Lovenap

Chapter 1

Dimitri Volkov sighed and rolled his eyes as yet another woman pressed herself against him. The club throbbed with heavy bass that vibrated through his chest, the air thick and hazy with the mingled scents of spilled vodka, sweet hookah smoke, sweat, and far too much designer perfume. Neon lights flashed in erratic patterns across the dance floor, illuminating sweat-slicked bodies moving in a chaotic rhythm. His regulars knew better than to waste their time on him. It was always the newcomers who tried their luck — drawn in by the tailored black shirt stretched tight across his muscular, ink-covered frame, the heavy platinum watch glinting on his wrist, and the quiet, dangerous aura that clung to him like expensive cologne.

Nikolai, his right-hand man and closest friend, watched the scene from the next barstool with an amused smirk, slowly nursing his drink.

The woman pushed her breasts firmly against Dimitri’s arm, fluttering her lashes as she let out a high-pitched giggle that grated on his nerves. Her cheap, cloying perfume hit him like a chemical wall — sickly sweet vanilla and jasmine that burned his nostrils and made his eyes water slightly. She traced her manicured nails lightly along his bicep, the touch sticky from whatever glitter lotion she’d slathered on earlier. The sensation made his skin crawl.

Dimitri finally turned to her, his expression flat and unyielding. “I’m sorry, honey, but I’m only interested in men.” He reached over and took Nikolai’s hand in a deliberate, firm grip. “And I don’t appreciate you trying to make my man jealous.”

The woman’s eyes widened in genuine shock. She recoiled sharply, her sticky perfume trailing after her like a bad memory as she fled into the pulsing crowd, her cheeks burning bright red under the strobing lights.

Nikolai yanked his hand away with a low growl of annoyance. “Damn it, Dimitri. Don’t drag me into your s**t every time. You’re gonna scare off my prospects!”

Dimitri snorted, the smoky taste of his last whisky still lingering on his tongue. “What prospects? You haven’t closed in weeks.”

They finished their drinks and pushed through the heavy club doors into the cool Chicago night. The sudden drop in temperature made Dimitri’s skin prickle pleasantly after the stifling heat inside. The air smelled cleaner out here — damp pavement from an earlier rain, distant petrichor, and the faint metallic tang of the city. He pulled a cigarette from his pack, placed it between his lips, and lit it with his lucky Zippo. The sharp click of the lighter and the crackle of burning tobacco were instantly soothing. He took a long, slow drag, feeling the warm smoke fill his lungs before exhaling a smooth plume into the night air. The tension in his broad shoulders finally began to loosen.

“If I didn’t have to run this damn place,” he muttered, voice rough from the smoke, “I’d be home with a beautiful wife who just finished cooking dinner. The smell of fresh garlic and herbs filling the kitchen, her soft laugh echoing through the house. We’d actually enjoy each other’s company — no games, no bullshit.”

Nikolai scoffed, his breath visible in the cool air. “Yeah, well, you have to get a woman first. You’re too busy scaring them off with that icy stare of yours.”

“Only the ones who aren’t wife material,” Dimitri replied, tapping ash onto the wet sidewalk. “I’m not finding my future wife in a sleazy club like this.”

Quick, light footsteps echoed behind them — the sharp click of heels on pavement cutting through the quiet night like an unexpected drumbeat.

They both turned at the same time. A small woman stood there under the glow of the streetlamp, pointing a gun at them with visibly shaking hands. She wore a sleek black mask that covered only the bottom half of her face, leaving her large brown doe eyes completely exposed. Those eyes were wide, nervous, and far too pretty — framed by long lashes and filled with a mix of fear and fierce determination. A faint, intoxicating scent of vanilla and something warmer — maybe cinnamon or a hint of her shampoo — drifted toward him on the breeze.

“I’m only here for you, Dimitri Volkov,” she said, trying to sound intimidating. Her voice trembled slightly, but it still slid over his skin like warm velvet, smooth and unexpectedly rich. “Come quietly and I won’t hurt you.”

Nikolai barked out a sharp laugh, the sound echoing in the alley. “Seriously, little girl? Walk away before you get hurt.”

Dimitri raised a hand, silencing his friend instantly. His gaze stayed locked on her. Those big brown eyes hit him like a freight train — soft, determined, and full of unexpected fire. The faint scent of her skin mixed with the cold night air made something deep in his chest tighten with sudden, undeniable interest. In that moment, he knew he was already screwed. Most people who pointed guns at him ended up regretting it. This one? He wanted to see where this chaotic energy led.

“No need to provoke her,” Dimitri said smoothly, his voice low and calm. “If she wants me, I’ll go without a fight.”

Nikolai raised an eyebrow in disbelief, but Dimitri shot him a pointed look that clearly said: Don’t ruin this for me. Play along.

Nikolai sighed dramatically and threw his hands up. “Alright, this devushka is serious, boss. Just go with her before she shoots me instead.”

The masked woman let out a tiny sigh of relief, the fabric of her mask shifting with the exhale. She lowered the gun slightly, the weight of it seeming almost too much for her small hands.

Dimitri reached out with one finger and gently tilted the barrel back toward his chest, feeling the cool, heavy metal under his fingertip. “Keep it pointed at your target, little Zayka.”

Her eyes widened even more, long lashes catching the streetlight. Fresh determination flashed across her visible features. “Good. You know who’s in charge. Now move!”

Dimitri grinned, slow and genuine, a spark of real amusement lighting his eyes. “I’ll go anywhere you want. Just tell me the direction.”

She blinked, visibly flustered by his easy compliance, then pointed the gun toward a sleek black Alfa Romeo SUV parked nearby. The chrome gleamed under the streetlights.

Dimitri walked over calmly and tried the passenger door. The handle was cold and slick in his grip. It didn’t open.

“It’s locked,” he said, fighting back a smile.

A quiet “s**t” slipped from behind the mask, muffled but still audible. He heard her fumbling in her pockets, keys jingling frantically, before the locks finally clicked with a heavy thud.

She scrambled into the driver’s seat, the leather creaking under her. Dimitri slid in beside her, the new-car smell mixing intimately with her soft vanilla scent in the enclosed space. He glanced back at Nikolai with a wink.

“Don’t wait up.”