Chapter 4 Nikolai
The ceremony ended and the families left my estate one by one. They shook my hand and congratulated me on accepting the offerings. They smiled and pretended this was about tradition and loyalty. But I saw the fear in their eyes. They knew what accepting Marco Koslov's daughter meant. They knew this was about revenge.
I watched from my study window as the cars drove away, carrying the heads of the five families back to their territories.
The autumn sun was setting, painting the sky red.
Mikhail entered my study without knocking. He looked tired. The ceremony had taken hours and he had spent most of it managing security and watching for threats.
"The girls have been taken to the servants' quarters," he said, pouring himself vodka without asking.
"Except for the Koslov girl. Where do you want her?"
I turned from the window. "Put her in the servants' wing. Assign her to clean my private quarters only. No other servants allowed."
Mikhail paused with the glass halfway to his mouth. "You are keeping her close."
"I am keeping her where I can watch her," I corrected. "She is Marco Koslov's daughter. She could be a spy. Could be planning something. I need to observe her before I decide what to do with her."
Mikhail nodded. "What about the brother? Dmitri Koslov. He is with the Ivanov family."
"Leave him there for now. He is insurance. If the girl tries anything, we can use the brother to control her."
Mikhail left to give the orders. I sat alone in my study and thought about those huge dark eyes staring at me with fear. About her small frame shaking on the platform. About how she looked exactly like her father.
The first week passed slowly. Anya Koslov was given a small room in the servants' wing. It was basic but clean. A bed, a dresser, and a small bathroom. It was better than what most servants had.
She was assigned to clean my private quarters. My bedroom, my bathroom, my study, and my sitting room. The places where I spent most of my time.
She scrubbed my study floors. She polished furniture in my sitting room. She changed sheets in my bed where I occasionally took servant girls when I needed physical release without emotional complications.
She did all of this silently. Making herself as invisible as possible.
I watched her more than I should have.
I would sit at my desk pretending to work while she cleaned around me. She moved like a ghost, her footsteps so quiet I could barely hear them. Her hands worked efficiently even though they were raw and cracked from years of hard labor.
And she hummed.
Soft Russian lullabies under her breath. Old folk songs. The kind of songs mothers sang to their children when sleep would not come.
The first time I heard her humming, I looked up from my papers. "What song is that?"
She froze. Dropped the cloth she had been using to dust my bookshelf. For a moment she looked like she might run.
"I am sorry," she whispered, keeping her eyes down. "I did not mean to disturb you. I will stop."
"I did not tell you to stop. I asked what song it was."
"A lullaby. My mother used to sing it." Her voice was so quiet I almost could not hear her. "It is called Bayu Bayushki Bayu. A song about keeping children safe."
"Did it work? Did it keep you safe?" I asked before I could stop myself.
She did not answer. She just picked up the cloth and continued dusting, her hands shaking slightly.
I went back to my papers. But I listened to her humming for the rest of the afternoon. And I found I did not mind it.
One night I summoned her to my bedroom. It was late, maybe two in the morning. I had been working and wanted fresh sheets on my bed before I slept.
The servants who usually handled such things were asleep. But Anya Koslov lived to serve me now. Her sleep did not matter.
She came quickly when the guards knocked on her door. She wore a thin nightgown and looked even younger than usual. Like a child woken from bad dreams.
"Change the sheets," I ordered from where I sat at my desk. "Then you can go back to your room."
She nodded and moved to the bed. I tried to focus on the reports I was reading.
But I kept glancing at her.
She stripped the old sheets efficiently and pulled new ones from the closet. As she bent over to tuck the corners, her nightgown rode up slightly. I could see the backs of her legs. Pale skin marked with old bruises and scars.
The Petrovs had not been kind to her.
"How long did you work for the Petrov family?" I asked suddenly.
She paused in her work. "Four years."
"Did they feed you properly?" I asked.
"They fed me what I earned." Her voice was carefully neutral. No emotion.
"That is not what I asked." I snapped. "You are too thin," I said flatly. "Starting tomorrow you will eat three proper meals a day. I cannot have my servants collapsing from malnutrition."
She looked at me then. Those huge dark eyes filled with confusion and fear.
"Thank you," she whispered.
"Do not thank me. It is not kindness. It is practicality. You are no use to me if you are weak."
The following morning brought an unexpected visitor.
Katya Morozova arrived at my estate in the afternoon. She wore a designer dress and expensive jewelry. Her black hair was pulled back in that perfect chignon she always wore. She looked like power dressed in silk.
She also wore her engagement ring. The one I had sent to her father's house last month with instructions to prepare for a spring wedding.
Our marriage had been arranged since childhood. A union between the Markov and Morozova families. It was strategic, practical, and completely devoid of emotion. I did not love Katya. She did not love me. But she wanted the power that came with being Pakhan's wife. And I needed the Morozova family's financial networks and political connections.
It was a business arrangement. Nothing more.
Katya swept into my study like she already owned it. "Nikolai. It has been too long."
"Katya. I was not expecting you." I said flatly.
"I wanted to discuss the wedding. Spring is only six months away. There are arrangements to make." She sat in the chair across from my desk without being invited. "My father is very pleased about the engagement."
"Good. I need the Morozova financial operations running smoothly. Your family handles our money laundering better than anyone."
"Always business with you." She smiled but it did not reach her eyes.
"We should discuss the ceremony. The guest list. The venue."
I waved my hand dismissively. "Handle it however you want. I do not care about those details."
"Of course you do not." Her smile tightened slightly. "You only care about power and control and maintaining your empire."
"That is all that matters." I said without looking up.
Katya stood and walked to the window, looking out at the grounds. "I heard about the Blood Tithe ceremony. Seven girls this year."
"Yes."
"Including the detective's daughter. Marco Koslov's girl." She turned to look at me, her sharp eyes watching for my reaction. "That must have been satisfying. Taking his child after everything he did."
"It sent the appropriate message."
"And where is she now? The Koslov girl?"
"Working in the estate. Like the others." My brows furrowed.
"I see. I would like to meet her. See what the great detective's daughter looks like."
Before I could respond, the study door opened. Anya entered carrying fresh towels for my bathroom. She froze when she saw Katya.
"I am sorry," Anya whispered, her eyes immediately going to the floor. "I did not know you had a visitor. I will come back later."
"No." The word came out harsher than I intended. "Finish your work."
Anya moved quickly towards the bathroom, trying to be invisible. But Katya was already studying her like a cat studying a mouse.
"This is her?" Katya laughed. It was not a kind sound. "She looks like a child. So small. So frightened."
Anya's hands trembled as she set down the towels. She kept her eyes down, her shoulders hunched, making herself as small as possible.
"She is twenty two," I said flatly. "And she is here to work. Not to be an entertainment."
Katya moved closer to Anya. "Look at me, girl."
Anya slowly raised her head. Those huge dark eyes met Katya's cold stare.
"Your father killed important men," Katya said softly. "He tried to destroy families that have existed for generations. And now you scrub floors in the house of the man whose father your father tried to imprison. How does that feel?"
Anya said nothing. She just stood there, shaking, looking like she might break into pieces.
Something in me snapped.
"That is enough, Katya." My voice was ice. "She is here to work. Not to be interrogated."
Katya raised an eyebrow. "Since when do you care about protecting servants?"
Nor could I understand why I was so furious.