Page 48 of Diamond Don

“That’s Patrick McGuire. That’s the man we’re up against,” Nik replies.

Gasping, I turn to face him on the couch. “Patrick McGuire is the leader of the Irish mafia.” For some reason, I feel the need to say that to Nik, the leader of the Russian bratva, because I just can’t believe my luck. Of course there is a third mafia boss involved in my life. Naturally.

“I’m aware of that.”

“You didn’t mention I’d be helping you take down the head of the Irish mob.”

“I didn’t think it mattered. You weren’t in a position to refuse me, regardless of who we were up against. Besides, considering my line of work—which you were fully aware of before you agreed to my terms—you can’t honestly tell me that it’s a huge surprise that our enemy is the leader of a rival family.”

Nik presses play on the remote, and I turn a little in my seat so I can watch the video footage and stare him down at the same time. It doesn’t seem to faze him at all.

There’s no point in wasting my energy being frustrated that Nik has kept McGuire’s identity a secret. He is not going to change his mind. I’ll just have to use it as extra motivation to wrap up this job as fast as possible.

This film study will take a while, so I might as well get comfortable. I prop my feet on the coffee table before us, following Nik’s lead. With a sigh, I lean back, searching for a comfortable place to rest my neck and head. I end up bumping the bruise on my temple against the couch. I inhale sharply, wincing a little—the spot is still very tender.

Nik’s sharp eyes and ears catch the subtle signs of my discomfort. “What’s the matter?” he asks, turning to face me and pausing the footage again.

Frustrated, I sigh. If he’s going to pause the video every couple of minutes for one reason or another, we will never finish watching it.

“It’s nothing,” I say, reaching for the remote in his hand. “Just something your man Boris and his buddy gave me to remember them by.”

Nik’s expression shifts. Still in possession of the remote, he stretches his hand towards my head. I recoil immediately.

“Let me see it,” he orders me with a dark look in his eyes.

“I don’t think so,” I say, still futilely trying to wrangle the remote from him. The sooner we finish watching this, the sooner we can get started, and the sooner I’ll be free.

“What are you doing?” he asks exasperatedly.

“You’re hogging the remote. I’m trying to take it from you so I can watch the surveillance feeds without you pausing it every thirty seconds. Also, I’m so not in the mood for your color commentary, by the way.”

“You’re not getting the remote. My home, my remote.”

“Seriously? Are you that much of a control freak? Did you never learn to share your toys with the other kids?”

Nik sighs. He closes his eyes before rubbing a hand over his face and pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’ll tell you what—because I’m a reasonable man, I’ll make you a deal. Let me look at your head, and I’ll hand you the remote.” He shoves the remote into his back pocket.

I study him with care. I’m fast and capable of stripping the clicker from him, but that would entail tackling him and fondling his ass. God only knows what would happen then. At this point, I’d have to be an idiot to trust my questionable self-restraint to prevail over my lust for him.

“Fine,” I say through gritted teeth. “But be careful. It’s still tender.” I turn so he is facing the side of my head where the two brutes struck me, pushing my hair away from the bruised area.

Nik scoots closer to me. His brow furrows as his fingers brush against my scalp. His touch is light and gentle, but the bump is so sensitive I wince again.

“Forgive me,” he says, a remorseful expression flashing over his face. I nod in response. He feels around the bruised area a bit more. “My men did this to you.”

“Yep. Boris’s buddy struck me when I put up a fight,” I say, even though I’m not sure if he was asking a question or just stating a fact.

“I’m sorry, Kat. He’ll be punished for hurting you.”

Nik’s sharp tone takes me aback. He can be so charming and flirty sometimes that it’s easy to forget that, by all accounts, Nikolai Stefanovich is a vicious man.

Wordlessly, he stands up.

“Where are you going?” I ask.

“I’ll be right back. I’ll get you some ice and aspirin and make a call to have someone look at that bump.”

“Do you mean like a doctor?”

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