Chapter 24 Nikolai
The underground garage smelled like exhaust fumes and oil.
The walls were concrete and a flickering fluorescent light hung in the middle of the ceiling.
It was the kind of place people met when they didn't want to be found.
Just perfect.
I pulled my car into the designated spot, killed the engine, and waited.
Marcus arrived few minutes later – which was tight on time – in a dark blue sedan.
He slid into my passenger seat without greeting, carrying a manila envelope that looked too thin to contain everything I needed.
“Tell me you have something,” I said to him.
“I have something,” He replied. He opened the envelope, pulling out surveillance photos. "His name is Pavel Sokolov. Small-time arms dealer. Worked for Viktor back in the early 2000s, before everything went to shit.”
He spread the photos across the dashboard and I looked at them. The man in the picture looked to be in his fifties.
He was balding and had the type of face that had seen too much and survived it all anyway.
He had hard eyes and an even harder expression.
"He's been off the grid for years," Marcus continued. "Living in Brighton Beach under an assumed name. Works at a bodega during the day, keeps his head down.”
“Then why reach out now?” I asked, committing every detail of the picture to memory.
"Your marriage to Marlena." Marcus pulled out another photo – one of me and Marlena at a charity gala two weeks ago. We looked perfect together. Happy. "It rattled Viktor's old network. Pavel claims Viktor contacted him recently, asking about you. About your new wife.”
My pulse kicked up, “When?”
"Three days ago." Marcus met my eyes. "Viktor knows you married his daughter. And he's making moves.”
Well, finally, the plan was working.
"What does Pavel want?" I asked.
"Money. Protection. The usual." Marcus shrugged. "He's scared. He says Viktor will kill him if he finds out he talked. But he's more scared of dying broke and alone in that shithole apartment.”
“And so he's selling Viktor out to the highest bidder,” I said.
"Exactly." Marcus smiled without humor. "Loyalty only goes so far when you're eating ramen for dinner.”
I looked at the photos again. Pavel's face was lined with age and regret. Viktor had used him, discarded him, left him to rot just like he'd done to everyone else.
“When's the meet?” I asked.
"Next Thursday. 8 PM. Neutral ground – that Italian place in Midtown, Rossini's. Public enough to discourage violence.”
I nodded, already running through scenarios in my head.
"I want extra security," I said. "Snipers on the rooftops across the street. Two exit routes planned, separate cars staged three blocks away in different directions.”
"Already arranged." Marcus pulled out his phone, showing me a map with positions marked. "Anton will coordinate. We'll have eyes on every entrance, every window. Pavel won't breathe without us knowing.”
“And what about Viktor?” I asked.
"If he shows, we'll be ready." Marcus's expression hardened. "This is what we've been waiting for, Nikolai. Fifteen years of preparation. We're not going to fuck it up now."
Hope.
The word felt foreign and dangerous. I'd stopped letting myself hope a long time ago.
Hope got you killed in a world like this.
Hope made you sloppy.
But sitting in this garage, looking at photos of a man who might finally lead me to Viktor, I felt it anyway.
A small, bright spark in my chest that I couldn't quite extinguish.
"I need you focused," Marcus said, his voice dropping lower. "No distractions. No complications.”
“I'm focused,”
“Are you?” He asked, his eyes darting to the picture of me and Marlena, “Because from where I'm sitting, you're getting attached. And attachment makes people do stupid things,”
I rubbed my jaw, “Well, good thing I'm not attached then,”
"You're lying." He said it matter-of-factly, without judgment. "I've known you for eight years. I've never seen you look at anyone the way you look at her.”
My jaw tightened, “This conversation is over,”
"Fine." He gathered the photos, sliding them back into the envelope. "But when this goes down Thursday, I need to know you'll pull the trigger if it comes to that. Literally or figuratively. Viktor won't hesitate to use Marlena against you.”
I smirked, “He wouldn't get the chance,”
"You sure about that?" Marcus opened the car door, pausing before he got out. "Because the way I see it, you've already given him leverage. You care about her. And men like Viktor? They can smell that shit from a mile away.”
He was out before I could respond.
I sat in the garage alone, staring at the concrete wall, his words echoing in my head.
You care about her.
And God help me, I did. And that was going to get us both killed.
The penthouse was quiet when I got back.
Irina had left for the day. Anton was stationed downstairs. The staff who normally bustled around cleaning and organizing had finished their work hours ago.
Just me and Marlena.
I found her in the living room, curled on the white sofa with a book in her lap.
She wore soft clothes – leggings and an oversized sweater that kept sliding off one shoulder.
She looked comfortable, like she belonged there.
The thought sent something uncomfortable through my chest.
She looked up when I entered, and for a split second, her face was emotionless. Then she smiled.
It was a good smile, one that was convincing to anyone who didn't know what to look for.
But I knew. I'd been watching her for months now, studying every micro-expression, every tell and I knew that smile was fake. It was empty.
It hurt more than I thought it would.
"Hey, how was your day?”sgevasuee softly, as if we were any normal couple, having a normal conversation after a normal day.
"Fine." I moved closer, drawn to her despite every logical reason to keep my distance. "You?”
“Boring,” She closed the book, setting it aside. "I watched some Netflix. Read. The usual.”
Liar.
I'd checked the security feeds earlier. She'd spent the afternoon staring at her phone, looking at something that made her cry.
Then she'd paced her room for an hour, agitated, before finally settling here with that book she wasn't actually reading.
But I couldn't tell her that without admitting that I'd been watching her. So I played along.
"What are you reading?" I asked.
She glanced at the cover. "Wuthering Heights.”
“Heavy choice,”
“God forbid a girl loves complicated love stories,” She looked up at me, with accusing eyes. "The messier, the better.”
The words hung between us, weighted with meaning I couldn't quite decipher.
I should leave. Go upstairs. Bury myself in work and plans and the meeting with Pavel.
Instead, I settled beside her on the sofa.
She tensed a bit. It was barely noticeable but I caught it.
"Marlena –" I started, then stopped.
What was I going to say? I'm sorry for using you? Sorry for lying? Sorry for watching you break and doing nothing to stop it?
All if it was true but none of it could help.
"What?" she prompted, her voice carefully neutral.
I looked at her.
The dark circles under her eyes that makeup couldn't quite hide. The tension in her shoulders. The way she held herself, coiled tight like she might need to run at any moment.