Page 58 of Obsession of the Bratva

“He obviously knows.” Kliment nodded.

“How can you say so?” I asked.

“He would have no reason to attack our warehouse otherwise, Nico. Either Manny is smarter than we think and always knew about you and Vera, or somebody told him about it.”

“You don’t think she told him?” I said, knowing Vera never wanted her father to find out about us.

“No. She might not have. Maybe he investigated himself and found proof,” Viktor shrugged.

“Well, the bottom line is that as of now, Manny Stavros and Adrian Petrov have become priorities. They are after us, and the only reason behind it can be Vera and her link to Nico. We have to double our security and make sure that things stay in check. I cannot afford these attacks every other day,” Kliment replied.

I nodded. That part at least made sense.

“We’ll find out who’s responsible.”

“We will.”

“And when we do?”

Kliment’s expression turned cold. Dangerously cold. The expression Romanovs reserved for people whose futures were about to become very unpleasant.

“We’ll handle it.”

I almost felt sorry for whoever was responsible. Almost.

By the time I returned home, the sky had darkened completely. The day had been long and stressful and had forced me to ask too many questions for my liking. My head felt crowded, and unfortunately, none of the problems we had were solved. I still needed answers, and most of these answers were ones I could easily get from Vera.

I stepped into the penthouse and immediately found myself thinking about her.

Not again, Nico.

This was becoming a problem ever since that night two weeks ago. Ever since she had somehow dismantled months of anger with a single confession and one reckless moment of weakness. Everything had become harder after that because I felt as if I was incapable of doing anything without her. Sleeping. Thinking. Working. Existing. Vera was everywhere. Every memory had turned into fresh ammunition because I remembered exactly how she felt in my arms.

Exactly how she laughed.

Exactly how she looked afterward.

The memories refused to leave me alone, which was deeply inconvenient. I tossed my keys onto the table, and the sound echoed softly. There was no response from anywhere, and the penthouse remained quiet. For a moment, I considered heading directly to my office, but instead, my feet carried me toward the living room. And there she was. Curled into one corner of the sofa.

Reading.

A lamp cast soft light across her features, making her skin appear golden. She somehow managed to look warm yet dangerous at the same time. I smiled as I noticed her wearing comfortable pajamas when, for the past two weeks, she had been wearing skimpy lingerie around me as if trying for a repeat episode. That had made it even more impossible to exist.

She looked up immediately as if she’d sensed my presence. Maybe she had. The tension arrived instantly. Like always. It was invisible yet electric. Impossible to ignore. For several seconds, neither of us spoke, and I hated how much I enjoyed looking at her. I hated how much worse it had become. Then she closed her book slowly, turning her attention entirely towards me.

“You’re home late.”

The words were simple but laced with a domestic appeal. Somehow, that made them infinitely more dangerous. I found myself staring at her longer than necessary, taking in details I shouldn’t have noticed. The way her hair fell over one shoulder. The oversized sweater she wore over her pajamas and the bare feet tucked beneath her. Every single thing felt familiar. Comfortable. Which was exactly the problem.

“Nico?”

I blinked. Right. She was still talking to me.

“I was working.”

Her eyebrow lifted. “That sounds suspiciously responsible.”

I almost smiled. Almost. Instead, I sat down across from her, but the distance felt insufficient. She studied me carefully, and something shifted in her expression. There was concern. Real concern.