It was nighttime, and the city lights outside Elara's apartment glimmered faintly against the windows. The faint hum of traffic filtered in from the street below, blending into the comforting buzz of domestic quiet. Elara had just returned from work, still in her comfortable flats and her cardigan half-slipped off her shoulder, hair tied up in a loose bun. Maya, her best friend since college, was sprawled on the couch, one leg tucked beneath her, holding a bowl of popcorn between them.
Elara placed her wine glass on the coffee table and leaned back with a sigh, her eyes sparkling with something Maya couldn't miss.
"Okay," Maya said, narrowing her eyes suspiciously. "What is it? You're glowing. Did something happen?"
Elara gave her a sheepish grin. "Promise not to scream?"
Maya perked up, already excited. "No. Spill."
"I went to church yesterday," Elara started, brushing a lock of hair from her face. "And guess who I bumped into as soon as I stepped out of the building?"
Maya raised a brow, chewing her popcorn slowly. "Please don't tell me it's that hot guy who saved you from the creep that night."
Elara smiled wider. "It is. Nikolai."
Maya gasped, nearly choking on her popcorn. "Shut up! The same tall, dark-haired, green-eyed guy you couldn't stop talking about for two days?"
Elara nodded, cheeks flushing slightly. "That one."
"Wait, wait, wait." Maya sat up, setting the bowl aside. "And? What happened? Did he recognize you? Did you talk? Did you trip over your own words again?"
Elara rolled her eyes. "No, thank you very much. I was perfectly composed. We greeted each other, and he asked where I was going. When I told him I was headed to church, he said he was too."
"You're kidding."
"I thought I was dreaming. I mean, after what happened, I didn't expect to see him again, let alone have him just casually walk beside me to church."
Maya's eyes widened. "Okay, hold on. So this guy just happened to be going to the same church at the same time as you? Are we sure he's not stalking you in a hot, mysterious way?"
Elara giggled. "Don't ruin it. Maybe it was fate."
Maya leaned forward, grabbing a pillow to hug. "Okay, fine. He went to church. And?"
"We sat near each other. Nothing weird. He was quiet for most of the service. But afterward... he asked for my number."
Maya blinked. "You're joking."
"Nope."
"Okay, now I'm screaming internally."
Elara laughed, grabbing her wine glass again. "It was surreal. He was so polite, so... normal. You know when someone's attractive but then they speak and it ruins everything? Not him."
Maya pointed a finger at her. "So let me get this straight. Hot hero guy saves you, disappears, and then magically shows up and walks with you to church and asks for your number."
Elara gave her a pointed look. "You sound like you're describing a fairy tale."
"I mean, it kind of is! Elara, I was starting to think you'd die single with three cats named after chocolate."
"Thanks for the faith."
"Hey, I love you. But it's been a while since you looked at anyone like this."
Elara's lips twitched into a smile. "I guess it caught me off guard."
Just then, Elara's phone buzzed on the coffee table. Both women paused, eyes locking.
"Is that him?" Maya asked, wide-eyed.
"I don't know," Elara whispered, suddenly nervous. She reached for the phone and unlocked it.
A message lit up the screen:
Nikolai: If you're free Friday night, I'd like to take you out to dinner. Let me know. :)
Elara let out a squeal that she immediately muffled with her hand. Maya jumped to her feet. "What? What did he say?"
"He wants to take me out Friday night!" Elara squealed again, falling back into the cushions. "Oh my God, Maya. He asked me out!"
Maya started jumping in place, clapping her hands. "YES! I knew it. I knew he was into you! This is so exciting. Wait, where is he taking you?"
"He didn't say. Just asked if I'm free."
"Well, you better be."
"Of course I am! What else would I be doing, binge-watching true crime documentaries again?"
Maya flopped back beside her. "Okay, okay. Let's plan. You need something cute to wear, something that says 'I'm sweet but I'll ruin your life if you hurt me.'"
"You have issues."
"I'm being supportive."
Elara smiled to herself, heart fluttering. She hadn't felt this giddy in ages. "I just... I don't know anything about him, Maya. Not really."
Maya shrugged. "So? That's what dates are for. To find out if he has weird hobbies or if he's secretly a cat burglar."
"He did save me from a creep. That's a good start, right?"
"It's a perfect start. Now, text him back before he thinks you're not interested."
Elara took a breath and began typing:
Elara: I'm free Friday night. Looking forward to it.
The message sent, and a strange, sweet buzz of anticipation settled in her chest.
Maya looked at her with a proud smile. "Look at you. Entering your mysterious stranger romance era."
Elara chuckled. "Don't jinx it."
They sat in silence for a while, the glow of the city lights casting soft shadows around them.
"What if he's not who he seems to be?" Elara asked suddenly, voice quiet.
Maya looked at her. "Then you'll deal with it when the time comes. But for now? Let yourself enjoy it. You deserve that."
-------
The morning sun peeked through the thin curtains of Elara's small but tidy Manhattan apartment. The city buzzed faintly beyond the walls, the kind of noise she had learned to sleep through but still stirred to in the early hours. Her alarm didn't need to ring. She woke up on her own, still grinning slightly from last night.
Maya had teased her relentlessly after Nikolai's text, and Elara had gone to sleep feeling like she was floating. Now, as she lay in bed for a moment, the excitement hadn't faded. She had a date. On Friday. With the mystery man who had swooped in and saved her like something out of a movie. And he was taking her out. That little bubble of joy expanded again in her chest.
She stretched, tossed the blanket off, and padded into the bathroom. After a warm shower and a little extra time on her hair and makeup, she dressed in a soft cream blouse tucked into high-waisted grey slacks and stepped into low black heels. Classy, professional, but still very Elara. She grabbed her travel mug, filled it with coffee, then slung her bag over her shoulder and headed out.
Her car was parked a block down—a luxury in New York—and she was soon navigating traffic through the familiar route that took her across the edge of Midtown toward the interior design firm where she worked as a junior designer. It was a thirty-minute drive without heavy traffic, and she used the time to play music and replay Nikolai's text over and over in her mind.
If you're free Friday night, I'd like to take you out.
He had added a smiley face. Not a goofy emoji, just a dash and a parenthesis. Simple. Understated. But it said enough.
By the time she parked and entered the sleek, glass-fronted building of Verve Design Studio, Elara was humming. The lobby smelled like lemon-scented polish and floor cleaner, and the floors gleamed. She waved at the front desk receptionist and rode the elevator up to the third floor.
The office was a wide-open space with tall windows, plants in stylish pots, and workstations arranged in clusters. At one corner, the team's design mock-ups were displayed on tall boards. It was a vibrant, creative environment, and Elara loved it. She passed the lounge, where a few coworkers were sipping coffee and chatting.
"Elara!" came a voice from behind her. She turned to see Jillian, a fellow junior designer with spiky red hair and a silver chain necklace. Jillian was leaning against the wall near the break area, one brow raised.
"Morning," Elara said brightly, taking a sip of her coffee.
"Did you hear what happened last night?"
Elara frowned. "No, what?"
Jillian looked around, as if checking who was nearby, then lowered her voice. "Some guys were found dead. Down near the docks. Word is, they were tortured before they were killed. Colombians. Mafia types. People are saying they messed with the Bratva."
Elara blinked. "The Bratva?"
"Russian mafia," Jillian clarified with a tilt of her head. "Come on, you're from here. You know they run this city. It's not even a secret. You just don't talk about it."
Elara shook her head slowly. "Third time this month," she muttered.
"Exactly. They're on a roll. You gotta admire the efficiency, even if it's terrifying." Jillian gave a little smirk. "Mess with the Bratva, and you're fish food."
Elara sipped her coffee again, trying to keep her face neutral. "Maybe they should pack up and go back to Russia."
Jillian snorted. "Girl, they've been here longer than half the condos on Park Avenue. They're not going anywhere. And people don't want them to, either. You'd be surprised how many legit businesses would go under without them."
That made Elara pause. She had heard whispers before, of course. Stories. Everyone had. But they always seemed like urban legends. Until bodies started showing up.
She laughed softly, trying to dispel the strange chill crawling over her skin. "Well, as long as they leave the interior designers alone, we should be fine."
"Unless you design a really ugly living room for one of them," Jillian teased, then added dramatically, "Death by bad wallpaper."
Elara smiled and rolled her eyes. "Come on, let's not be morbid. It's too early."
The two women walked toward their desks, the tension already breaking. But a small part of Elara's mind clung to that earlier conversation.
The Bratva. Bodies. Torture.
And then, uninvited, her thoughts drifted to Nikolai.
She hadn't asked him what he did for work, but all her questions woukd be answered on their date, but for now all she knew was that he had been there when she needed help, and that he had a presence about him that was both commanding and quietly dangerous. No. Not dangerous, she thought. Protective. Solid. He hadn't hurt anyone that night.
But he had certainly looked like someone who could.
Elara brushed it off as she settled at her desk. Her computer booted up, and she opened her current project files—a townhouse renovation in SoHo for a wealthy couple who wanted something between minimalist and antique Italian chic. It was a challenge she welcomed.
Throughout the morning, she focused on layout designs, fabric swatches, and emails from vendors. Occasionally, Jillian cracked a joke or sent her a funny meme over the office chat, and by lunch, Elara had fallen back into the comforting rhythm of her workday.
But every now and then, her phone would buzz—an email, a group chat message—and her heart would skip just a little, wondering if it was him. Wondering when she would hear from him again.
Because even in a city as massive and noisy as New York, some silences were louder than others.
She had no idea that Nikolai Volkov—the man she was daydreaming about—was not only deeply embedded in the very Bratva that had struck again last night... but that he had ordered it.
But to Elara, he was just the guy who had held out his hand and asked if he could take her to church.
She returned to her sketches and design plans, blissfully unaware of the world he truly came from.
For now.