Page 16

Nikolai

In just a few hours since the incident, the bodies weigh heavier than they usually would. That’s the thing with the dead—they always look at peace, but you know from their eyes it’s bullshit. They go through more than the living. Flesh turns to stone the moment the soul abandons it, and they’re trapped in grim purgatory with other frustrated souls like theirs, clawing for attention from the ones they once knew on earth, fighting to be remembered before they’re forgotten for good.

That’s the thing about bodies—they never lie. Blood seeps through the fabric as I wrap each one carefully, tying knots tight enough to strangle the truth. The acid I’ll use to dissolve them later waits patiently in large plastic barrels I keep in store here, a silent judge ready to erase what remains.

I’ve lost count of how often I’ve done this, but it never feels any cleaner. This dance is old, well-rehearsed, but never clean. The filth clings like guilt, and you can’t wash away either. Not really.

I glance outside. Clouds have drifted away, and the roads glisten clearly beneath fading daylight. I should call my men for help, but waiting means risk, and I’ve already gambled enough.

Katya watches silently, her eyes fixed on the stained wooden floor, carefully avoiding the sight of what I’m doing. Her knuckles whiten as she grips her jacket tighter around herself.

“We need to go,” I say, lifting the last body.

She nods once, sharply, swallowing whatever questions burn her throat. We leave the stench behind, moving swiftly toward my car parked beneath the shadowy pines.

The city swallows us quietly. Streetlights flicker as dusk stretches, buildings rising on either side. Katya shifts uneasily in the passenger seat, eyes scanning familiar streets as we near her apartment.

“Drop me off here,” she says abruptly, voice strained.

“Not tonight.”

She straightens, facing me fully. “What do you mean ‘not tonight’?”

“You’re safer at my place.”

Her jaw tightens. “Is this about Irina? Are you keeping me away because I’m too close to finding out—”

“No,” I interrupt sharply, the words slicing out harsher than intended. “This is about Kirill.”

She pauses, eyes narrowing. “What about him? What aren’t you telling me?” Her voice rises, shaking with frustration and something closer to fear. “You’ve been stringing me along for weeks, Nikolai. Promising answers, giving me nothing. I should’ve known better.”

“Katya—”

“You think I don’t see it?” she snaps, eyes blazing now. “You want me locked away, hidden from the truth. You say you’re helping me, but all you do is keep me further from Irina. Is that what this is about? Keeping me in the dark? Protecting your precious Kirill?”

“This isn’t about him.” My voice drops, hardening. “It’s about you. About keeping you alive. Kirill is dangerous, Katya. More than you realize. And if you keep pushing, you’ll end up like Irina. Or worse.”

Her lips part, eyes widening. The silence between us thickens, charged and unsteady.

“I can’t bear to see you hurt,” I say, the confession slipping out like a wound torn open. “You can think whatever the hell you want about me. But know this—if keeping you away from Kirill means you stay breathing, I’ll do it.”

She stares at me, disbelief mingling with something else. “Why do you care? You shouldn’t care. You’re supposed to be one of them. Just like Kirill. Just like—”

“I’m nothing like him,” I say, the words slicing through her anger. “And I’ll prove it. I’ll bring you answers. Just...stay here. This is where I can keep you safe.”

She doesn’t respond, but the resentment etched into her face is enough. I leave her at the penthouse, my men waiting to escort her upstairs. Katya stiffens immediately, stepping back.

“I can walk on my own,” she snaps.

“Just let them take you upstairs.”

Her eyes narrow, angry heat burning behind them. But she doesn’t argue further, brushing past without another word.

When I arrive at Kirill’s mansion, the guards step aside quickly. Kirill waits in his study, pacing restlessly in front of tall windows overlooking the garden.

“You’re late,” he says, eyes cold. “I expected answers by now.”

“I’ve narrowed it down,” I reply, careful to keep my tone measured. “The attack at the cabin—likely retaliation from our rivals.”

“Likely?” Kirill repeats. “You’re usually certain, Nikolai.”

Instead of responding directly, I pull out my phone and swipe to a photo of Irina. I hold it out to Kirill. “Do you remember her? Irina. The girl you sent on a mission.”

Kirill’s expression hardens, suspicion glinting in his eyes. “What’s this about? You know better than to ask questions that don’t concern you.”

“It concerns me now,” I counter. “What did you send her to do? And what does it have to do with Alina’s death?”

Kirill’s stare is piercing, assessing. “What are you implying, Nikolai?”

“I have strong reasons to believe her disappearance is connected to Alina’s death.” I keep my voice low. “The recent attacks around me happened when someone close to her started hanging around me. The person seems to strike when I’m there.”

“And who is this person you speak of?” Kirill presses.

“No one you know. I know where my loyalty lies,” I say, holding his gaze.

“Do you?” His smile is razor-thin. “Make sure you remember that.”

Ignoring him, I go on. “I saw a tattoo on one of the men talking to Irina,” I continue, my voice even. “A snake wrapped around a rose. Does it mean anything to you?”

His expression tightens, a flicker of surprise quickly buried beneath his usual blank mask. “Why are you asking about that?” His voice is cool, but there’s a hint of something beneath it—something sharp and wary.

“Because I’ve been running into it more frequently. And if it means what I think it means, then we might have a problem.” I watch him carefully, noting the slight twitch of his jaw. Whatever that tattoo signifies, it rattles him.

“Never seen it,” Kirill says flatly.

Liar.

“Are you sure?”

“Careful with your accusations, Nikolai. You’re treading on dangerous ground. Now does this certain person you started hanging out with seem to be the cause of your distractions lately?”

I throw his words back at him, unflinching. “Shouldn’t ask questions that don’t concern you. Now, are you going to tell me what Irina’s mission was or not? Because it’s clear the case is connected.”

Kirill stares at me for a long moment, his stare dark and calculating. He knows I usually don’t speak to him like this, but on the few occasions I have, it’s never been him on the winning side. Finally, he exhales, his shoulders sagging slightly.

“Irina did a job for me,” he admits, his voice clipped. “I needed her to get close to Roman Druzhinin.”

“Who was that?”

“Dmitri Sokolov’s son. Your former boss.”

I stand in front of Kirill, the air heavy with cigar smoke, his desk littered with papers and a half-empty vodka bottle. My pulse races, Irina’s name a weight on my tongue as I face the Bratva boss, his eyes cold, unyielding.

“What was the job you wanted Irina to do?” I ask, my voice steady, but dread coils in my gut, knowing his answer could unravel everything.

Kirill leans back, his chair creaking, a cruel smile twisting his lips. “I wanted her to kill both Dmitri Sokolov and his son,” he says, words like a blade, slicing through the silence. “Clean hit, no traces—father and heir, gone.”

My stomach drops, the room tilting. “Dmitri and his boy?” I choke out, shock numbing my hands. “Why Irina? She’s no assassin, just a girl caught in your web.”

He shrugs, sipping vodka, eyes glinting with malice. “She had fire, Nikolai, but not enough. She balked, couldn’t pull the trigger. Weak.”

I clench my fists, anger flaring, Irina’s face flashing—scared, trapped. “Weak? You set her up to fail, Kirill. Where is she now? Dead for your games?”

He laughs, a hollow sound, and leans forward, voice dropping. “What does it matter? The job got done, Nikolai. You want to know who stepped up?”

My heart pounds, my fear spiking. “Who?” I demand, voice cracking, bracing for his answer.

“Katya,” he says, the name a gunshot. “Her sister. She killed them both—Dmitri, his son—blood on her hands, not Irina’s. The girl you’ve been running around with like a dog in heat—she’s the one who pulled the trigger.”

I stagger back, Katya’s face burning in my mind—her passion, her questions, her body under mine. “Katya?” I whisper, betrayal cutting deep. “She’s… a killer?”

Kirill nods, his eyes merciless. “Surprised, volchok? She’s more Bratva than you thought. Your little printsessa got secrets.”

My world fractures, Katya’s truth a wound I never saw coming.

***

My mind is a mess as I drive back home.

Kirill’s words hit like a sucker punch, still burning in my skull.

The girl you’ve been running around with like a dog in heat—she’s the one who pulled the trigger.

It shouldn’t matter. The man who practically raised me was nothing but a means to an end. But the pain isn’t from the truth, it’s from the lie. The one she’s been feeding me with every kiss, every breathy confession, every goddamn touch.

It shouldn’t matter. Shouldn’t get under my skin like this. But it does. Because I let her in. Let her tear through me like she had a right to be there.

I remember her eyes when I took her back to the cabin. The way she clung to me, how her voice whispered that she needed me. That she couldn’t do this alone.

The nights tangled together; her body pressed against mine like it was the only place she ever belonged. I remember her laughing, really laughing, and it hurts to even remember.

All of it plays through my mind like a sick joke. Because now I don’t know what was real and what wasn’t.

Was she always pretending? Was she waiting for the perfect moment to strike? Every time I held her. Every time I let her in.

By the time I reach the penthouse, my chest feels tight, my hands numb from gripping the wheel so hard. I need answers. I need the truth. And I need her to stop making me feel like I’m the one going insane.

The lights spill softly into the hallway, the faint scent of cooking creeping through the room. Katya stands in the kitchen, hacking at vegetables like she’s trying to obliterate them. Her shoulders are rigid, her grip on the knife white-knuckled.

I linger in the doorway, watching her. Waiting for the anger to cool. But it only grows. But there’s also something warm that stirs inside me. It has something strangely comforting about it—like a brief glimpse into a life I’ll never truly know. A dangerous pull toward normalcy, something I have no right to crave.

“What did the vegetables ever do to you?” I ask. My voice sounds colder than I intend.

She jumps, the knife clattering against the cutting board before her fingers clench around it. Her eyes snap to mine, and for a moment, I see something like relief before her expression hardens.

“Maybe they’re easier to cut than some problems.”

“Convenient.” I step closer, feeling the frayed edges of my control slipping. “And I thought you enjoyed complications.”

She stares at me, suspicion etched into her expression. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You tell me.” I lean against the counter, my eyes locked on hers. “You seem to enjoy making things messy. Following me. Accusing me. Lying to me.”

“What’s this about, Nikolai?”

She’s quiet for a beat when I don’t respond, and I just continue to stare at her, her eyes flicking to the knife like it’s her only defence. “I didn’t think you were coming back tonight.”

“Change of plans.”

She nods slowly. “Alright.”

“Alright?” I echo, a bitter laugh scraping from my throat. “Is that all you have to say?”

“What do you want me to say, Nikolai?” Her voice is careful.

I take another step. “I want the truth.”

She flinches, her mouth opening and closing like she’s lost the ability to speak.

“What’s this about?”

“It’s about how you’ve been lying to me.” My voice is edged with the rage I’ve been holding back. “It’s about how everything between us has been built on a goddamn lie.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“No?” My lips twist into a sneer before I nod. “Why’d you do it?”

“Do what?” Her eyes narrow, but there’s a flicker of something close to fear.

“I’m the one asking questions tonight.” I close the distance between us. “And you’re going to answer me. All of it. No more fucking games.”

“Nikolai, I don’t—”

“You don’t know what I’m talking about? Okay, fine. Let me spell it out for you then. So, explain why Kirill told me you’re the one who killed Dmitri.”

Her face goes pale.

I almost laugh. “Kirill told me. And you’re not even denying it. So go ahead. Tell me why.”

“I—I,”

“Don’t act shocked,” I snap. “Don’t pretend you didn’t do it. You’ve been hiding this from me since the start.”

“I was going to tell you—”

I shove the cutting board aside with force, and the knife clangs across the counter, so she flinches back. “When? After you wrung every last drop of information out of me? After you twisted me around your little finger until I was too fucking blind to see the knife coming?”

She shakes her head, panic slipping in her expression. “It’s not like that.”

“Then what the hell is it like?” I’m close now, so close. “You killed the man who made me who I am. You murdered him, and you kept it from me.”

“I didn’t know how to tell you. I thought—”

“You thought you could keep playing me.” I slam my hand against the counter beside her. “Just admit it. Admit that every moment we spent together was a goddamn ploy to use me.”

“It wasn’t. You have to believe me, Nikolai.”

“I don’t have to do anything. You killed him. You fucking killed him, and you kept it from me. Did you really think I wouldn’t find out?”

“I was trying to protect you!” The words burst out of her. “Dmitri was part of it, Nikolai. He was one of the men running the recruitment for Kirill’s Bratva. The same network that pulled Irina into their mess. I killed him because he was a monster. Because he was the reason she got involved in all of this.”

“Bullshit.” My voice is a low growl. “You could’ve told me. You could’ve trusted me. But instead, you chose to hide it. To manipulate me.”

“No.” Tears are shimmering in her eyes now, but I’m too far gone to care. “I was going to tell you. I just...I didn’t know how. I didn’t know if you’d—”

“Spare me the excuses.” I can’t hear it anymore. Can’t stand the sound of her voice pleading for something I’m not sure I can give.

“Nikolai, please—”

“Enough.”

“I thought killing him would make someone notice,” her voice is shaking. “I thought maybe...maybe if I could cut off the head of the operation, then the rest of it would crumble. That maybe, just maybe, I’d find out what happened to Irina.”

I laugh again. “So, you coming after me was to kill me like you did him?”

“No.” She shakes her head. “It’s not like that. I tried to do it alone. I did. But I ran out of options. And then you—”

I grab her by the throat and slam her against the wall, pinning her there with one hand. Her eyes go wide, a strangled gasp escaping her lips. “Me?”

“You were my best lead, Nikolai.” Her voice cracks. “But then... then it became something else. You...you became something else.”

“Don’t.” I cut her off. “Don’t try to twist this into some kind of sick confession. You killed my boss, and all this time you’ve been acting like you couldn’t hurt a fly.”

“And I don’t regret it. Dmitri was a monster,” she spits. “He recruited girls like Irina. Young, desperate girls who didn’t know any better. He was the one who pulled her into this world. Your precious boss was nothing but a predator hiding behind power.”

“And that makes you what? A saint? A hero?”

“No. It makes me someone who tried to do something. Who didn’t just sit back and accept it.” Her eyes blaze. “You want to be angry at me? Fine. Be angry. But don’t pretend you care about Dmitri. This isn’t about him. This is about the fact that I never told you. That I lied.”

My grip tightens just enough to remind her who’s in control. Who holds the power here. “You lied about everything. I opened myself to you, Katya. I—”

Don’t fucking say it.

“I didn’t lie about everything. Not about what I feel for you. Not about what we—

“I don’t give a damn about whatever excuse you’re about to spit out.” Complete lie. “The only thing I want—what I’m fucking demanding—is every last shred of what went down, every step that led you to Dmitri crossing your path. Don’t you even dream of skimping on the truth, because I’m this goddamn close to snapping. So you’re gonna play nice, be my good girl, and spill every fucking word. No half-truths. No omissions. Right. Fucking. Now.”

My grip tightens. “And when you’re done? I’m going to fuck you. That sweet pussy of yours is gonna pay for every lie that mouth’s been feeding me, I’ll make you come so hard and so many times you forget everything but me. Until I’ve wrung every last drop of your fucking soul out of you. Until I’m fucking satisfied.”