Page 9 of Deadly Knight

A man like him had to have some connection with the criminal world. There was no way he could take care of a threat so easily unless he’d been trained for it. What she didn’t understand was why he was so concerned with keeping her safe. He didn’t owe her anything. “It was just a kid looking to pawn some of my stuff so he could get his fix…it’s not going to happen again. You scared him off.”

“What about that phone call you got in your office? Isthatnot going to happen again?” Maya visibly flinched at his comment, and he gave her a knowing look as he sat down on her couch. He folded one leg over his knee and leaned against the backrest. “I won’t have you put in harm’s way. I will remain here until the morning, at least, to make sure that nothing will happen. Perhaps itisoverkill, but I prefer it to the alternative.”

“What happens in the alternative?”

“Youarekilled.” Nikolai fixed her with a cold look. “Pretend that I’m not here. I won’t interfere in your life, apart from making sure that no one harms you. You can go about your business as usual.”

Usualwasn’t going to happen. Maya huffed. She knew she could call the police and have Nikolai removed, but there was a part of her that was flattered that he was so invested in keeping her safe. She’d saved his life, and now he was doing his best to repay his debt. It was noble, even if it was annoying. Very annoying.

Maya stared at him, silently willing him to get up and leave her flat, but he returned her gaze unblinking. Damnit! She blew out a breath in frustration. “Fine. I’m going to bed,” she said after another minute had passed. She’d given up the fight. Nikolai wasn’t going anywhere, and nothing she said was going to get him to move. She’d come to terms with that. By tomorrow, hopefully, he’d figure out that there was nothing to be concerned about and he’d move on. Her father had already seen them together, after all. If he stayed an extra couple of hours, so what? He was already on the Popov radar. “I’m not happy, but I’m not going to chase you out, either.”

Nikolai said nothing.

“Goodnight, Nikolai,” she said at last.

“Goodnight.”

Maya shut herself in the bathroom to get ready for bed. She brushed her teeth and washed her face, but all the while, her mind turned over what she’d learned, and she attempted to form new connections based on her gut instincts. Nikolai was Russian. He’d come from America, he was trained in the art of combat, and he had no qualms about taking human life. And, he’d been left to die in an alley…

All signs pointed to bratva connections. While Maya had been away from the scene since she was eighteen, she still knew enough that she was confident she could find some answers if she tried.

When she was done in the bathroom, she checked on him. He’d kicked off his shoes and turned out most of the lights in the living room. Currently, he was sitting in the gloom with his feet stretched out on her table. Going to the closet, she pulled a blanket down and brought it over to him. His eyes were closed but she could tell that he wasn’t sleeping. She draped the blanket over the back of the couch near his shoulder and then padded quietly into her bedroom, locking the door behind her. Leaning heavily against the door, she took long, slow breaths.

When she was sixteen, Maya and her sister, who was fourteen at the time, had taken a trip to Europe. Maya had fallen in love with London. For the majority of the trip, Elena had gotten her way when choosing their activities, but Maya had been adamant about including the Painted Hall, several gardens and museums in their visit to London. Elena had complained bitterly until their chaperone had secured box seats to the Royal Ballet. Her sister had been in heaven and had stopped complaining—for which Maya had been thankful. While she loved her sister, as the baby, Elena had been thoroughly spoiled as a child, and Maya was fairly sure that had extended into adulthood. Even then, Maya had known that London was where she wanted to end up. And for years now, she’d had the life she’d always wanted. Was she about to lose it now?

Pushing away from the door, she stripped the sheets, changed the bedding, and then curled up under the blankets with her tablet. When she was settled, she turned the tablet on. First, she checked on what was going on with her family. If her father was in London, something had to have happened, and there might have been a news story published that would cast light on what was going on.

Nothing.

So, it must not be the Feds, then…Maya swiped back up to the search bar. Her parents had moved the family to Boston when Maya was five. From the start, her father had ingratiated himself in with some of the different bratva groups, but she was never quite certain what he did for them. She browsed the recent Boston news hoping to come across something that might clue her in to her father’s activities.

Nothing again.

Maya’s nose scrunched in confusion. If that was how it was going to be, she’d just change her tactic. First, she’d investigate the families linked to hers, either through allegiance or through hatred. The first name that came to mind was the biggest of them all—Sokolov. Her father had simmered with rage over their iron grip of the East Coast for as long as she could remember.

That simple name search brought up a flurry of results. Maya ignored the news articles, accessing the image results instead. There were pictures of grim, older Russian men in suits, shirtless thugs with tattoos, and then, something that surprised her. Maya squinted at the screen, momentarily paused in her search as she tried to make sense of what she was seeing.

It was a candid photo of Viktor Sokolov, the pakhan of the Sokolov family. Standing next to him was a woman who looked like her sister’s childhood best friend, then several people she didn’t recognize, and finally, Maya’s own sister, Elena.

It made no sense. Elena was loyal to their father, whohatedthe Sokolovs. But she looked happy in the photograph, her eyes set dreamily on a man Maya couldn’t identify.

What in the world was happening?

Disturbed by what she’d discovered, Maya dug deeper. She scrolled through a few more pages of results, until…

Nikolai.

Maya stared at the image on her screen. There was no denying it was him. In the image, he had the same short, dark hair and tight beard. He had the same piercing blue eyes and the same unforgiving expression on his face—the one she’d seen earlier that evening. Fearing the worst, she tapped on the image to bring up more info. The picture linked to the public records of one Konstantin Sokolov, who’d been arrested for a vague traffic violation. The rest of his records had been scrubbed clean, so far as she could tell.

Sick to her stomach, she returned to the search bar and refined her terms.Konstantin Sokolovbrought up multiple images of the man staying in her living room, as well as a few new pieces of information about him. According to the summaries she read, Konstantin Sokolov went by the name Kostya, and he was the Mad Dog of the Sokolov family—the one who broke bones, sliced open skin, and ended lives.

Maya exhaled slowly through her nose. She dropped her tablet onto her chest, unable to bring herself to keep reading.

The Sokolovs were enemies to her father. Kostya should have killed her on sight. Instead, he’d sworn to protect her.

What was going on?

If Kostya really didn’t remember who he was, then she was in for a whole world of hurt if he suddenly regained his memory overnight…but Maya didn’t get the feeling that he’d truly forgotten, now that she truly thought about it. The cruelty in his tone when he didn’t get his way, the knowing glint in his eyes, and his incredible resolve in the face of danger led her to believe that Kostya knew exactly who he was. There was only so much muscle memory could account for, after all.

---