White Nights (White Nights 1)

“By attacking my dates?”

His gaze darkens. “He touched what’s mine. Next time, I won’t be so lenient.”

“You’re making one-sided declarations again.”

Anger washes over his features. “Are you still going to deny it after tonight? Let’s face it, kiska. We can’t keep our hands off each other. You’re mine, end of story.”

I scoff. “We’ve only been together for a couple of nights. That doesn’t make me yours.”

“It’s gone beyond a couple of nights.” His voice is calm, but tension is steaming off of him. “I want to see more of you. Much more. I’ve given you everything you asked of me, including honesty. Haven’t I lived up to all of your expectations?”

I give a small shake of my head. “You can’t change who you are.”

“You want me to change?” he asks incredulously.

“You don’t date. I do. I thought I could play it your way, but I’m afraid that’s not who I am.” Not to mention, his business dealings are dangerous. He’s just told me as much.

He considers my words for a while before saying, “What are you asking of me?”

My lips feel numb as I force the words from them. “I’m asking you to go.”

He blows out a sigh and fixes his gaze on the ceiling. When he finally looks back at me, his expression is unreadable. “Eat something healthy and go to bed, Katyusha. You look tired.”

He raps his knuckles on the counter, and without another word, he turns and leaves my apartment.

16

Moscow

“Have you seen this?” Vladimir pushes his phone toward Oleg and leans back in the visitor’s chair facing Oleg’s desk, lighting a cigarette as he watches him with shrewd attention.

Oleg takes the phone with caution. He can’t fucking wait for Bes to finish the job. The sooner Vladimir gets out of his hair, the better. The man not only postponed his flight back to St. Petersburg, but he apparently also thinks he can walk uninvited into Oleg’s Moscow residence, checking up on him like he’s a kid who can’t be trusted to do his homework.

Reminding himself with whom he’s dealing, Oleg bites his tongue and keeps his face blank. All he dares is a glance at Vladimir before he takes the phone and checks the screen.

It’s a video of Alexander Volkov with a young, pretty woman in his arms on the pavement in front of a bar. He fleetingly meets Vladimir’s eyes before pressing play. The woman makes a scene as Volkov picks her up and drops her like a parcel in a waiting car. Arching a brow, Oleg replays the whole embarrassing scene, which is very uncharacteristic for the calculated and controlled billionaire.

“Interesting,” he says, rubbing his jaw. “Looks like Volkov has a romantic interest.”

Vladimir blows out a thin ribbon of smoke, his eyes narrowing with intent. “Very out of character for him.”

“So?” Oleg lifts a shoulder. “He’s getting some pussy.”

“Volkov is always getting pussy, but never the same pussy more than once.”

Irritation eats at Oleg’s gut, but he keeps his voice respectful. “What are you getting at?”

“Emotion, my dear friend, is a powerful bargaining chip.”

Oleg puts the phone back on the desk. “Who’s to say he feels anything for the woman?”

Vladimir’s expression is smug. “Because of how he’s acted recently. He booked out Romanoff’s to take her to dinner there. A man doesn’t go to such lengths and costs if he’s not seriously invested in a woman. He’s only done that once before for Turgenev’s daughter, and that was a birthday gift to a family member of an important business associate. The dinner with the American woman was different. She’s not related to anyone he’s doing business with. She’s the nurse who treated Volkov’s guard, the one who took the bullet for him. That dinner was romantic. They left the restaurant kissing like horny teenagers. The man I’ve got on Volkov’s tail showed me the photos. I know for sure that this woman, Katherine Morrell, means something to him.”

That expression alone is enough to make Oleg’s back go rigid. Vladimir has no right to meddle in the job. Oleg said he would take care of it. Meddling in another man’s business is like overstepping boundaries in his territory—a blatant show of disrespect. “Is that so? How did you figure that out?”

“I sent a man to snatch her. Unfortunately, she got away, but not without a good scare.”

Oleg stills. He doesn’t give a shit about the girl. For all he cares, Vladimir can give her scares for the rest of her life. What bothers him is the fragile agreement he’s got with the NYPD. They have a deal, for fuck’s sake. If Vladimir starts stirring up the waters in New York City, the commissioner Oleg has in his pocket may just decide the deal’s off.

“What did you do?” Oleg asks in a voice a tad bit scratchy.

“Don’t worry.” Vladimir takes a drag on the cigarette and blows the smoke straight into Oleg’s face. “He made it look like a mugging.”