Chapter 14 Nikolai
Mikhail stared at me like I had grown two heads.
“Let me get this clear,” he said slowly. “You are now sleeping in her room. The servant’s room.”
“Yes.” I poured a glass of vodka and I did not offer him any.
“Why?”
“I told you. It is none of your concern.”
Mikhail laughed, but it was a hard sound. “None of my concern? Nikolai, you are my Pakhan. My best friend. You are sleeping in a closet-sized room with your enemy’s daughter. That is very much my concern.”
I drank the vodka. It burned all the way down. “She is not a threat.”
“She is a weakness!” Mikhail slammed his hand on my desk. “You told me this yourself! She sees you. She makes you feel things. And now you are sleeping in her bed?”
“We are just sleeping,” I snapped. My face felt hot. “Nothing more.”
“Oh, that is so much better!” Mikhail threw his hands up. “You are having sleepovers with her now? This is childish, Nikolai. Dangerous and childish.”
I hated that he was right. It was childish. I was a grown man, a Pakhan, terrified of the dark running to a girl for comfort.
“She makes me sleep,” I said simply. It was the only defense I had.
Mikhail’s anger faded. He looked at me. He saw the shadows under my eyes that were finally less dark. He saw that my hands were not shaking today.
“You sleep well there?” he asked, his voice quieter.
“Yes.”
“And the… other things? The panic?”
“Gone. When she is there, it is gone.”
Mikhail sighed. He ran a hand over his face. “This is a problem, Nikolai. A big problem. What happens when others find out? What happens when your enemies find out you have a soft spot for Marco Koslov’s daughter?”
“They will not find out.”
“They already are!” Mikhail leaned forward. “The guards talk. The servants talk. Vera knows. She came to me this morning, asking questions with her eyes. Soon, everyone will know the Pakhan crawls into a servant’s bed at night.”
The words were like knives. They cut my pride into little pieces.
“What do you want me to do?” My voice was low, and rough. “I cannot sleep without her. I tried. Last night, before I went to her, I tried. But the walls closed in. I could not breathe. I was that boy in the cellar again.”
I had not meant to say that much. The confession hung in the air between us.
Mikhail’s face changed. The frustration left. Only worry remained. He knew about the cellar. He knew what my father did. But we never talked about it. Never.
“So you need her,” he said finally. It was not a question.
“For now. Yes.”
“Then we make it safe.” Mikhail’s mind was working now, shifting from brother to strategist. “We control the story. We make it look like something else.”
“Like what?”
“Like she is your mistress. Your plaything. It is simpler. More believable for a man like you. A prisoner you keep for pleasure.” He said the words carefully, watching my face.
The idea made my stomach turn. But it was better than the truth. The truth was pathetic.
“She will hate it,” I said.
“She already hates you. What is one more reason?”
He had a point.
“Fine,” I said. “We say she is my mistress. Nothing more.”
“Good.” Mikhail nodded. “And you must act the part in public. Cold and possessive. Like she is a thing you use. No softness. No sleeping in her room just to sleep. You understand?”
“I understand.”
But I did not like it. The thought of touching Anya like that in front of others, of making her a spectacle… it felt wrong.
But it was necessary. To protect myself. To protect her, though I would never admit that part.
“The meeting with the Zaytsev family is tonight,” Mikhail said, changing the subject. “They are nervous. They have heard rumors about the Koslov girl. They will test you.”
“Let them try.”
“They will ask about her. They will want to know why you keep her alive. You must have an answer.”
“I will tell them she is mine to do with as I please. That is enough answer.”
Mikhail looked at me for a long moment. “Just be careful, Nikolai. This girl… she is changing things. She is changing you.”
“Nothing has changed,” I said coldly.
“Everything has changed,” Mikhail whispered.
Then he left.
I sat at my desk for a long time. I thought about Anya. About how small she looked in her bed. About how her hair had smelled like soap. About how she had not pushed my arm away in the night.
She should have pushed it away.
She should hate me.
Why did she not hate me?
I stood up abruptly. I could not sit still. I walked to the window and looked out at my territory. I had power. I had respect. I had fear.
But I was afraid of the dark.
And the only person who could fix that was a girl I had orphaned.
The irony was bitter.
That evening, I prepared for the meeting. I dressed in a sharp black suit and put on my cold face.
I summoned Anya to my study before I left. Mikhail was there, watching.
I told her I would be late and would come to her room. I made it sound like an order, not a request, making sure Mikhail heard.
She said, “Yes, Pakhan.” Her voice was quiet and she looked scared.
I wanted to say something else. Something to make that scared look go away. But I did not.
“You are dismissed,” I said instead.
She left.
Mikhail raised an eyebrow. “Good. That was cold enough.”
I did not answer. I just picked up my car keys.
The meeting with the Zaytsev family was in a private back room of a restaurant I owned. The air was thick with cigar smoke and tension.
Boris Zaytsev, the family head, was a fat man with small, greedy eyes.
“Nikolai,” he greeted me. “You look well rested. Which is strange.”
“Business is good,” I said, sitting down.
“Business is always good for you.” Boris smiled, but it did not reach his eyes. “We heard the interesting things going on in your estate.”
“What do you hear?” I asked coldly, keeping eye contact.
“We hear you have a new pet. Marco Koslov’s little daughter.” Boris leaned forward. “We hear you keep her close.”
I felt every muscle in my body tighten. But my face stayed calm. “I do.”
“Why? Sentiment? That is not like you.”
I took my time lighting a cigarette and blew the smoke towards the ceiling. “Sentiment? No. She is young. She is pretty. She warms my bed. That is all.”
The men around the table chuckled.
Boris watched me. “So it is like that? Just a woman?”
“Just a woman,” I said, my voice flat.
“Good.” Boris nodded, seeming satisfied. “For a moment, I was worried you had gone soft. That you kept her alive because you felt guilty for killing her father.”
My blood ran cold. But I laughed. It was a harsh, ugly sound. “Guilty? I would kill him again tomorrow. The girl is a prize. Nothing more.”
The answer pleased them. They moved on to talk about money, and territory.
But I could feel Boris’s eyes on me all night.
The meeting ended late. I drove back to the estate with my head pounding.
I went straight to the servants’ wing. I did not care who saw me. Let them see. Let them think I was going to use my mistress. It was better than the truth.
I knocked on her door softly.
“Come in,” her voice called.
I entered. The room was warm. The lamp was low. She was in bed already.
She looked at me. But saod nothing.
I took off my jacket and tie. I lay down beside her, amd turned my back to her. I was very tired.
“Mikhail knows,” I said into the darkness.
“I figured.” She whispered.
Silence filled the room. My body started to relax. The bed was small. She was so close that I could feel her warmth.
Sleep began to pull me under.
“Anya?” My voice was already slurred with tiredness.
“Yes?”
“Do not tell anyone about this. Please.”
The please slipped out. I had not meant to say it.
She was quiet for a moment. Then she said, “I will not tell anyone. Your secret is safe with me.”
I nodded and fell asleep.
And like a man starving for touch, my arm reached for her in the dark again. It settled around her waist and she did not pull away.
I slept deeply, without nightmares.
Then I woke to the sound of voices outside the door.
“…two nights in a row now…”
“…something else…”
I was awake instantly. The peaceful feeling vanished. Ice filled my veins.
Anya was awake too. I could feel her tense under my arm.
Seems our secret was out.