Page 88 of Bratva Knight

“He means well,” I breathed out. “There’s just a lot of history there. Some of it good, some of it bad.”

The waiter reappeared with the wine and food, placing it down on the table.

“Sounds like he’s just trying to protect you,” he shrugged, popping a slice of bruschetta in his mouth. “I know that, when my sister went through something similar with her ex, my father—” his eyes drifted behind me for a moment and he stiffened, his next words dying off.

“Is everything okay?” I asked, studying him closely.

He cleared his throat, adjusting in his seat. “Everything’s fine.”

“I’d believe that if you didn’t look like you’d just shit your pants or something. What’s going on?”

“I don’t want to alarm you.” He reached over and placed his hand over mine in what I’m sure he intended to be a comforting gesture, but the touch just felt foreign. Wrong. I pulled my hand away instantly and he frowned slightly but continued. “There’s a man behind you that keeps looking over here, and it’s not in a friendly way. Perhaps we should just go somewhere else? There’s something about him that doesn’t seem quite…right.”

What?

I turned around in my seat, my gaze colliding with a set of icy blue eyes that put my whole body on fire. Sitting three tables over, staring straight at us with absolute focus…was Nikolai. He was dressed in a black button-up shirt, the first few buttons open and revealing a beautiful, tanned chest. The edges of the ‘T’ tattooed on his skin peaked out of his shirt, catching my attention like always. His sleeves were rolled up, showing off those thick, muscular forearms I loved so much. My lady bits all buttingled. God, he looked fucking delectable, like darkness and sin all wrapped up in one huge, brawny package.

The restaurant was full of people, full of noise and distractions, and yet it was like we were the only people in the room. Like he couldn’t see anyone else but us.

After giving me a moment to adjust to what I was seeing, Nikolai smirked and gave me a two-finger salute, as casual as you please.

My mind ran rampant. What was he doing there? How did he knowIwas there? Why did he have to lookso fucking good?Why was he just sitting over there, watching us like some sort of creeper?

All questions I planned on asking him then and there.

I turned back to Steve. “You should probably go.” It may already be too late. If Nikolai thought this was a date, there was no doubt in my mind that he’d kill Steve.

“Go?” He scrunched up his face in confusion. “I’m not going to leave you alone, especially when there’s a guy right over there staring at us like he wants to kill us.”

You. Not us. Just you.

“His name is Nikolai. He’s my ex.”

Steve’s eyes widened. He leant forward, lowering his voice. “Is he stalking you?”

Yes, and I like it.

“It’s…complicated.” That was the best thing I could come up with at that moment.

His jaw hardened. “He’s Bratva, isn’t he?” When I didn’t answer, he scoffed. “Of course he is. Bratva guys like him always think they run the world and can do whatever the fuck they want, like harass their ex-girlfriends. This is exactly what happened to my sister. I have half a mind to march over there and—”

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

“What’s he going to do? It’s not like he’s going to kill me or anything. We’re in a public space, surrounded by people. I highly doubt—” his eyes flicked behind me and widened in shock and fear.

What now?

I glanced over my shoulder and felt the overwhelming urge to roll my eyes. Nikolai had his guns laid out across the table—three of them, by my count—all taken apart and in pieces. He sat there, completely relaxed, cleaning each individual piece while he continued to stare right at Steve, making it clear that although his hands were busy, his mind was not. He was completely and utterly focused on him, doing the work with an almost robotic nature, like he was doing it all on pure muscle memory alone.

Steve had gone as white as the cloth over our table. His whole body was frozen stiff, as if he was too terrified to move. Nikolai had his gaze locked with Steve’s as he cleaned the barrel of one of his guns, pushing the brush inside and out several times before placing it down and reassembling the weapon with practiced ease. The efficiency with which he worked showed how trained he was with the weapons, how skilled he was. That he possessed the ability to shoot anyone in this room right between the eyes without a shred of hesitation.

None of the other patrons in the restaurant paid Nikolai any mind. Neither did the waiter who came over and placed a clear glass of liquid on his table.

“Uh, maybe I should go,” Steve whispered nervously.

I smiled. “I think that would be best.”

“Will he shoot me if I get up?”

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