NIKOLAI (Her Russian Protector #4) Read Free Page B

his burglary schemes when she was a child. To put her
life in jeopardy now would be nothing to that man.
    Santos swore and ran his fingers
through his hair. "I tried to get a security detail on her or even
have her taken into protective custody, but they shot me down.
There's no credible threat."
    "No credible threat? What the hell do the
police want? A head in an ice chest?"
    Vivian visibly jerked. Guilt speared his belly.
He rubbed his thumb along the underside of her wrist. "I'm
sorry."
    Her shoulders bounced. "You're not saying
anything that isn't true."
    "Look," Santos said, "I'll agree that our
system isn't perfect but it's the best we've got. I'm going to pack
her a bag and get her out of here until this thing dies
down."
    Nikolai's gut clenched at the very idea of
Vivian being out of his sight and beyond his reach. His grip
tightened on her wrist as possessiveness overwhelmed him. "She's
not going anywhere unless it's with me."
    The detective's eyes narrowed as
anger flashed across his face. "You don't get to make decisions
for my family. I'm
a cop. I'll protect her."
    "And what makes you think that the cartel or
the club gives a shit about the badge you carry? Have you seen what
goes on south of the border? The weight of the Houston PD means
nothing to these men."
    "But the Russian mob does?" The detective's jaw
clenched. "How the hell am I supposed to trust a man who makes his
living running guns and drugs and whatever the hell else you push
out of the back room of that restaurant of yours to protect my baby
cousin?"
    Despite the fact that Samovar was completely
and totally legit, Nikolai didn't correct Santos about the
restaurant. "Whether you trust me or not isn't the question." His
gaze dropped to Vivian's worried face. "She can make her own
choice."
    Santos scoffed loudly. "Give me a break! You've
got her wrapped around your dirty little finger so tightly she
doesn't know what she needs or what's right anymore."
    "Excuse me?" Vivian turned angry eyes on her
cousin. "Who the hell do you think you are? You're my cousin—you're
basically all the blood family I have left—but I'm not going to
stand here and let you talk about me as if I'm some stupid
child."
    "I didn’t call you stupid or a child," Santos
retorted, "but sometimes you do very stupid things." She gasped
with outrage but her cousin talked right over her. "That car
outside? You think I didn't know about that? What the hell, Vivian?
Why are you letting this guy buy you a car with his dirty
money?"
    As if on cue, the tea kettle began to whistle.
Nikolai dropped Vivian's hand and switched off the burner. He
reached into his pocket and withdrew the keys to the Christmas gift
he'd tried to give her yesterday morning, the gift she'd gently
refused on principle. He tossed them onto the countertop where they
landed with a clatter. "She didn't accept the car—and it wasn't
bought with dirty money."
    The detective ignored the facts presented to
him. "And your job at his restaurant? The tuition he pays? Your
health insurance? The professional art studio he gave you?" He
waved his hands. "Do you understand what that looks like to the
outside world? Do you realize what everyone thinks about you? About
what you are?"
    The unspoken words hung in the air between
them, the ugliness of it all suspended on the thick tension.
Nikolai had a very good idea what Santos thought. He'd done
everything he could to keep Vivian's reputation spotless but he'd
clearly fucked up somewhere. What were they saying about her? Were
they calling her his mistress or his kept woman—or
worse?
    Vivian didn't take the bait.
" I know what I am,
Eric. That's enough for me. Everyone else? They're not my
problem."
    Bewildered by her calm reply, Santos
stared at her. "Jesus, I never thought you were that naïve."
    "Enough." Nikolai didn't like to get involved
in Vivian's family issues but he had to draw the line at allowing
her cousin to attack her with baseless accusations.
    As if proving his