Loving The Bratva Boss

Chapter 17

NIKOLAI POV

The house is finally quiet.

Too quiet.

The kind of silence that settles only after bloodshed—heavy, unnatural, holding its breath as if waiting for the dead to whisper. The security team has swept the last corridor. The bodies are gone. Windows boarded. Doors reinforced. But the silence remains, crawling along the walls like smoke.

And through all of it...I still haven't let her go.

Isabella is in my arms, small fingers knotted into my shirt, cheek pressed to my chest like she belongs there. She's trembling faintly—aftershocks of the panic that almost swallowed her whole—but she's breathing. Alive. Warm. Here.

And I'm suddenly, painfully certain of one thing:

I don't want to release her. Not now. Not ever.

Her pulse was a frantic staccato against my skin earlier, wild and terrified, and something inside me—something old, violent, and possessive—woke up and refused to go silent.

"Are you alright?" I murmur, voice low.

She nods against me, but her body says otherwise. She's exhausted. Wrung out. The kind of tired that comes after fear tries to eat you alive.

I exhale, steadying both of us. "Good."

Because if she wasn't, I'm not sure what I'd do. Tear the house apart again, maybe. Hunt every remaining threat in Moscow. Burn the city from the ground up.

I ease her back just enough to look at her face. Wide eyes. Flushed cheeks. Tears lingering on her lashes but not falling. Stronger than she thinks. Braver than she realizes.

She looks up at me like she's trying to understand something she doesn't have words for.

I understand it too well.

I clear my throat and force myself to focus. "The property is secure now. I want to tell you what happened."

Normally I wouldn't. I keep civilians insulated from the ugliness of my world. But she isn't just a civilian anymore. Not after tonight.

Her brows knit a little, listening as I speak.

"There was a breach," I begin. "Multiple intruders. Coordinated. Professional."

She swallows.

"Some guards were killed. Others injured."

Her hand tightens on my sleeve.

I soften my voice. "You're safe now, Isabella."

She nods, but it's not enough. I keep going.

"Gio found Irina locked in the bathroom during the attack. She's shaken, but alive."

Isabella's mouth parts—relief, confusion, something deeper—but I continue before she can question it.

"Our systems caught the breach late. That shouldn't have happened." My jaw flexes. "Which means we have a rat. Somewhere."

Her breath stutters.

"But that's my problem," I add firmly. "Not yours."

She hesitates, then whispers, "What happens now?"

"Now," I say, "you stay close to me."

Her blush is immediate. Pink blooms down her throat, and she looks away like she's unsure if she heard me correctly.

I tilt her chin back toward me with a finger.

"You'll sleep in my room."

Her eyes widen. "Why?"