Nikolai's POV
Lazar didn't call unless it mattered. That alone should have been enough to make me uneasy. I stared at my phone long after the call ended, the screen dark, my reflection fractured across it. We need to meet. It's important. No explanation. No theatrics. Which meant one thing: whatever this was, it meant business.
On the other hand, Jonathan was still breathing. That irritated me. The bastard sat in police custody instead of beneath my fists where he belonged. I'd broken his nose once, cracked two ribs, and dislocated his jaw, but it hadn't been enough. It never felt like enough when I thought about Isabella's shattered window, the boot mark on her door, the knife lodged in her door, the way she'd tried to act fine while her entire world had been violated, and her fragile body shook in fear.
