CHAPTER TWELVE
463 Words
NIKOLAI
I knew it was coming.
The second I kissed her in that fkn storage room, I knew the world we were in was about to cave.
Did I stop?
Hell no.
Her taste was in my blood now. I’d die with it on my tongue.
But when I walked into the security wing later that night, Marcus was there—arms crossed, smug as hell.
“You’re needed in the west wing,” he said.
Cold. No eye contact.
Trap.
Still, I went.
You don’t run from punishment. Not in this life. You face it head-on.
I stepped into the empty room.
And there he was.
Antonio Moretti.
Her father.
Sittin in his big leather chair like some kind of god. His hand rested on a silver cane, the same one I’ve seen him beat a man with for less.
“Close the door,” he said.
I did.
“You’ve been busy, Nikolai.”
I said nothin.
He stood slowly. Walked around me.
“She’s my only daughter,” he said. “You were meant to protect her. Not corrupt her.”
My jaw clenched so hard I thought my teeth would snap.
“I didn’t touch her without her wantin it,” I said.
Wrong answer.
He hit me.
Fast. Hard. Right across the face with the cane. I tasted blood.
“You think this is about consent?” he hissed. “It’s about power. Mine. And you just pissed on it.”
I dropped to one knee. Not outta weakness.
Outta strategy.
“Kill me, then,” I said.
He paused.
“No,” he said coldly. “I’m not gonna kill you. Yet. I want you to feel what it's like to lose her first.”
He turned away.
“You’re off her detail. Marcus is in charge now. You go near her again, and I’ll bury you alive.”
-----
EVANGELINE
He was gone.
No text. No goodbye. No warning.
I waited in my room like an i***t, still wearing the shirt he tugged off my shoulder, heart pounding for hours.
But he didn’t come.
When I tried to find him, Marcus blocked me.
“He’s been reassigned,” he said like it was nothing. “Per the boss.”
“Reassigned?” My stomach dropped. “Why?”
Marcus smirked. “You tell me.”
The hallway spun.
My father knew.
He knew.
And Nikolai was gone because of me.
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NIKOLAI
That night, I didn’t go back to the guard quarters.
I went to the city.
To a dark bar filled with darker men.
Picked a fight I didn’t need to win. Fists flew. Bones cracked. It felt good to bleed.
Because it was still better than not touchin her.
Still better than forgettin her.
- Writer
