Page 77 of Tarnished Tyrant (Zhukova Bratva 1)

But I’m not stupid enough to believe that.

I just want to hear it from her directly. By any means necessary. Hell, I’d take pleasure in wringing the truth out of her with my own two hands. Maybe I’ll pull the same trick I did on the plane and follow her into the bathroom. I’ll press her against the wall and fuck her until she is half-mad, muttering filthy promises in Russian in her ear all the while. I’ll take her to the edge of release and then make her beg for it in my native tongue, simply for the sheer thrill of hearing words meant for me and me alone. The last words she’ll ever say.

I’ll do what it takes to get the answers out of her—eventually.

But I made Giorgos a promise, and right now, I have to keep it.

I sweep into the kitchen and nod at the head chef. Oleg and I have an understanding. I don’t kill him for overcharging me from time to time, and he keeps his mouth shut about the business I conduct here.

I wasn’t lying when I told Belle I never bring women to this place. It’s purely for business. She is the lone exception.

I weave through the busy kitchen and walk down the narrow corridor that leads to the back door. On my way, I pull out my phone and send a text to Arslan.

Be ready. I’m at The Russian Room.

He’ll know what it means. Be close, but don’t be seen. Be prepared for anything. I’m sure he’s already lurking nearby somewhere.

I step through the back door, the humid evening washing over me, and am about to head down the alley until I see a figure leaning against the brick wall having a smoke.

It’s the man. The spy.

Sitting fucking duck.

I back into the hallway again, quietly pulling the door closed as I plan. The man can’t be allowed to see me coming. He’ll make a scene. Scream, yell, beg for his life. If I want this to be clean, I can’t be spotted—

“Nikolai?”

Fuck me.

I spin around and find Belle standing behind me. Her hazel eyes are wide and worried. “What are you doing?”

“What areyoudoing?” I counter. “I told you to stay at the table.”

“You said something in Russian,” she says, chewing on her lower lip. “I didn’t understand you.”

If I wasn’t in the middle of something, I’d applaud her performance. Truly, it’s Oscar-worthy.

But if she came all the way back here to try to prove to me that she had no clue what I meant when I left the table, then she’s not quite a genius.

“Well, now, I’m speaking English,” I bark. “And you need to get the fuck out of here.”

The meek expression on her face shifts at once into indignation. She crosses her arms. “Forgive me if I sound too much like my sister, but you aren’t the fucking boss of me.”

I grind my teeth just as my phone buzzes with a text from Arslan.

Greek saw me and ducked into the alley behind. Back door.

“Fuck,” I mutter.

“What?” Belle asks. “What is going—”

I have seconds. Maybe less. There’s no time to explain. There’s barely time to think.

I grab Belle and force her into the storage closet just behind her. She shrieks, but the kitchen is loud and bustling. No one pays her any mind.

“Nikolai!” she fights, swatting at my hands. “What are you—”

I slam the door closed and hold it with my foot as I grab a dining chair with a busted leg from the pile next to the trash can. I wedge it tightly under the door handle.

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