Chapter 104 Nikolai
Three weeks after Ivanov's death, Moscow was mine again.
But it did not feel like victory. It felt like drowning.
I sat in what used to be Ivanov's office. Now it was mine. His desk. His chair. His empire.
Everything he had built through blood and terror now belonged to me.
And I had used the same methods to take it.
Mikhail walked in without knocking. He never knocked anymore.
"We have a problem," he said.
"What kind of problem?"
"The Bratva," Mikhail said. "They are moving into the west side. Your territory."
I leaned back in the chair. "Send them a message."
"What kind of message?"
"The permanent kind," I said.
Mikhail nodded and turned to leave.
"Wait," I said. "How many men do they have?"
"Maybe twenty," Mikhail said. "But they are connected to the Georgian network. If we hit them, we start a war."
"Then we start a war," I said simply.
Mikhail studied me. "You're worse than before."
"What do you mean?"
"Before, you would have tried negotiation first. Now you go straight to violence."
"Violence is all these people understand," I said. "Ivanov taught me that."
"Ivanov was a monster," Mikhail said quietly.
"And now so am I," I replied.
Mikhail said nothing. But I saw the concern in his eyes.
"Is there something else?" I asked.
"Anya," he said. "She came by earlier. She asked to see you."
"What did you tell her?"
"That you were busy," Mikhail said. "She did not look happy."
I had been avoiding Anya for days. Every time I saw her I saw the disappointment in her eyes.
She was afraid of what I was becoming. And she should be.
"Tell her I will visit tonight," I said.
"Will you?" Mikhail asked.
"Yes," I said. Though I was not sure if I was lying.
After Mikhail left I sat alone in the office.
The walls were covered with maps. Red pins marking my territory. Blue pins marking rival gangs. Black pins marking bodies.
There were too many black pins.
In three weeks I had killed or ordered the deaths of seventeen men. Some were Ivanov's loyalists. Others were rivals trying to seize power. A few were just in the wrong place at the wrong time.
I told myself it was necessary. That I was building something. Creating stability through fear.
But late at night when I closed my eyes I saw their faces. Heard their screams.
And I wondered if Anya was right. If I was becoming exactly what I hated.
That evening I went to see her. The safehouse was quiet. Guards nodded as I passed. They feared me now. Everyone feared me.
Anya was in the living room reading a book.
She looked up when I entered.
"Nikolai," she said. There was no warmth in her voice.
"Hello Anya," I said.
"You have been avoiding me."
"I have been busy," I said.
"Busy killing people?" She asked.
The words hit like a slap. "I am doing what needs to be done."
"What needs to be done?" she repeated. "Or what you want to do?"
"There is no difference anymore," I said.
She set her book down, stood and walked to me. "Look at yourself, Nikolai. Do you even recognize who you have become?"
"I am the same person I have always been."
"No," she said firmly. "You are not. The man I loved would have found another way. Would have tried mercy. Would have remembered that not everyone deserves death."
"The man you loved was weak," I said. "He let Ivanov take everything. He let good men die. I will not make that mistake again."
"So instead you become Ivanov?" She asked. "You take his place? His methods? His cruelty?"
"I am nothing like him," I said angrily.
"Are you sure?" Anya challenged. "Because from where I stand, you look exactly like him."
I wanted to argue. To defend myself. But the words would not come. Because deep down I knew she was right.
"What do you want me to do?" I asked quietly. "Walk away? Let everything fall apart? Let someone worse than Ivanov take over?"
"I want you to stop," she said. "Stop the killing. Stop the revenge. Stop drowning in blood."
"I cannot," I said. "Not yet. Not until our position is secure."
"And when will that be?" She demanded. "When you have killed everyone? When there is no one left to challenge you?"
"Maybe," I said.
She stared at me. Then she turned away. "Get out."
"Anya."
"I said get out," she repeated. Her voice was cold. "I cannot watch you destroy yourself anymore. Either you stop this or I leave. Those are your choices."
"You do not mean that," I said.
She turned back to face me. Tears streamed down her face. "I do mean it. I love you, Nikolai. But I will not stay and watch you become a monster. I have already lived through that once with Ivanov. I will not do it again."
Her words cut deeper than any knife Ivanov had used.
"How long do I have?" I asked.
"To choose?" She said, "I am giving you one week. Seven days to decide what matters more. Power or us."
"That is not fair," I said.
"Life is not fair," she replied. "You taught me that."
I left without another word, got in my car and drove through the city. Past territories I controlled. Past buildings I owned. Past an empire built on blood.
And I realized I felt nothing. No pride. No satisfaction. Just emptiness.
Mikhail was waiting when I returned to the office.
"The Bratva refused to leave," he said. "They sent a message. They said if we want the territory, we have to take it."
"Then we take it," I said automatically.
"Nikolai," Mikhail said carefully. "This will start a war. A big one. Are you sure?"
I thought about Anya's ultimatum. About her tears. About the choice she gave me.
Power or love. Empire or peace.
"Yes," I said. "I am sure. Set it up for tomorrow night. We hit them hard. We hit them fast. And we make sure the message is clear."
"What message?" Mikhail asked.
"That Moscow belongs to me," I said. "And anyone who challenges that dies."
Mikhail nodded slowly. "As you wish."
He left and I sat alone in the darkness.
Tomorrow night I would start a war.
Tomorrow night more men would die.
And somewhere in the city, Anya was packing her bags.
Preparing to leave the monster I had become.