Page 66 of Alik

Because the last decade hasn’t been enough to prove myself.

“You have my word, sir.”

I stare at the gap in the bedroom door, searching for Olive, and am the slightest bit relieved when I don’t see her. I don’t allow myself too much relief yet.

“I washopingyou’d be available by now to fix our other problem. I imagine Sergey has filled you in on the details?”

It takes everything in me not to glance at the door again.

Sergey filled me in. Nikita sent him and two others after Olive when Nikita hadn’t gotten word that the Irish were going after her. He’s an impatient bastard.

How long before he demands I find the man protecting Olive?

Why would he?

It’s not our goddamn problem anymore. It’s the Irish’s.

Except… The man protecting Olive killed one of ours. And the Bratva is thirsty for revenge. Nikita might not care about a brother’s death, but Sergey and the others do, and even if Nikita doesn’t send me after myself, they’ll be looking for me. They probably already are.

This is a clusterfuck, and I have no idea what I’ll say when I’m asked to solve it.

“Yes, sir.”

He walks to my window to peer out. “I have a meeting with Cormac and Settimo in a couple of hours to discuss the matter. I want you there.”

My muscles stiffen, but when I open my mouth to argue, I catch myself. If he’s having me put off my search for Vitaly to stand guard at his meeting, it’s for a reason. He’s nervous.

Does he think Cormac, the Irish boss, figured out we set the girl up to rat on his operation? One of these days, Nikita is going to suffer an assassination attempt. This would be a good reason for one.

“Of course, sir.”

This is why he really came, isn’t it?

Coward.

“The car will be waiting for you downstairs at ten thirty.” He turns away from the window and starts toward the door without another look my way. “Don’t be late.”

When I hear the click of the door behind him, I close my eyes on a long exhale, the tension in my neck unwinding.

Footsteps pad on the carpet, and I open my eyes to glare at Olive as she sashays my way.

“Who was that?” she asks, her voice soft and innocent as she tucks loose strands of hair behind her ears. The rest is up in a ponytail, and all she has on is a sports bra and a pair of mysweats. She looks hot. I can see that even through my anger, but not even her exposed flesh can distract me.

“What the fuck were you thinking?” I walk until I’m towering over her and stab a finger at the bedroom. “Why the hell would you open the door? Do you have any idea what would’ve happened if he’d seen you?”

She looks over her shoulder at the door. “I just wanted to hear. I wasn’t?—”

“I’ve welcomed you into my home, and you disrespect me by openly spying on my conversations?” My molars grind to catch the anger bubbling up my throat, threatening to spew over her. It isn’t all her fault. I know it’s mostly an overreaction.

But that conversation could’ve gone differently. Nikita could’ve said her name, laid out details, something to unveil to her who I really am, what I’ve done.

It was a close call.

She stumbles backward, one hand clasping her arm as her head bows. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to disrespect you.”

The softness of her voice is a gut punch that unclenches my teeth.

“I’ve told you before, I’m in the criminal world. Everyone knows each other. If someone saw you here, they could?—”

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