Chapter 132 Nikolai
I walked through the dark streets with no destination in mind.
The night was cold. My breath came out in white puffs. I had nothing. No coat. No money. No phone. Just the clothes on my back and the weight of my failures.
I kept walking past closed shops, past empty streets, past the life I had tried to build.
Hours passed and the sky began to lighten. Dawn was coming.
I found myself at the docks. Not Viktor's dock but a different one. Larger and busier. Even at this early hour, fishermen were preparing their boats and getting ready for the day's work.
I sat on a bench and watched them, remembering when I had been one of them. For a few months I had been Ivan Sokolov. A simple fisherman. A good man. But that was over now. Ivan was dead just like Nikolai should have been.
"You look like hell."
I looked up. An old man stood there with a gray beard, weathered face, and kind eyes.
"I feel like hell," I admitted.
"Woman trouble?" he asked.
"Something like that."
The old man sat down beside me, pulled out a thermos, poured coffee into the cap, and handed it to me.
"Drink," he said. "You look like you need it."
I took it. The coffee was hot and strong. It burned going down.
"Thank you," I said.
"You are welcome," the old man replied. He poured himself a cup. "I am Boris."
"Ivan," I said and then stopped. "Actually no. I am Nikolai."
Boris raised an eyebrow. "Which is it?"
"It is complicated."
"Most things are," Boris said and sipped his coffee. "You running from something?"
"Yes."
"The law?"
"Worse," I said. "My past."
Boris nodded like he understood. "We all have pasts. Some worse than others. But they do not define us unless we let them."
"What if your past kills people?" I asked. "What if everywhere you go, people get hurt because of who you were?"
"Then you stop running," Boris said. "You face it. You make it right."
"I do not know how."
"Nobody does," Boris said. "But that does not mean you stop trying."
We sat in silence for a while, drinking coffee and watching the sun rise.
"I lost someone," I said finally. "The woman I loved. She thinks I am dead and maybe that is better. Maybe she is safer without me."
"Is she happy?" Boris asked.
I thought about Anya married to Volkov with no memory of me.
"I do not know," I admitted. "But she is alive. That is what matters."
"Life without happiness is not really living," Boris said. "It is just existing."
His words hit harder than I expected.
"What am I supposed to do?" I asked. "Go back to Moscow? Get myself killed? Get her killed?"
"I cannot tell you what to do," Boris said. "But I can tell you this. Regret is heavier than fear and you will regret it for the rest of your life if you do not at least try."
"Try what?"
"To save her," Boris said simply. "To give her a choice. To let her decide if she wants you or not."
"She does not even remember me."
"Then remind her," Boris said.
He stood up and screwed the cap back on his thermos.
"I have to get to work," he said. "But think about what I said. Sometimes the bravest thing you can do is go back to the place that hurt you most."
He walked away and left me sitting there alone.
I thought about his words, about Anya, about Moscow. Could I really go back after everything? I had no money, no resources, no allies. But I had something else. Knowledge and skills and connections from my old life that I had tried to forget.
If I went back to being Nikolai Markov, I could find Anya, could tell her the truth, could give her a choice. But it would be dangerous. Volkov would kill me on sight and Kozlov was still out there wanting revenge. I would be walking into hell.
But maybe that was what I deserved. Maybe that was the price I had to pay for all the lives I had destroyed.
I stood up and made my decision. I would go back to Moscow, back to being Nikolai Markov, and I would save Anya or die trying.
But first I needed help and I knew exactly who to ask.
I walked to a payphone, dropped in coins I found in my pocket, and dialed a number I had memorized years ago.
It rang three times. Then a familiar voice answered.
"Who is this?"
"It is Nikolai Markov," I said.
Silence. Then, "Nikolai is dead."
"No," I said. "He is not and he needs your help."
More silence. "Where are you?"
I told him and he said he would be there in two hours.
I hung up, sat back down on the bench, and waited.
Two hours later a black car pulled up and the door opened. A man stepped out. Tall. Scarred. Dangerous looking.
Gregor. One of my old guards from Moscow.
"Boss," he said with a rough voice. "We thought you were dead."
"I was," I said. "But I am back now."
"Why?" Gregor asked. "You got out. You were free. Why come back?"
"Because Volkov has my wife," I said. "And I am going to get her back."
Gregor smiled and it was not a kind smile. "Finally. The real Nikolai Markov returns."
"I need men," I said. "Weapons. Information. Can you help me?"
"Of course," Gregor said. "The old crew has been waiting and hoping you would come back."
"How many are left?"
"Twenty," Gregor said. "Twenty loyal men who never believed you were really dead."
"That is not enough to take on Volkov," I said.
"Maybe not," Gregor agreed. "But it is a start."
I got in the car and Gregor drove.
"Where are we going?" I asked.
"Safehouse," Gregor said. "Where the others are waiting. When they see you, they are going to lose their minds."
We drove for an hour, out of the city and into the countryside. Finally we pulled up to a small farmhouse. Old and run down. Perfect for hiding.
Gregor led me inside.
The room went silent when I walked in. Twenty men stared at me, some I recognized and some I did not.
Then one of them, Dmitri, stepped forward.
"Boss?" he whispered. "Is it really you?"
"It is really me," I said.
The room erupted with men shouting, laughing, some crying. They crowded around me, shaking my hand and clapping my back.
"We knew you were alive," Dmitri said. "We knew it. Volkov said you were dead but we did not believe him."
"Where have you been?" Another man asked.
"It does not matter," I said. "What matters is I am back and I need your help."
The room quieted and all eyes were on me.
"Volkov has my wife," I said. "Anya. I am going to get her back and I am going to make him pay for what he did."
"We are with you," Gregor said immediately. "Whatever you need."
"This is dangerous," I warned. "Volkov has more men, more money, more power. We might not survive this."
"We do not care," Dmitri said. "You are our boss. We follow you even into hell."
The others nodded and agreed.
I looked at these men, these loyal soldiers who had waited for me.
"Then let us plan," I said. "We have a war to win."