he’s aware of me. Otherwise, I’m like his accessory.
My stomach churns as memories of what men once wanted me to do come tumbling back, but I force myself to look. The woman on the table isn’t forced. No, she’s urging another set of men to take her on, and the ones being felt up are either into it or putting on a good show.
This is awful, but it seems no one’s here against their will.
I focus on Niko as an anchor, but he’s not my sweet Niko right now. This is a charming man, deadly, nasty, and brutal beneath a veneer of manners and smoothness. His stance changes subtly with certain people and comments that I don’t catch, but I think I recognize some from our outings in Queenstown. Sometimes, when he has that strange focus, he doesn’t say a word, but I get it. Suddenly. Terribly.
These are people he’s marked or marking, and they’ll die by his hand. When I can, I listen, collect faces and comments, questions about him, about me, about my lineage.
“Miss Germaine,” says a slightly familiar American voice. “A pleasure.” He holds out a hand, and I shake it.
His fingers close about mine like a sweaty lock, and he grins. “Let’s talk about some holdings a client of mine wants from you.”
“Client?” I ask.
