Chapter 112 Nikolai
Two weeks after waking from the coma, I was still weak.
My chest burned with every breath. My legs trembled after walking more than a few minutes. The doctors said I was lucky to be alive.
I did not feel lucky.
Mikhail had set up a safe house on the outskirts of Moscow.
I spent my days recovering and planning. Rebuilding strength in my body while Mikhail rebuilt what was left of my network.
It was a slow work. Most of my old contacts were dead or working for Katya now. The ones who remained were terrified. Katya had made examples of anyone who opposed her.
But some still remembered loyalty. Some still owed me favors.
Mikhail brought me information piece by piece.
"Katya controls the entire west side now," he said one morning, spreading a map across the table. "She moved into your old territories within weeks of your shooting. The council backed her completely."
"Why?" I asked. "Why would they back her so quickly?"
"She had leverage," Mikhail said. "She knew their secrets. She used those secrets to force them into line."
"What kind of secrets?"
"I do not know yet," Mikhail admitted. "But I am working on it."
I studied the map. Red marks showed Katya's territories. There were so many red marks. Almost the entire city was covered in red.
"What about Anya?" I asked. The question I asked every day. "Any word?"
Mikhail's face changed.
"Tell me." I said.
"There are rumors," he said slowly. "Just rumors. Nothing confirmed."
"What rumors?"
"Some people say they saw a woman matching Anya's description. About three months ago. At the train station."
My heart clenched. "Three months ago? Why am I only hearing about this now?"
"Because I wanted to confirm it first," Mikhail said. "I did not want to give you false hope."
"And? Did you confirm it?"
"No," Mikhail said. "The woman disappeared before anyone could approach her. She bought a ticket and left Moscow."
"Where did she go?"
"I do not know," Mikhail said. "The ticket records were destroyed. Either she paid someone to erase them or Katya did."
I slammed my fist on the table. Pain shot through my chest but I ignored it.
"So Anya could be anywhere. She could be in another city. Another country. She could be dead."
"She could be," Mikhail agreed. "But I do not think she is."
"Why not?"
"Because Katya would have made sure we knew if Anya was dead," Mikhail said. "She would have used it against you. The fact that she has not means Anya is alive somewhere."
It made sense. But it did not make me feel better.
"Focus on Katya," I said. "Find her weaknesses. Find out how she took over so quickly. Find out everything."
Mikhail nodded. "I am already on it."
Over the next week, Mikhail brought me files. Documents. Photographs. Katya's operation was vast. She had connections everywhere.
"How did she build this so fast?" I asked. "Seven months is not enough time to create an empire like this."
"That is what I thought too," Mikhail said. "So I dug deeper. And I found something interesting."
He pulled out an old photograph.
It showed a young woman standing outside a building. She looked familiar. The shape of her face.
"Who is this?" I asked.
"That," Mikhail said, "is Katya Sokolov. It was taken thirty years ago."
"Thirty years?" I looked at the photo again. "So she has been in Moscow for a long time."
"Not just Moscow," Mikhail said. "She has been in the underworld for a long time. Under different names and different identities."
"Why did we never hear of her before?"
"Because she was careful," Mikhail said. "She worked in the shadows. Made connections. Gathered information and waited for the right moment to make her move."
"And I gave her that moment," I said bitterly. "When I went after Ivanov. I created the perfect opportunity for her."
"You could not have known," Mikhail said.
"I should have been more careful," I said. "I should have seen this coming."
Mikhail pulled out another document. "There is something you need to see."
He handed me a birth certificate.
The name was Katya Sokolov. Born, March 15, 1968. Her mother's name was Elena Sokolov. Her father was unknown.
I looked at Mikhail. "So? Her father is unknown. That is not unusual."
"Look at the mother's address," Mikhail said.
I looked. The address was in a small town outside Moscow. A place I had never heard of.
"What about it?"
"I went there," Mikhail said. "Talked to people who knew Elena Sokolov. She died twenty years ago. But before she died, she told people stories about Katya's father."
"What stories?"
Mikhail hesitated. "Boss, maybe you should sit down for this."
"I am already sitting," I said. "Just tell me."
"Elena Sokolov worked as a maid," Mikhail said. "For a wealthy family in Moscow. She worked there for two years. And during that time, she had an affair with the man of the house."
"Which family?"
Mikhail met my eyes. "The Markov family."
The words did not register at first. Then they hit me.
"What?"
"Elena Sokolov worked for your family," Mikhail said gently. "For your father. And according to people who knew her, Marcus Markov was Katya's father."
The room spun. I grabbed the edge of the table to steady myself.
"That is impossible," I said. "My father would have told me. He would have..."
"Would he?" Mikhail asked. "Your father kept many secrets. You know that."
I thought about my father. About the man he was. Cold, calculating and willing to do anything for power.
Would he have hidden a daughter? An illegitimate child?
Yes. He absolutely would have.
"Do you have proof?" I asked.
Mikhail pulled out another document. A recent DNA test.
"I had one of Katya's men collect a sample," he said. "Without her knowledge. Then I compared it to your DNA from the hospital."
I looked at the results. The percentages. The genetic markers.
Siblingship Probability: 99.9%
The paper slipped from my hands.
"She is my sister," I whispered. "Katya is my sister."
"Half sister," Mikhail corrected. "But yes."
"That means..." I tried to process it.
"Everything she took. Everything I built. By law, by blood, she has as much right to it as I do."
"Technically yes," Mikhail said. "If anyone knew about her relation to Marcus Markov, if it was proven legally, she could claim half of everything your father left."
"And I gave her the perfect excuse to take it all," I said. "By ending up in a coma for seven months."
"There is one more thing," Mikhail said quietly.
"What?" I asked.
"The documents Katya used to take control," Mikhail said. "The legal papers that transferred everything to her name. I managed to get copies."
He pulled out a folder.
"These are transfer agreements," he explained. "Signed and notarized. Transferring all of your holdings to Katya Sokolov."
"She must have forged my signature." I said immediately.
"No," Mikhail said. "It wasn't your signature."
He opened the folder and showed me the signature line.
And there, in handwriting I knew as well as my own, was a signature.
Anya Koslov.
My vision tunneled. "What?"
"The papers were signed by Anya," Mikhail said. "As your legal wife, she had the authority to transfer your assets in your absence. Especially since you were in a coma and presumed likely to die."
"Anya would never," I started. "She would never betray me like that."
"Boss," Mikhail said gently. "Look at the date."
I looked. The papers were signed three weeks after I was shot.
Three weeks after. When I was in the hospital. When Anya was Katya's prisoner.
"Katya forced her," I said. "She must have threatened her. Anya would never willingly sign these."
"Probably," Mikhail agreed. "But the papers are legal regardless of how they were obtained."
I stared at Anya's signature. At the proof that she had signed away everything I owned. Given to my half sister who I never knew existed.
And the woman I loved had been the one to sign it away.
"Find her," I said. My voice was cold. "Find Anya. I do not care how long it takes or how much it costs. Find her."
"Boss, she was probably forced..."
"I know she was forced," I interrupted. "But I need to hear it from her."
Mikhail nodded. "I will find her."
"And Katya?" I asked.
"What about her?"
"I am going to meet with her," I said. "Face to face."
"That is insane," Mikhail said. "She tried to kill you once. She will try again."
"Let her try," I said coldly.