Page 30 of Stalk Me

I shiver as Nikolai’s hand slides to my waist, pulling me against his side. The message is clear—I’m his. His brothers’ gazes sweep over me with varying levels of interest.

Dmitri’s ice-blue eyes dissect every detail of my appearance, cataloging weaknesses and strengths like I’m a business acquisition. His perfect smile never wavers. “Welcome to the family, Ms. Henley. Your gallery’s financials are fascinating.”

“Stay out of my books,” I snap before I can stop myself.

His eyebrow lifts, amused. “Spirited. No wonder Nikolai’s interested.”

Alexi barely glances up from his tablet. “Your security system is garbage. I’ve already upgraded it. You’re welcome.”His fingers fly across the screen. “Also, your assistant’s been skimming from petty cash. Fixed that, too.”

“What? Sarah wouldn’t?—”

“Three hundred dollars last month.” He shows me the screen filled with complicated data. “Want proof?”

Erik remains silent, positioning himself between us and the door. His tactical assessment of the space reminds me of a soldier clearing a room. When his dark eyes meet mine, I see recognition—he knows I’ve had training.

“My brothers will ensure nothing like this happens again,” Nikolai’s voice rumbles against my side. “The gallery is now under the Ivanovs’ protection.”

The weight of those words settles over me. Everything I’ve built, my careful independence, shifts beneath my feet. These four dangerous men have inserted themselves into my life, and I know nothing will ever be the same.

“I don’t need?—”

“You do.” Nikolai’s fingers dig into my hip. “Twice in one week, Sofia. Or have you forgotten the first attempt?”

My cheeks burn at the memory of fighting off those thugs. “Maybe they’re only coming because of you. Did you consider that?”

His laugh holds no humor. “Without me, you would have been heading to bankruptcy or worse.” He turns me to face him, his steel-gray eyes boring into mine. “Those ‘protection’ demands would have bled you dry within months. I’ve seen their operation—they target successful women, squeeze them until there’s nothing left.”

The truth of his words hits hard—the protection fees they demanded would have eaten through my reserve funds in weeks.

“I had it handled,” I whisper, but the lie tastes bitter.

“Did you?” His thumb traces my jawline. “Tell me, what was your plan when they doubled their demands? When they decide to start threatening your employees? When they began ‘accidentally’ damaging valuable pieces?”

Each scenario lands like a knife to the chest. I’d been naive, thinking I could handle this alone. Running the numbers in my head, I know he’s right—I’d have lost everything.

“Fine.” I meet his gaze. “You’re right. But that doesn’t mean I’m comfortable with whatever this is.”

“Comfortable isn’t what I’m aiming for,malishka.” His fingers yank my hair, making me gasp. “Safe is what matters. The rest will come in time.”

I focus on the brothers’ conversation, but their words blur together as reality crashes. Dimitri outlines something about financial pressure points while Alexi mentions cyber warfare. Even Erik contributes with tactical suggestions in clipped sentences.

My mind fixates on one thing only—how I’ve landed myself in bed with the Russian mob. Metaphorically. Though how Nikolai’s hand keeps brushing my lower back might make it literal too.

What would my foster parents think? They raised me to be better than this. To build something legitimate and beautiful with the gallery. I’m standing here while four dangerous men plot revenge against common thugs.

The worst part? I don’t care enough to stop it.

Nikolai’s cologne cloaks me like a drug, clouding my judgment. His touch burns through my dress, marking me as his property. I should be running, calling the police, or doing anything except leaning into his warmth.

“This is wrong,” I whisper, but the words lack conviction.

I crave his possessive touches even as my mind screams about the danger. The steel beneath his refined exterior should terrify me. Instead, it makes me ache in places I shouldn’t.

I watch his hands gesture as he gives orders, imagining those same fingers exploring my body later. Even having a pretty good idea of what those hands have done—what they’re capable of—doesn’t diminish my desire.

What does that say about me?

I may not be as good as I pretend to be. Perhaps there’s darkness in me, too, reaching out to match Nikolai’s. The thought should disturb me more than it does.

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