sinful protection

Chapter 1: Nikolai The first bullet shattered the airport’s glass atrium, the sound swallowed by a scream that ripped through the air. Chaos erupted. Three men, faces obscured by balaclavas, fanned out, weapons trained on me. I, Nikolai Ivan Volkov – mafia boss, business magnate, trillionaire – moved before they could fire again. Years of calculated risk, of surviving the cutthroat world I’d built, kicked in. But their second volley found its mark. A searing pain lanced through my shoulder as I went down. Then, a voice, sharp as shattered glass, cut through the pandemonium. “How about you guys come and fight me?” A figure emerged from the swirling crowd, tall and imposing in black, a hood obscuring his face. He moved with lethal grace, a predator stalking its prey. He disarmed the first attacker with a speed that defied belief, a blur of motion that left the man sprawled on the ground. The others hesitated, their focus shifting. He was a whirlwind, a storm of controlled violence, leaving a trail of stunned bodies in his wake. He dragged me behind a pillar, the scent of cordite thick in the air. “You’re bleeding,” he whispered, his voice a low rumble. “Try not to die yet.” He vanished back into the fray, a phantom in the chaos. Security guards, alerted by the commotion, finally arrived, their weapons drawn. The attackers, realizing they were outmatched, fled. He returned, his face still hidden. The medics attended to my wound, their practiced hands efficient. He watched, silent, his presence a wall of quiet intensity. “Who the hell are you?” I demanded, my voice rough with pain. He finally pulled back his hood, revealing a face both handsome and dangerous. His eyes, the color of a stormy sea, held a chilling intelligence. He extended a hand. “Matteo Silvio Romano. Silvio. Nice to meet you, Mr. Volkov.” I took his hand, the grip surprisingly strong. “You fight well,” I admitted, despite the throbbing in my shoulder. He shrugged, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. “Served in the military. Got bored. No thrill.” “I need a bodyguard,” I said, cutting to the chase. “Two hundred thousand a month, plus benefits.” He raised an eyebrow. “Tempting, Mr. Volkov. But I don’t work for money.” “Then what?” I pressed, intrigued by this enigmatic stranger. He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “The chaos. The danger. The adrenaline. I thrive in the fire.” I smirked. “Stick with me, you’ll burn.” A tense silence hung between us, a silent acknowledgment of shared danger. He nodded. “Fine. But I don’t take orders like a lapdog.” “I need a wolf,” I corrected. “Then you’ve got one.” Airport security, their faces pale, approached, demanding statements. I flashed my rarely-used diplomatic ID; they retreated, intimidated. Silvio stood beside me, his gaze sweeping the crowd, already assessing potential threats. The whispers followed us as we moved through the terminal, but I didn’t care. Let them wonder. Let them fear. “You move like a man haunted by ghosts,” I muttered, surprised at the words escaping my lips. He glanced at me, one eyebrow raised. “And you speak like one.” I chuckled, a dry, humorless sound. “Maybe we’re both dead men walking.” My private lounge was a sanctuary of expensive silence, a stark contrast to the chaos we’d left behind. I poured myself a whiskey, the pain a dull throb against my shoulder. Silvio stood by the window, a silent sentinel. “You’re quiet,” I observed. “I speak when it’s necessary.” “Smart,” I conceded. “Who sent them?” I swirled the whiskey, the amber liquid reflecting the harsh light. “Amateurs. Someone thinks I’m weak.” “And are you?” I met his gaze, unwavering. “Not even close.” “Then let’s send a message. Loudly,” he said, his voice low. I smiled, a genuine smile, the first in days. “To Paris, then. For blood.” Elena, my impeccably dressed assistant, entered, her heels clicking on the marble floor. She looked from me to Silvio, her expression unreadable. “The jet’s ready. Medical team on standby. And your shoulder needs stitches, not just a bandage.” “I’ll live,” I said, my voice cold. “And this is…?” Elena asked, her gaze lingering on Silvio. “My new shadow,” I replied. Silvio offered a charming smile. “Bodyguard. For now.” “We’ll see about that,” Elena countered, before turning to me. “Flight leaves in ten.” Silvio watched her go. “She doesn’t like me.” “She doesn’t like anyone,” I said, taking another sip of my whiskey. “That’s why I keep her.” He chuckled. “You surround yourself with fire, Nikolai.” I raised my glass. “I am fire.” “Good. Then let’s burn the world.” The flight was silent, the tension palpable. Silvio’s eyes never rested, constantly scanning, assessing. He was a predator in a tailored suit. The jet, a mobile fortress of black leather and gold accents, felt like a cage, but a gilded one. “Always this paranoid?” I asked, breaking the silence. “Paranoia keeps you alive.” “You sound like me, five years ago,” I said, a hint of self-awareness in my voice. “Maybe I’m your ghost,” he replied, a ghost of a smile on his lips. “Or the one I send to haunt my enemies,” I countered, a new thought forming in my mind. He chuckled softly. “Then I hope they believe in monsters.” Elena returned with intel on the attackers – blurry images, dead aliases, disposable tools. The sender remained a ghost. Silvio studied the photos. “Suicide mission. Kill you or die trying.” “So, who hates me enough to waste three trained men?” I asked, my voice hard. He looked at me, his eyes intense. “Someone who thinks you’re vulnerable.” I laughed, a cold, harsh sound. “Then they’re fools.” He met my gaze, his expression unreadable. “Or they know something you don’t.” That didn’t sit well. Not at all. “We’ll find them,” I said, my voice steel. “And when we do…” He raised an eyebrow. “Torture?” I smiled. “Something worse.” He leaned back, a hint of something akin to admiration in his eyes. “You’re starting to grow on me, Nikolai Ivan Volkov.” “Don’t,” I warned, my smile cold. “I’m not the type you get attached to.” The jet cut through the night sky, a predator hunting its prey. Paris, unaware of the storm approaching, glittered in the distance. I looked at my reflection in the window – bruised, bleeding, alive. And furious. They’d missed their chance. They should have aimed for the head. Because now… now I was coming. And I wasn’t coming alone.