Chapter 190

Chapter 190
Nikolai’s POV
Silence has a sound.
It is the echo of gunfire that refuses to fade. The hiss of smoke alarms long after the fire is out. The ghost of my children’s cries still ringing in my skull even though they are safe now. It is the weight of knowing that everything I touched bled.
I lock the door behind me and lean my forehead against the cold wood. My hands are shaking so badly I have to clench them into fists just to stay upright.
Leader. Protector. Vasilios.
Lies I repeat until they sound hollow.
The room I chose is small. A private study buried deep in the estate. No windows. Stone walls. A place my father used to retreat to when the world stopped obeying him. I hate that I came here. Hate that my feet carried me without asking my permission.
I move to the desk and brace myself against it.
Angela collapsed today.
That truth claws at my chest harder than any bullet ever could.
The doctor’s words replay over and over. Not in labor. Pregnancy under extreme stress. Needs rest. Monitoring. Danger.
My fault.
Every single thing circles back to me.
My name. My blood. My father.
Petros Vasilios.
I slam my fist into the desk. Wood cracks beneath my knuckles. Pain flares but it is nothing compared to the pressure building behind my ribs.
Ten years of lies detonated in a single night.
I see his face when I close my eyes. Not the man in prison now. The one who stood tall when I was a boy. Who taught me how to shoot. How to command. How to rule without mercy.
I see him ordering the death of Murat. Of a pregnant woman. Of Stelios. Of innocents.
I see him letting the world believe I did it.
My stomach churns violently. I turn away and barely make it to the sink before I vomit. Nothing but acid and bile. My body empty but my head screaming.
I rinse my mouth and stare at my reflection.
I look like him.
Same eyes. Same jaw. Same darkness.
Angela almost died today because of my legacy.
My children were hunted because of my name.
Leo’s laugh flashes through my mind. Eleni’s sleepy smile. Sofia clutching her doll with trembling fingers.
What if Burak had not been there.
What if the tunnel had collapsed.
What if Angela had gone into full labor underground.
What if I lose her.
The thought drops me to my knees.
I sink to the floor with my back against the cabinet, breathing hard, vision blurring. I have faced war. Betrayal. Torture. Death. None of it has ever broken me like this.
Because this time I cannot fight the enemy.
He lives in my blood.
The door clicks open.
I do not look up. I do not need to. I know the weight of her presence as surely as I know my own heartbeat.
Angela.
I feel her before I hear her. The shift in the air. The way my chest tightens. The way the storm inside me falters.
She closes the door quietly behind her.
“Nikolai,” she says softly.
I shake my head. “You should not be here.”
“I know.”
Her footsteps move closer. Careful. Slow. Like she is approaching a wounded animal.
“You should be resting,” I say, voice rough. “You collapsed.”
“I’m fine.”
“You are not.”
“I am alive,” she answers firmly. “And so are our children.”
That breaks something.
I press my palms into my eyes, trying to hold myself together. Trying not to look at her because if I do I will shatter completely.
“I failed you,” I whisper. “All of you.”
She kneels in front of me.
I feel her hands on my wrists. Warm. Steady. Anchoring.
“You did not,” she says.
I laugh bitterly. “My father murdered an entire family and framed me. His sins followed us into our children’s lives. You collapsed because of stress caused by my name. Tell me how I did not fail.”
Her grip tightens.
“You are not him,” she says sharply.
“I carry his blood.”
“So do our children,” she snaps back. “And they are innocent. Just like you were.”
I flinch.
She cups my face, forcing me to look at her.
Her eyes are fierce. Tired. Afraid. Alive.
“I did not marry Petros,” she says. “I married you. The man who bleeds for his family. The man who built safe rooms and escape routes because he refuses to lose anyone else. The man who would burn the world before letting harm touch his children.”
Tears spill down my face without warning.
I have not cried since I was a boy.
“I am scared,” I admit. The words tear out of me. “I am scared I will destroy everything I love without meaning to. That one day they will look at me and see him.”
Angela shakes her head violently.
“They will see their father,” she says. “The one who holds them when they wake screaming. The one who reads bedtime stories even when he comes home covered in blood. The one who breaks down in private because he refuses to break them.”
My chest caves.
I clutch her, arms wrapping around her body as if she might disappear. I bury my face into her shoulder and the sob rips out of me, raw and uncontrollable.
I cannot stop.
Everything pours out. Rage. Grief. Shame. Fear. The memory of holding a gun at sixteen. The night I realized my father was not the man I worshipped. The years of trying to be stronger than my past.
Angela holds me through all of it.
She does not flinch. Does not pull away even when my body shakes violently. Her hand strokes my hair slowly. Patient. Grounding.
“I am here,” she murmurs. “I am not leaving.”
“I pushed you away before,” I choke. “I always do. I lock myself behind walls.”
She presses her forehead against mine.
“Not this time,” she says. “You do not get to face this alone.”
I pull back just enough to look at her.
Her face is pale. Exhausted. Brave.
“And if my father’s crimes bring more war,” I ask quietly. “If this never ends.”
She smiles sadly.
“Then we fight,” she says. “Together. I am not the Angel of Death because I enjoy killing. I am her because I survive.”
My hand moves instinctively to her stomach.
“Our twins,” I whisper.
“They’re strong,” she answers. “Just like their siblings. Just like us.”
I press a kiss there. Gentle. Reverent.
“I swear to you,” I say, voice breaking again. “I will end this. I will not let my past poison their future.”
She kisses my forehead.
“I know,” she says simply.
And for the first time since the attack, since the truth came crashing down, the storm inside me eases just enough for me to breathe.
I am still broken.
But I am not alone.
And that makes all the difference.