Nikolai’s Tainted Nun

Prologue Nikolai ⟿❂⟾ New York, 7 Years Ago ⟿❂⟾ "Kill him." Matteo fucking Gianni, my father, didn't believe in wasting words, and I didn't believe in saying them either. He slid the manila folder across like it held nothing more interesting than the lunch menu at his favorite restaurant. Dino Donatello. Mid-40s. Ran weapons and girls out of Staten Island, made deals with anyone who waved a dollar in his face, and skimmed more than his share off our shipments. He'd successfully worked his way into my father's bad books, and now he'd have to be burned with those books. It was a simple job. Walk in, handle it, walk out. A routine so familiar it barely registered as work anymore, more like muscle memory than murder. "Don't think," my father added, not even looking at me as he poured himself a glass of scotch. "Just get it done." I'd learned not to argue with him by the time I turned 15. At 22, I wasn't stupid enough to start now. So I nodded, took the file, and headed out without

Chapter 2 ⟿❂⟾ Sylvia ⟿❂⟾ If sneaking into the shelter without being caught were an Olympic sport, I'd take gold. Well, maybe bronze. Okay, lying is a sin. I'd probably trip over my own feet, crash into a nun, and get excommunicated on the spot. "Just a few more steps," I whispered to myself, my heart pounding louder than the damn church bells on Sunday morning. My left sock betrayed me by sliding on the smooth floor. "Shit!" I hissed, then clamped a hand over my mouth. A nun isn't supposed to cuss! I was going to hell. Straight to hell. Not even purgatory was going to bother with me at this rate. I shuffled forward, cringing with every creak and groan the ancient staircase made under my weight. I could already imagine Mother Beatrice's face if she caught me, that withering glare that could peel paint off walls. Halfway up, the sound of footsteps froze me in place. Oh no. Ohhh no. I turned so slowly I could hear my neck creak. And there she was. Mother Beatrice, in all her h

Chapter 3 ⟿❂⟾ Nikolai ⟿❂⟾ The rain had slowed by the time I made it home, but the cold clung to my skin like an unwelcome memory. Drenched, I peeled off my coat and tossed it onto the armchair near the window, watching as water pooled around its edges. The housekeeper was going to lose her shit over this. The place was dead quiet, except for the occasional snort from Fur, my dog, or rather, my freeloading furry roommate. She wasn't a watchdog; she was a sleep-dog. The lazy girl would only move if food or belly rubs were involved. I'd dragged her here because, frankly, I didn't trust the housekeeper at the main house. That woman would probably "accidentally" feed her antifreeze and claim it was Gatorade. I looked over at her, sprawled on the couch like some sort of aristocrat. "You're not even a real dog, are you? I bet if someone broke in, you'd hand them the good silver and wag your tail on their way out." She snorted again. I sighed. This place wasn't much, just a temporary

Nikolai ⟿❂⟾ Chapter 5 ⟿❂⟾ It was 38 minutes past 5 p.m. and she hadn't called. I was checking my fucking watch like a fool. I leaned against the open door of the black SUV, my gaze flicking from the warehouse to the men inside. This deal should have been wrapped by now, but everything about tonight felt slower than usual, maybe because I wasn't in the mood for patience. Luigi stood to my left, flicking his lighter open and closed, the metallic snick echoing between us grated so hard on my fucking nerves. Manuel stood a few feet away, cigarette dangling from his lips as he muttered something to another guy beside him. Across from them, our "business partners" for the evening, Bruno Santini and his men were huddled around the crates, whispering like schoolgirls. Santini was short, greasy, and about as trustworthy as a snake in a crib. His boys were restless as a virgin on her wedding night, their fingers twitching toward their weapons every few minutes. I didn't trust him. Not

Sylvia ⟿❂⟾ Chapter 7 ⟿❂⟾ Two hours. That was how long I sat there, curled up on the broken, hard wooden pew, shivering, waiting for a man who was never going to show up. Somewhere between the cold seeping into my bones and the gnawing ache in my chest, I'd started crying without even realizing it. Silent, stupid tears that I wiped away angrily, but they just kept falling, carving hot trails down my cheeks. I didn't even know why. Maybe it was the exhaustion settling heavy in my bones. Maybe it was the helplessness clawing at my insides, patient and relentless. Or maybe it was the terrifying realization that I might have just raised everyone's hopes for nothing. Because what if it wasn't Nikolai? What if the anonymous donor who had promised to help the shelter wasn't him at all? What if I had made them believe, led them on, promised them, that someone powerful was going to step in and save us, only for it to all be a big fat lie? What if Mother Beatrice had looked at me wit