Page 74 of Bratva King's Secret Twins

NIKOLAI

“Repeat that,” I demand, my voice cutting through the thick tension like a blade.

Nadia sits on my bed, hunched over her knees, her grip tightening around the knife in her hand. The gleam of steel catches the dim light as she spits out the words again, each one laced with venom. “Boris is striking a deal with the Yakuza to smuggle him out of the country. He’s desperate, and they’re his only option.”

Rage coils in my chest, sizzling off the leftover shower droplets along my skin. The bastard’s always been a snake, but this? This cuts to the bone. The alliance between the Russians and the Japanese had always been fragile, a ticking time bomb ready to explode at the slightest provocation. And now, Boris is setting the match.

“No one makes deals with the fucking Yakuza,” I snarl, the words like gravel in my throat. My fingers itch to grab something, break something.

Aleksandr leans against the window, unnervingly calm, his shadow stretching long across the room. His eyes are hard, calculating, but there’s a resignation there that only fuels my fury. “It makes sense,” he mutters.

“The hell it does,” I snap back, pacing the floor, the towel around my waist nearly forgotten. I can feel the tension building in my jaw, muscles clenched so tight it feels like they’re about to snap.

Aleksandr’s gaze is cold as ice as he speaks, his voice mocking. “The enemy of my enemy is my friend.”

I stop in my tracks, locking eyes with him. “The Yakuza aren’t a group that makes a deal that big without something bigger in return.”

“He’ll be lucky if they get him out of the country alive, let alone to Russia.” Aleksandr’s even tone grates against my skin, and a part of me wants to punch him in the face for being so fucking calm.

“Old man’s lost his mind,” I mutter almost to myself as I make my way into the walk-in closet and search for clothes. “He knows how volatile this is. If this gets out?—”

“It won’t get out,” Nadia growls, followed by the sure sound of my comforter being sliced open with her knife. The room is silent for a moment, besides the clink of my hangers knocking against each other.

“Are you saying that you finally agree to let us kill Boris?” Aleksandr questions, and I pause my searching throughout the closet to hear her answer.

Nadia’s voice comes out small, cautious just like she sounded as a child. “Yes…I mean…I don’t know.”

“Well, when you figure it out,” Alek responds in a bored tone, and I continue to look through my clothes.

I carefully retrieve a dark, charcoal-colored hoodie from my closet, along with a well-worn pair of black jeans and black timberland boots. I sit on the bench in front of the wall-length mirror and take a deep breath before facing my reflection. My eyes widen in shock as I take in my disheveled appearance - tangled hair, dark circles under my bloodshot eyes, and pale skin. I look like shit. I am running on fumes, barely able to function, and I don’t know if I can keep running around like this to capture Boris.

I haven't slept more than four hours this week, barely eaten anything, but the ache of not being inside Gwen for the past two weeks is like a knife twisting in my gut, leaving me raw. I am on my last sane nerve before it pops and I become the man I never wanted to be.

Funny enough, this is the type of man Boris wanted me to be. A man gone insane for vengeance just like he is, and I don’t know how he looks so well rested. I pull my clothes onto my damp skin, adding a cashmere t-shirt and underwear under the all black attire.

I wipe my hand across my face and make my way back into the bedroom. “If Boris is in bed with the Yakuza, it means he is desperate enough to be sloppy; we got him right where we want him.”

I don’t stop to look at my siblings; instead, I leave the room knowing they will follow. “We need to move Gwen to a safe house. Nadia?”

“Don’t worry, I got her,” she responds, keeping up with my pace.

“Alek, I need you to find Boris’s trail even if it is a footprint. I want to know the last place he breathed,” I order and Alek responds with a curt grunt of agreement. I turn the corner, starting down the stairs, looking over to the couch and seeing that Gwen is absent and her book sits idly closed where I last saw her.

“Gwen,” I call as I hit the last step. The murmurs of my guards catch my attention.

A hushed whisper yells, “What do you mean she is not in the lobby?”

Another voice whispers back, “I did a floor by floor sweep. I don’t know where she went.”

The cold knot of dread coils tighter, hardening into a fist in my gut. “What the hell are you saying?” My voice is sharp, lethal, and it silences the murmuring guards instantly.

Nadia moves in beside me, her eyes scanning the room with a predator’s intensity. “She wouldn’t just leave without a word. Where was she last seen?”

My mind races, piecing together fragments of the last hour. Gwen in my hoodie, curled up with her book, pretending everything was fine. The way she smiled—too easy, too forced. I should’ve seen it. I should’ve known she’d run away again.

“Where is she?” I growl, every muscle tensing as I turn on the guards.

“She—she said she needed a minute alone, sir. She promised she wouldn’t leave the building, just needed some space,” one of the guards stutters, clearly terrified.

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