Chapter Six: Helping a Murderer

Ava

The walls of Nikolai's office are cloaked in a deep charcoal that blends seamlessly into the dark wood design, creating an intense atmosphere.

The shelves are filled with all kinds of books, new and old, all turned to the spine. The books are arranged in such precise colour coordination that they look a bit too perfect.

The space is much bigger than I expected it to be and I'm almost consumed by its vastness.

A large mahogany desk stands at the centre of it all, polished to a gleam with neatly stacked papers arranged on each side, and not a single paper document out of place.

A sleek black leather chair stands just behind the desk, its high back giving off an air of authority against the soft glow of the crystal chandelier above the room.

Nikolai occupies the chair, matte-framed glasses perched on the bridge of his nose as his pen moves frantically over a document, his brows furrowing in concentration.

In the last twenty minutes I've been seated opposite this man; I had examined his office nearly fifteen times and came up with two conclusions.

The first being that Nikolai looked incredibly sexy in glasses.

And the second was that despite the clear articulation put into the design of this room, the space still managed to feel bare. There was nothing in here that tied the man behind the desk to it, except the single picture frame on his desk.

It was a picture of two men, one I recognised as Nikolai and the other I didn't. The other man has a hand slung over Nikolai's shoulder, a broad grin gracing his face as he laughs at something. Nikolai was sprouting a similar smile. Although his smile wasn't as wide as the first man's, there was still a level of warmth behind it.

Up until this moment, I had convinced myself that the man before me was some kind of machine, devoid of human emotions, but this picture proves otherwise. In it, he seems almost ... normal.

"You have dimples," I say and immediately clamp my lips shut once the words are out of my mouth.

Nikolai's pen freezes mid-motion, and he glances briefly in the direction of the picture, and then he looks back at me with an arched eyebrow.

"I-sorry, it just surprised me is all. I didn't expect you to look so..."

"So?"

"Happy." the word escapes me in a soft whisper, and I expect him to react or say something that would imply that I was being delusional, but what I don't expect is the sadness that flashes in his eyes at the mention of the word.

I am quickly learning that despite how the people of the Volkov mansion presented themselves to the outside world, sadness was a recurring emotion in their lives.

"Who is he?" I ask. It was a question I wasn't sure I had the right to know the answer to but that still didn't stop me from asking. His jaw ticks and when he speaks again, his voice is tight and measured.

"Kira's father."

My brows narrow in confusion. "But that doesn't make any sense," I say, "I thought you were her father."

"That may be my title now, but originally I was her uncle"

My breath catches in my throat as the realization of his words sinks in.

"He's your brother."

He gives a small nod, and the tension in his shoulders rolls down the rest of his body. He stands up from his chair and makes his way around the table until he is beside me. He places a hand on the table his fingers inches away from grazing my skin.

It worries me how that single action alone could deepen attraction towards him. Both sleeves of his shirt are rolled up, exposing his tatted forearms and I have to physically stop myself from reaching out and tracing the intricate patterns etched into his skin.

I swallow hard, my chest tightening as I shift uncomfortably in my chair.

He's close, too close and his scent -a mixture of cinnamon and something else - fills the space between us.

There was something oddly comforting about the scent of him, and it made me want to bury my nose into the crook of his neck, just so I could have that scent embedded in me.

"What happened to him?" I ask, barely above a whisper. I needed something to shift my focus from all the inappropriate thoughts running in my mind. He doesn't respond to my question but instead, he asks me,

"Do you know why I married you, Ava?"

His question catches me off guard, and I tilt my head slightly, studying him as I try to ignore how much I enjoyed the sound of my name on his tongue.

"Because your father wanted you to", I say, recalling how my father explained the conditions of his and Nikolai's father's arrangement to me.

It was the only reasonable answer I could think of, but apparently, that wasn't the answer he wanted.

He lets out a laugh, the sound vibrating through the air and sending a strange ripple down my spine.

"I could care less what my father wanted." He says, meaning it.

I could tell that like Kat, Nikolai cared little about his deceased father.

Like me, he was probably wronged by his father, but unlike me, his father didn't give a fuck about his actions towards his son, and it would seem that neither did he.

"Then why go through all this trouble just to marry me? I doubt there's a shortage of women where you're concerned. Why didn't you just pick one of them to marry instead of me?"

I just wanted to understand. If he didn't care about his father's wishes, why did he go through all that trouble to intercept my wedding to Antonio, kidnap Alessandro's daughter for leverage, just so he could marry me?

He watches me in silence for a moment. His expression is unreadable. Neither one of us speaks, but I could feel his hardened gaze piercing through me, dauntingly so as if he was trying to see through my very soul.

For a second, I think he isn't going to respond to my question, but then he leans in, and I sink further into my chair, clasping the armrest tightly in a firm grip at his sudden intrusion.

His eyes darken, his gaze briefly falling to my lips before flickering back to my eyes.

The corners of his lips twist upwards into an unsettling smile and I feel my heart plummets to my stomach. "Because Ava," he begins his voice deathly low and serious, "I need your help to kill your father."

I blink up at him, unsure if I've heard him correctly.

It's a joke, it had to be. A sick one, no doubt, but still, it had to be a joke. Because there was no way he was being serious.

I search his face hoping to find something to back up my notion but instead, I'm met with a stoic expression that forces me to believe the seriousness behind his words

"What?" I manage to whisper, barely holding back the shock I felt.

"You heard me", he responds calmly, and for a second, I'm confused if we're talking about the weather or my father's possible demise by his hands. He straightens, his cold gaze locking with mine and I feel my mouth go dry.

"I am going to kill your father solnishko, and you are going to help me."