Page 86 of Seven

I turned just as it creaked open, and a man stepped inside.

He was dressed in a crisp, white button-down and black slacks, and he had the same dark hair and square jaw as Viktor and Sergei, making me wonder if they might be related. But there was something different about him. He seemed colder, more intense, and the dark tattoos along his throat and hands only added to his menacing presence.

He didn’t speak. He just stared.

Waiting.

Almost daring.

Then, he stepped into the room, slow and deliberate, and his eyes remained trained on me and not in a good way. I swallowed hard, hoping it would ease the knot in my throat.

I stayed perfectly still and watched as he crossed the room. It wasn’t until he turned slightly that I noticed that he had a tray of food in his hands.

He walked over to the dresser and set it down without a sound. I glanced over at it and saw that there was a plate of roasted chicken, greens beans, potatoes, and a glass of water. I hadn’t eaten all day, and it smelled amazing, but I couldn’t bring myself to move.

He motioned his hand towards the tray as he told me, “For you.”

“Thank you.”

“Hmmm.” His eyes skirted over me, and a slight smile slipped across his lips as he said, “Viktor said you know Maggie’s.”

“I do.”

“Best burger in the States.”

“Yeah, they weren’t half bad, but their French toast was hard to beat.”

“You ever checked out DUMBO?”

DUMBO was the natives' terminology of Down Under the Manhattan Bridge Overpass. It was an area filled with shops, bookstores, and art galleries. It was quite trendy, and this guy looked anything but trendy. “You know about that area?”

“Yeah, my mother was a big fan of the place.” He didn’t smile, but I could hear the amusement in his voice as he said, “I was the only one she could get to go with her.”

“My son wasn’t a big fan, but I loved it there. Bushwick, too.”

“Yes. They have some impressive murals in that area.”

“You into art?”

“You could say that.” He pushed back his sleeve, revealing the intricate tattoos that marked his skin. “It’s not for everyone, but it tells a story that only a few will ever truly understand.”

“Art isn’t always just about beauty.” I gave him a half smile. “Sometimes, it’s about remembering.”

He might’ve been a bit more intense than Sergei or Viktor, but I felt I would actually kind of like him—if he wasn’t holdingme captive. That made it difficult for me to see him as anything but a villain. But he made me question that even more when he asked, “So, you’re with one of the Fury brothers?”

“I am.”

“I hear they’re good men. Their president has made a name for himself and his club.”

“Sergei didn’t seem to agree.”

“My brother needs reminding of where he came from.”

“Well, feel free to remind him.”

“I certainly will.” He started for the door as he said, “I’m Nikolai. If you need anything, just let me know.”

“Thank you, Nikolai.”

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