Chapter 5 - The Penthouse Sanctum
They cleared my apartment in less than three minutes. The intruder—conscious enough to regret every life choice that led him to my doorstep—was dragged out into the hallway by Nikolai’s men, disappearing into the night without a sound.
Yet, I couldn't stay there. The front door was splintered around the lock, hanging by a single hinge, and the lingering scent of stale cigarette smoke and danger hung heavy in the air.
“Pack a bag,” Nikolai had commanded, standing in the middle of my ruined living room like a king surveying a battlefield.
“I’m not moving into your penthouse,” I protested, crossing my arms defensively, though my voice lacked any real conviction.
Nikolai turned his dark gaze toward me, stepping close enough that I had to tilt my head back to meet his eyes. “You aren't asking permission, Elena. Your door is broken, your safety is compromised, and my bed upstairs is much wider than yours. Pack.”
Fifteen minutes later, I found myself walking out of apartment 4B and stepping back into the private elevator, clutching a duffel bag of clothes and my most precious art restoration tools.
When the doors opened on the top floor, the "military checkpoint" from my first visit was gone. In its place was a sprawling, glass-walled sanctuary that overlooked the entire glittering panorama of the New York City skyline. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed the Empire State Building like a postcard. The interior was minimalist, dominated by dark slate, leather furniture, and shelves lined with rare leather-bound books and ancient artifacts.
“Drink this,” Nikolai said, handing me a crystal tumbler filled with amber whiskey.
I took it, my fingers brushing his. “I don't drink whiskey.”
“Tonight, you do,” he replied smoothly, walking over to the bar.
I took a small sip. Liquid fire burned down my throat, immediately loosening the icy knot of adrenaline in my stomach. I walked over to the massive glass window, looking down at the tiny, moving specs of yellow cabs miles below.
Nikolai walked up behind me, stopping just a breath away. I could feel the heat radiating off his body through the thin fabric of my sweater.
“Why are you doing this, Nikolai?” I asked softly, staring at my own reflection in the glass, with his dark silhouette hovering right behind mine. “You’re a dangerous man. You run half the shipping lines and financial portfolios in the tri-state area. I’m just an art restorer with ink on her fingers and a ruined car.”
“You think art is fragile, Elena,” he said, his deep voice vibrating against my spine. “You spend your life kneeling in front of canvas and varnish, restoring what time and careless hands have broken. You think a single scratch ruins the whole piece.”
He raised one large hand, his fingers gently tracing the line of my shoulder, sliding up to cup the back of my neck.
“I’ve spent my entire life surrounded by broken things,” Nikolai continued, his breath warm against my ear. “Men who break under pressure, empires that collapse, blood that can’t be washed away. And then you walked into my foyer in fuzzy pink slippers, screaming at me about God-damned noise.”
May you like
A small, breathless laugh escaped my lips.
“You didn't break,” he whispered, turning me slowly in his arms until I was forced to look up into his dark, fierce eyes. “You threw my money back in my face. You defended your dignity with a broom handle. You are the only real thing in this entire city, Elena. And I am never letting you go.”
