The Russian Mafia's Queen.

3.

Chloe's POV

I woke up to the soft light filtering through the curtains, the faint sound of birds chirping outside breaking the silence. My alarm had already gone off, but I had snoozed it twice before finally dragging myself out of bed. The usual heaviness lingered in the air, an unsettling mix of dread and determination that had become part of my routine over the years.

I ran a hand through my disheveled hair as I stared at my reflection in the mirror. There it was again—the ghost of the past that had somehow managed to resurface. The same cold feeling that had settled into my bones the moment I had seen him. Nicholas.

Shaking my head, I forced myself to focus on the present. I had work to do. I couldn't afford to lose myself in thoughts of him. Not again.

I grabbed my clothes from the chair, the familiar motions of getting ready taking over. The morning routine was the same every day: a quick shower, then dressing in a simple black skirt and white blouse, nothing that would draw attention, nothing that would make me stand out. I made sure the scar on my wrist, the one I had worked so hard to hide, was covered up with a sleeve.

Once I was dressed, I splashed some cold water on my face and grabbed my bag. My nerves were already starting to fray, but I couldn't afford to think too much about it. I had made it this far without slipping up, without getting too close to the life I'd run from. Today would be no different. I just had to get through it.

I checked the time, panic rising in my chest. Late. I was going to miss the bus if I didn't hurry.

My heart picked up speed as I rushed out of my apartment, slamming the door behind me and locking it with a quick twist of the key. The cold air of early morning Russian winter hit me instantly, sending a chill through my body, but I didn't have time to shiver. I could already hear the bus rumbling down the street.

I ran.

My boots slapped against the pavement as I sprinted toward the stop, my breath coming in sharp gasps. The bus was slowing down, and I could see the doors opening just in time. I barely made it, stepping onto the bus with a sigh of relief.

The familiar faces of other regular commuters greeted me with silent nods. I found my seat near the back and took a moment to calm my racing heart. I closed my eyes, resting my head against the window as the city passed by. But no matter how hard I tried to push the thoughts of Nicholas from my mind, they kept creeping back, like shadows lurking in the corners of my mind.

What was he doing here? Why had he come to Russia? And more importantly, why had he looked at me like that?

I clenched my fists in my lap, willing myself to think about something else, anything else. I couldn't let him unravel me. Not now. Not when I was so close to finally being free.

The bus stopped at my usual stop, and I stepped off, taking a deep breath of the crisp air. I had to put on my game face. I had a job to do.

Walking into the coffee shop, I immediately fell into the rhythm of the place—setting up the counter, checking inventory, preparing for the morning rush. The clink of coffee cups and the hiss of the espresso machine became the backdrop to my thoughts, each motion mechanical, almost soothing.

But then, the door opened.

I didn't need to look up. I could feel it—his presence. Nicholas.

I could sense the change in the air the moment he walked through the door. It wasn't just the sound of footsteps or the sudden shift in the room's energy. It was him. His presence was unmistakable, even before my eyes found him. His aura was like a storm—powerful, magnetic, and inescapable.