The Russian Mafia’s Queen

CHAPTER THREE

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.

For a split second, I thought about hiding. Ducking behind the counter or retreating to the back, disappearing before he could see me. But I knew better. I’d never survive if I ran now. Not again. Not like I did before.

So, I forced myself to breathe. My hands, however, betrayed me, trembling as they gripped the notepad I’d been holding. I didn’t dare make eye contact yet. Instead, I focused on the coffee machine, the sound of the espresso brewing filling the space between us. I had to get it together. He might not recognize me. He couldn’t. He was too far removed from the past.

But the weight of his gaze was undeniable.

I told myself to look up. To face him head-on. He hadn’t seen me in years. He didn’t know me anymore.

But the instant my eyes met his, everything stopped. The room disappeared. The clinking of cups, the quiet hum of the machines, the chatter of the few early customers—it all faded. It was just him and me, and for a moment, I was caught in the gravity of it. His eyes were different now, harder, sharper. But I could still see it. That flicker of recognition in his gaze. He knew me. Somewhere, deep down, he remembered.

And yet… he didn’t. Not completely. He didn’t recognize the girl standing before him now. The girl who’d spent years running, hiding, burying everything she once was. That version of Chloe—of me—was long gone.

I could breathe again.

I pushed down the urge to run, to flee from the truth of the moment. Instead, I straightened my shoulders, forcing my face into the professional mask I’d perfected. I am just a barista. I am just a coffee girl.

I forced a smile and walked toward him, ignoring the way my legs felt like they were made of rubber. I was determined not to let him see the storm brewing inside me.

“What can I get you?” My voice was steady—almost too steady—despite the chaos of emotions running through me.

His eyes stayed locked on mine, as if searching for something. His gaze was intense, unfathomable. “Black coffee, no sugar,” he replied, his voice smooth and confident.

No sugar.

The words hung between us. Simple. Ordinary. Nothing about it was extraordinary. Nothing about it should have been anything more than a regular interaction between customer and barista. But the weight of his gaze—the way his eyes pierced through me—told me otherwise.

I nodded quickly, tearing my gaze away from him before I could make a fool of myself. I couldn’t afford to get lost in those eyes again. Not now. Not when everything was so fragile.

I turned, my movements swift and purposeful. I had to focus. Prepare the coffee. Keep my hands steady.

But the tremor was still there.

The espresso machine hummed in the background, the rhythmic hiss of steam doing little to settle my nerves. I moved quickly, my hands working on autopilot. I could feel his eyes on me, watching every move I made, and it made my skin crawl with a strange mix of dread and excitement. Why was he here? What did he want? Had he followed me? Was he trying to piece together something he shouldn’t know?

I forced myself to breathe deeply. Just breathe.

When I finished preparing his coffee, I grabbed the cup, the steam rising in tendrils that blurred my vision. I set it down in front of him, my fingers brushing his for the briefest of moments.

Electricity. A shock. Like I’d been struck by lightning. It only lasted an instant, but it left a mark. My skin tingled where our fingers touched, and my heart hammered in my chest, suddenly out of sync.

I couldn’t stay here. I couldn’t stand this close to him, couldn’t let myself crumble like I always had before.

Before I could stop myself, I turned quickly and retreated to the back room, pressing my palms to the cool metal counter. The sensation of his touch still lingered on my skin, a reminder of everything I had tried to bury.

I needed to breathe. I needed to get it together. I couldn’t let him see the cracks forming. I couldn’t show him my fear.

After a few seconds, I steadied myself, wiped my palms on my apron, and walked back out, putting on my mask again.

I stepped back into the front, ready to face whatever else the day would throw at me.

But when I got to the counter, I saw that they were gone. Nicholas and his companion were nowhere to be found. A wave of relief washed over me. Maybe he hadn’t recognized me after all. Maybe I could go back to pretending my past didn’t exist.

But then I saw it. On the table where they’d been sitting was a single napkin, folded neatly.

I hesitated for only a moment before I walked over, my heart now pounding in my chest. The napkin felt heavier than it should have as I picked it up, and when I read the words scrawled across it in bold, deliberate handwriting, my entire body went cold.

“See you tomorrow, Chloe.”

The world seemed to stop.

The napkin fluttered in my hands, my breath shallow as I stared at the message. The words were simple, casual even, but the weight of them was suffocating. He was coming back.

He remembered. Or at least, he would.

And now I had no idea what came next. What would I do? How could I keep running when he was already here?

My stomach churned. The last time I saw Nicholas, I barely escaped with my life.

Now, he was back in my world. And this time, I wasn’t sure if I could outrun him again.