"Нет, Игорёк, сиди на жопе ровно."

Nikolay held the burner phone to his ear, staring out the smeared window of his new living room. The Spokane skyline looked gray and depressing, which was exactly why he picked it. Nobody looked twice at a city this boring.

"No, you listen to me," he said in Russian. "Stop tailing me. With that mug of yours, someone's gonna call the cops in five minutes. You sit in your apartment, and you don't go outside."

He paused, listening to Igor’s grumbling on the other end of the line.

"I don't care if you're bored, Igor. I'm paying you to watch my back, not to shadow me. Call me if there's an actual problem."

He hung up without waiting for an answer and tossed the phone onto the cracked laminate kitchen counter.

Nikolay shoved his hands into the pockets of his hoodie and took a long look around. The apartment was a complete dump. The ceiling had water stains, the carpet was a mystery shade of brown, and the couch looked like it had survived three different college fraternities. The whole place probably cost less per month than the wine he used to order at dinner.

This is hilarious.

A month ago, he was sitting in the back of a custom armored Maybach in Moscow, deciding which regional politician to buy out and which competitor to bury. Now he was hiding out, paying rent in cash to a landlord who didn't even care to ask for his last name.

Honestly, he kind of liked it. It was simple. Nobody was asking him to solve logistical nightmares. Nobody was trying to put a bullet in his head. He didn't have to wear a suit today. It was a vacation, just with shittier furniture.

The walls were paper-thin. He could hear a TV blaring two doors down, the muffled sound of a sports announcer, and the rattle of old pipes somewhere above him. He needed coffee. Or maybe he just needed to walk around and stretch his legs. The ceiling in here was so low he felt like he had to duck his head just to cross the room.

Nikolay pulled a Cuban cigar from his pocket, rolling between his thick fingers before clamping it between his teeth. He didn't light it. He just liked the weight of it. Grabbing his keys, he unlocked the door and stepped out into the hallway.

The corridor smelled like old cooking oil. The carpet out here was somehow even worse than inside. Nikolay let his door shut behind him and turned toward the stairwell. He didn't bother trying to walk quietly. He owned whatever space he occupied, even if it was a slum in the Pacific Northwest.

That was when he saw her.

Outside the apartment next to his. Nikolay stopped. He took a slow, deliberate look, letting his gaze drag over her from the top of her head down to her shoes.

Well. Look at that pretty little face.

She was young. A college student, probably. A massive, glaring upgrade from the usual depressing scenery in this building. He watched her for a second, noticing the exact moment she froze. Of course she froze. He knew exactly what he looked like. A big, scarred, fifty-one-year-old Russian man wearing dark clothes, taking up half the hallway.

He took the unlit cigar out of his mouth and let his face relax into an easy, confident smirk. The kind of smile he usually reserved for women who cost more per night than this entire building's rent.

"Having trouble with the lock, sweetheart?"

Nikolay took a slow step closer, but deliberately kept his hands visible, hooking his thumbs into the pockets of his jeans. He didn't want her bolting down the stairs before he even got her name.

"I'm Nikolay. Your new neighbor." He stopped a polite distance away, tilting his head slightly as he looked down at her. He gave her a slow, reassuring look, his smile widening. "Don't look so nervous, girl. I'm not going to hurt you."

He leaned his shoulder against the chipped paint of the hallway wall, looking perfectly comfortable, waiting for her to find her voice.

"You live here alone, or is someone going to come out and ask why an old man is talking to you?"

from Misha: It's done. Last wire just went through. Seattle gets the money in 48 hours. No red flags. I’m shutting everything down and going to sleep.

Nikolay held the burner phone an arm’s length away from his face. His reading glasses sat low on the bridge of his nose. He had to tilt his head back just to focus on the tiny text.

Finally.

He lowered the phone, letting it rest against his broad chest. He looked around the living room. It had been a month since they met out in that hallway. Thirty days of playing the role of a retired contractor on a budget. Thirty days of sneaking into this small apartment, and listening to her talk about her classes, her friends, and her stress.

He actually liked it. He liked fixing the plumbing under her sink. He liked the quiet, domestic routine of it all. It was a vacation.

But he was Nikolay Burkov and he was done pretending to be a poor man.

I'm sick of this building.

Nikolay already had the list. He knew exactly what he was buying first. The penthouse in downtown Seattle was ready. Igor had swept it for bugs yesterday, checking the blind spots and securing the private elevator. It had floor-to-ceiling windows and security that rivaled a military base.

Next was her student debt. He was going to wipe it out before she even woke up on Monday. Just call his bank and make it disappear. Then the car. He was getting her a Mercedes. Black, tinted windows, safe.

He was going to drop a card on the counter, tell the truth about who he was, and watch her face. He couldn't wait to see the realization set in. He loved taking care of his own. The idea of moving her into a secure fortress where nobody else could even look at her was exactly what he wanted.

Because I take care of my girl.

He heard a soft snort from the desk by the window, where she was sitting with her laptop. He knew exactly what was happening.

He was being watched.

"Laughing at the poor old man, sweetheart?" Nikolay asked. He kept his eyes on the phone screen, a lazy smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. "I can feel you staring. You think the glasses are funny?"

When a muffled giggle answered him, he shook his head, highly amused.

Nikolay brought the phone a little closer, scowling at the tiny digital keyboard. He started typing his reply to Misha. It was a slow, painful process. He hit the wrong key, muttered a quiet curse in Russian under his breath, and aggressively tapped the backspace button three times.

Fucking buttons are too small.

to Misha Good. Go to sleep.

He hit send.

Another quiet giggle floated across the room.

Okay. That was it.

Nikolay let out a low chuckle. He tossed the phone onto the coffee table. Then pulled the reading glasses off his face, folded them neatly, and set them down. He took his time.

He pushed himself up from the couch, didn't saying a word. He just walked right up behind her chair.

Without asking, his hands grabbed her by the waist, as he hauled her up and out of the chair in one motion. Nikolay sat down in her place, and pulled her straight down across his thighs.

He arranged her face-down over his lap. The size difference was ridiculous: his chest and legs completely dwarfed her. He locked one thick arm across the small of her back, pinning her in place so she couldn't scramble away.

"So," Nikolay murmured.

He brought his free hand up.

Smack.

It was a firm, stinging slap from a heavy hand, meant to leave a warm red mark. He knew exactly how to control his strength. Just enough force to shock and discipline without causing any actual damage.

"Since I'm so old and blind," he continued smoothly, completely calm. He let his rough palm rest right over the stinging skin. His thumb rubbed a slow, mocking circle.

Smack.

"I guess I need to punish a cheeky little thing," Nikolay said. He patted the red skin gently, letting his hand linger. "Right, devochka? Show some respect to your elders."

.