Moscow at night was a cruel mistress.
The high-end gala.
I wasn't on the guest list. I didn't need to be.
Invites are for those begging for approval. I take what I want.
I walked in like I owned the fucking place and practically I did since half of this place was funded by my dear father-Alexei Volkov. Fuck why was I thinking of him now.
My cane clicked against the polished marble floor. Heads turned, whispers flowed through the room like a goddamn tsunami, but no one dared stop me. No one questioned why Judas fucking Romanovski was here. The monster they all feared but could never quite prove existed.
Just like my little bird preferred to call me. And my own mother. I sometimes think why not brand the word on my head? That way I'd look more like an unhinged man they claimed me to be.
My brows rose when I heard a click from my side.
The media was here, of course. Cameras flashed, and reporters hovered like vultures, eager to pounce for any single ounce of information they could get. They saw what I wanted them to see: the polished billionaire, the enigmatic philanthropist, and the blind man who somehow always knew where to strike.
A perfect goddamn lie wrapped in designer fabric.
My shades stayed on. Obliviousness was power. And tonight, I wielded it like a blade. I had to. To make the first move.
Vlad Morozov wasn't here. Not yet. But he's soon be here.
And the good part, his allies were. And they were fucking nervous. I could taste it in the air-acrid, like burnt rubber and desperation.
I let the cane swing loosely in my grip as I approached the centre of the room. The crowd parted for me like the Red Sea with fear etched into their carefully blank faces.
They were not expecting me here. So was I. But what's more fun than savouring your prey in its own godamn furrow?
Like I said, power, was such an intoxicating drug.
I observed the surroundings.
One of Vlad's men, a squat bastard, stiffened as I neared. He glanced at his phone, his thumb hovering over the screen. I smiled.
The squat bastard kept glancing at me, his hand trembling like a kid about to hit a piñata, hoping the blind man wouldn't see. Poor idiot. He was not hiding a damn thing.
I didn't need eyes to see the way his pulse jumped, the sheen of sweat collecting at his temple, the way he shifted his weight as if he could blend into the marble.
But he couldn't.
I paused, letting the cane tap against the floor.
"Call him," I murmured, and the squat bastard flinched. "Tell him the devil's waiting."
He blanched. His thumb hovered again, shaking now. Ah, indecision. The curse of the weak.
Pathetic.
Men like him clung to Vlad like a drowning man to driftwood, hoping proximity to power would save them. But Vlad Morozov was sinking. And me? I was the goddamn ocean.
Someone approached me-a woman, perfume so cloying it burned my throat. I didn't turn. Didn't acknowledge her existence. "My lion," she purred running her hand down my arm.
And I instantly recognised her. Veronica fucking slut.
"Not now," I snapped, without even looking. She scoffed and leaned down.
"Don't fuck with me, Romanovski. I know your secrets."
Only because I let you, you fool.
I rolled my eyes and side-stepped, slapping her hand away. "Like I give a fuck."
I passed another cluster of men-Vlad's allies, no doubt. They fell silent as I approached, their laughter dying mid-sentence.
"Don't stop on my account," I said, tilting my head. "I love a good joke. Or is it only funny when you're stabbing each other in the back?"
They stiffened.
I didn't need to remind them who I was. That was the beauty of fear-it did all the work for me.
"Ah, Romanovski. What you doing here, pup?" the other laughed with him. I scoffed.
"Pup?" I arched a brow. "I'd call it cute."
I moved closer, just enough for them to feel my presence, to smell the cold steel of control radiating off me. The bigger one-Oleg, I think his name was-had the audacity to hold my gaze. Brave. Stupid, but brave. The smaller one shifted, hands clasping and unclasping like he was debating bolting for the exit. He wouldn't make it two steps.
"You know, Oleg," I mused, tapping the cane against the marble again. "Pups grow into wolves. You keep poking one, and eventually..." I paused, leaning in so only he could hear. "You'll find your throat torn out."
His bravado faltered, just a flicker, but enough. Enough for the room to tighten like a noose around him. Enough for me to see the prey beneath the predator's skin.
I straightened, grinning. "But I like you," I lied, spinning the cane lazily in my hand. "You've got spirit. And Vlad needs all the spiritless fools he can get."
Oleg's face darkened, but he didn't speak. Smart. Silence was a survival instinct around me.
"Romanovski," One of them warned. "Vlad won't like you skulking around his den uninvited."
"If Vlad's upset, he knows where to find me. Though…" My smile widened, showing teeth now. "I suspect he won't come. Not after what happened last time."
His jaw tightened, but he didn't rise to the bait. Shame. I could've used the entertainment.
"Careful, Romanovski. You're not invincible," he warned.
I chuckled that made the men nearest to us shift uneasily. "Oh, I know. But here's the difference between us, Oleg." I leaned closer. "I don't need to be invincible. I just need to be inevitable."
The color drained from his face. And that? That was almost satisfying.
But not enough. It was never enough.
Suddenly, the room shifted the moment the doors opened and Vlad arrived. Flashbulbs burned. Journalists clamoured for a glimpse of him.
Vlad Morozov ascended the podium, his tailored suit pristine, his smile practiced but strained. He was putting on a show-commanding, self-assured. But when his eyes found mine in the crowd, that veneer cracked. Just a hairline fracture, but I saw it. The hitch in his breath, the faint widening of his eyes, the way his knuckles whitened against the edge of the podium.
He stuttered mid-sentence. "The future of this nation lies in the-uh... capable hands of-" A pause, his tongue tripping over itself. He coughed, his grip tightening. "Of leaders who value integrity."
I smiled, wide and mocking, tilting my head as if I hadn't just shattered his composure with a glance. The room noticed. Murmurs rippled through the crowd like a restless tide. Vlad hurried to wrap up, skipping parts of his speech entirely, his words stumbling over themselves in a desperate rush to end the performance.
"Thank you for your unwavering support," he finished and stepped back, away from the podium, as though the wood itself might burn him. Applause followed.
I moved then as my cane clicked against the floor. By the time he descended the podium, I was there, waiting, a wolf at the edge of his herd.
"Vlad," I mused.
He turned. "You're as bold as ever."
"Boldness," I murmured, stepping closer so the press couldn't overhear, "is a necessity when you're dealing with cowards."
His jaw clenched. "Watch your words, Romanovski. You forget whose territory you're in."
"Do I?" I stepped even closer. "Because from where I stand, it looks like your territory is crumbling. Brick by brick." I leaned in, so close I could feel the tension radiating off him. "Step down, Vlad. Do it quietly, and I might let you leave this city alive."
His nostrils flared, fury flaring in his eyes. "You think you can intimidate me?" His voice was low, venomous, but there was a tremor beneath it-a note of fear he couldn't quite suppress. "I built this empire. I am this city."
I laughed. Like fuck he did. "Save this bullshit. I'm not here for chit-chat. Either you do it politely or we'll do it my way."
"You arrogant little-"
"Careful, Vlad." I gestured casually toward the press still loitering nearby, their cameras trained elsewhere for now. "Wouldn't want your loyal supporters to see you lose control. Bad for the brand, no?"
He glared, but I wasn't finished.
"I've planted explosives in every government building under your jurisdiction," I said casually. "One press of this button and your entire administration goes up in flames. But that's not the fun part."
I stepped closer, my voice dropping to a whisper that the cameras couldn't catch.
"The fun part is watching your family burn," I said. "Watching you wonder which of your allies sold you out. Wondering how many of your dirty little secrets I'll leak to the press before the sun rises."
His face turned white as a sheet.
"You're lying," he whispered.
I smiled.
"Am I?"
To drive the point home, I pressed the button. The room tensed-but instead of an explosion, the massive chandelier above us shattered, raining glass down on the crowd. Screams erupted, people ducking and running for cover.
The President stood frozen, staring at the destruction.
"That was a warning," I said tone eerily calm. "Step down. Announce your resignation by midnight. Or the next one won't be so clean."
I turned on my heel, leaving him standing there, trembling.
The cameras followed me as I walked away, capturing the picture of a man untouchable, unshaken, and utterly fucking insane.
Just like my ptichka believed I was.