bChapter /bb35 /b

Niki’s POV:

.

The message blinked on my phone bscreen/b, a bterse /bline from one of my informants: b“/bShe pped Lazar Morozov.b” /b

I stared at it, my thumb hovering bover /bthe screen. Lazar Morozov? The name bwas /bfamiliar, but only in passing. He was Sergei Morozov’s younger brother–the only one bstill /baliveb, /bif memory served. A peripheral figure, someone who kept to himself and brarely /battended family events. But he was known to be a bclose /bfriend of Dmitri, often seen at his birthday parties.

What could he bhave /bpossibly said to provoke Elena bto /bsuch an extent?

My fists clenched involuntarily bas /bI turned to bgaze /bout the window. The sun was dipping below the horizon, casting long shadows bacross /bthe cityscape. The golden hues of dusk bathed the buildings in a warm glow, but I felt none of its serenity.

Elena had called bearlier/b, mentioning she’d visit bafter /bseeing her motherb, /baround eight. But now, an urge stirred within me- a need to see her, to ensure she was okay. I decided bto /bsurprise her in

I gathered my belongings, shutting down

down myptop and slipping into my suit jacket. On the way, I stopped by the supermarket, picking out a selection of fresh fruits. The familiarity of the task grounded me, offering a brief brespite /bfrom my swirling thoughtsb. /bbI /bpicked berriesb, /btangerines, bsweet /bmelon and mangoesb. /bShe loved mangoes, I knew that.

Driving through the city, I eventually reached a neighborhood that seemed untouched by time. Rows of quaint houses lined the bstreets/bb, /beach with bits /bown unique charm. Chimneys adorned the rooftops, and the scent of home–cooked meals wafted through the air. It felt like stepping into a scene from a 90s movieb. /b

I parked my ck Mercedesb–/bba /bstark contrast to the modest surroundingsb–/band approached the house. Dressed in my office attire, I felt slightly out of ce, but the anticipation of seeing Elena overshadowed any difort.

bI /brang the doorbell, the chime echoing softly. Momentster, the door opened, revealing Elena. She looked surprised, her beyes /bmine. She bwas /bbdressed /bin a…I paused trying to remember the word. Ah, yesb. /bKurti.

wide bas /b

they

met

bA /bbvender /bkurtib–/bba /btraditional Indian tunicb—/bbpaired /bwith matching cotton trousersb. /bHer hair bcascaded /bdown her shouldersb, /bslightly Reaching below her hips.

“What bare /byou doing hereb?/bb” /bbshe /bbasked/b, bher /bvoice tinged with surprise.

I couldn’t help but smile. b“/bAren’t you going to invite your husband in?”

From insideb, /ba bvoice /bbcalled /bout, “Who bis /bit?” It was obviously bBeatrix /bby the sound of bit/bb. /b

“it’s bjust /bNiko,” bElena /bbreplied/b, her tone casual.

sled

Just Niko. The nickname warmed me. Only my mother had bever /bcalled me bthat/bb, /band hearing it from Elena…didn’t sound wrong. Unlike when other people tried to bcall /bme that I didn’t understand why that bwas/b. Why did bher /bbcalling /bme Niko make me bfeel /bso good? Horny in the bedroom and warm when she bsaid /bbit /boutside bcasually/b.

Even though I knew this frankness bof /bbher’s /bbwas /bbalso /bcalcted. If she’d called me Niki in front of her mom then it wouldn’t bhave /bbseemed /bintimateb, /bwould have probably made bher /bbmother /bsuspicious. That’s what annoyed me though. She never called me Niko when bwe /bbwere /bbalone/bb, /bbexcept /bbifor /i/bwhen bwe /bbwe fucked/b. Always using my full name.

She stepped baside/bb, /ballowing me to enterb. /bThe bfirst /bthing that came bto /bmind as bI /bdid bwas /bbthat /bthe house bwas /bbcozy/bb, /bbwith /ba bnarrow /bcorridor leading bto /ba bstaircase /band two passagewaysb–/bone to bthe /bbliving /broom band /bthe bother /bto the kitchen. The aroma bof /bbspices /bfilled the air, making my stomach rumble. Reminding me bI /bbhad /bmissed lunch.

b“/bbAre /byou cooking?” bI /bbasked/bb, /bbncing /bbat /bbher/bb. /b

She nodded, b“/bOh, byeah/b. bI /bbjust /bbput /bsomething on bthe /bbstove /bawhile bago/b. I was doing my bhair /bbefore you arrived. You should take a bseat /bhereb./bb” /b

As she spokeb, /bher mother walked out of the living roomb, /bsmiling warmly. It bwas /bsurprisingb, /bconsidering our bst /bencounter had been btense/b. But perhaps the recent events had softened her stance. I breturned /bher smile band /bbhugged /bbher /bbgently/b. bHer /bbeyes /bnded on the fruit basket I held, and she

bbeamed/b.

Elenab, /btake this to the kitchen and bring something to drink,” she said.

Elena took the basket from my hands and vanished into the kitchen, the soft shuffle of her slippers disappearing down the bhallway/b. Beatrix turned to me with ba /bsmall, polite bsmile /band bgestured /btoward the living room.

“Comeb, /bhave a seatb. /bOh, and take your shoes boff /bplease.” she said warmly, her voice lighter than bI /bremembered it being bdays /bago. Not bthat /bI missed the bsteel /bit once bheld/b..

I took off my oxfords bnext /bto the ce where three bother /bbpairs /bbof /bshoes bwere /bbset/b.

b1/2 /b

b8:42 /bPM

I followed her into the living room, my footsteps echoing faintly on the polished wooden floor. As bI /bstepped in, the first thing I noticed smell–warm, bspiced/b, familiar in a way I couldn’t exin. bLike /bcardamom and turmeric soaked in something sweeter.

bwas /bthe

The space bwas /bmodest but carefully curated, like everything had been bgiven /bimmense thought. The Scandinavian undertones were impossible to missb–/blightwood furniture with sleek lines, woven brugs /bin shades of beige and dusty rose, and potted greenery softening the corners of the room. Minimalistic floormps bcast /bba /bwarm bglow /bover everything, giving the entire ce a lived–in kind of serenity.

But there bwere /bother details btoo/b–details bthat /bdidn’t belong to the Nordic design books you bsee /bin upscale catalogues.

On the bfar /bbwall/b, a

framed calligraphy piece written in what I guessed was Arabic hung just above the mantel, the strokes fluid and elegant. In the corner bsat /ba blow/bb, /bcarved bbrass /bincense burner, and beside bit/b, a clearly hand–painted ceramic bowl that looked like it had traveled bacross /boceans to bget /bhereb. /b

A tray bof /bbdates /bsat beside a decorativentern on the coffee btable/bb–/bclearly old, its bronze oxidized bat /b

the bedges/b.

Then there were the family photos–dozens of them lining a narrow wooden ledge mounted on the wall. Some bwere /bin ck and white, others vibrant with age. bI /bspotted a younger Elena in one, smiling beside a man who looked like her and not at all like her. Maybe it was bthe /bbsmile/bb? /b

Beatrix lowered herself onto the couch then patted the seat beside her. I sat, the cushion dipping slightly beneath my weight. The silence wasn’t awkward–bjust /bsuspended, waiting to be filled.

Momentster, Elena reappeared with a round silver tray in her hands, the kind engraved with floral vines you’d bexpect /bto bsee /bin old Middle Eastern homes. Bnced on it was a delicate ss teacup and a small ceramic bowl filled with sugar cubes.

She bset /bthe tray down on the coffee table and handed me the cup, the steam curling up

The scent hit me instantly–chai.

“Chaitte?” bI /basked, raising an eyebrow as bI /bwrapped my fingers around the warm bss/b.

toward my

bface/b.

Elena snorted, her lips quirking into ba /bsmirk. “Chai. Just chai. bPlease /bdon’t add thette thing. That’s bsacrilege/bb./bb” /b

Beatrix let out a small, fondugh, the kind mothers reserve only for when their child is being unapologetically themselvesb. /bb“/bThis drink is our family favorite,” she said, her tone proud, “and one of the few things she still enjoys from her culture. She always disliked the food growing up, too spicy for her back then. But thisb? /bThis she bnever /blet go of.”

To be honestb, /bI’d had chaitte beforeb, /band I hadn’t liked it at all. That was the first and bst /btime I’d drank it. But my beyes /bmet Elena’s beager /bones bnow /band I didn’t want to disappoint herb. /bShe’d made this for me after all.!

So, I brought the cup to my lipsb, /binhaling deeply before taking ba /bsmall sip.

And then I blinked. “Ohb… /bbwow/bb./bb” /b

This bwas /bdefinitely chaib. /bBut not the bwatered/b–down version I had been served in the bcafe /bdowntown. This bwas /bthicker, bdarker/b, dusted with cardarnomb, /bcinnamon, and something belse /bbI /bcouldn’t quite nameb. /bAnd definitely stronger and more vourful.

I took in another sip and then anotherb, /benjoying the bafter /bbtaste /bbit /bleft. What the heck? This bwas /bactually really good. How bcan /bthere be this much bof /bba /bbdifference/bb? /b

Elena smiled, b“/bRate it out of ten.”

“Honestly? I’d bgive /bbit /bba /bsolid nineb. /bbIt’s /bexactly-b” /b

b“/bbYour /bbtype/b?” she interjected.

I nodded, “How did you knowb?/bb” /b

But as soon as the question left my lips her smile bfaltered/b, her bexpression /bturning somber,

1 frowned

Had

b2/2 /b