Chapter 54 Nikolai
Everyone expected me to break.
After Anya left, after she chose her brother over me for the second time, they all waited for the madness to return.
The guards walked on eggshells. The maids whispered in corners. Mikhail watched me like I was a ticking bomb.
They waited for me to start killing again. To stop eating. To lock myself away and spiral into darkness.
But I did not break.
Not this time.
The morning after Anya left, I stood up early from my study chair, showered, dressed walked downstairs like nothing had happened.
The servants froze when they saw me. They waites patiently for death.
Instead, I smiled at them. "Good morning."
Their jaw droppd. They looked confused and terrified.
"I would like breakfast," I said calmly. "Eggs, bacon, toast and coffee. Bring it to the dining room."
They scrambled to obey. Still watching me like I might explode.
But I just sat down, read the newspaper and ate my breakfast when it came.
I resumed operations. Business continued.
I did not break. I did not cry. I did not scream.
I just... existed.
This went on for two days.
On the third day, Mikhail came to my office. He closed the door behind him.
"What was the name of the dog you had when you were seven?" He asked suddenly, walking towards me.
I looked up from my paperwork. "What?"
"The dog. When you were seven. What was its name?"
"Shadow. Why are you asking me this?"
"What did your mother call you when she was happy?"
"Her little star. Mikhail, what is this about?"
"Where did your father lock you when you misbehaved?"
"The wine cellar." My voice hardened. "Mikhail. Explain. Now."
He let out a breath and sat down heavily. "I had to be sure."
"Sure of what?"
"That you are still you. That someone had not... replaced you or something."
I almost laughed. "You think someone replaced me?"
"The guards are terrified. More terrified than when you were killing people." Mikhail leaned forward. "You are too calm. It is unnatural."
"So you want me to be a monster?"
"No. But this?" He gestured at me. "This is worse. Because we do not know what you are thinking. What you areplanning."
I set down my pen and looked at him directly. "I am not planning anything. Anya made her choice. She chose her brother, twice, over me. There is no point in grieving over something that was never mine to begin with."
My tone was harsh.
Mikhail studied my face. "You are not grieving. You are angry."
"Maybe."
"Not maybe. Definitely." He stood up. "And your anger is worse than your grief. Because grief makes you reckless. But anger? Anger makes ruthless."
"Is that a problem?"
"For your enemies? No. For everyone else? Yes." Mikhail walked to the door and stopped. "Just... try not to burn down all of Moscow while you are angry."
He left.
I sat there for a moment. Then I pressed the intercom button.
"Bring me the files," I said. "All the cases I abandoned."
My assistant's voice came through. "Yes, Pakhan. Right away."
Ten minutes later, my desk was covered in files. Months of neglected business. People who had wronged me. Stolen from me. Betrayed me.
And I had been too distracted by Anya to deal with them.
But not anymore.
I opened the first file of a spy. Someone from another organization who had infiltrated mine.
I made a call. "Bring him to me alive. I want to handle this personally."
Next file was of a rival family. The Sokolovs. They had been spreading rumors. Saying I was impotent. That I refused to marry Katya because I could not perform.
I smiled. A cold, dangerous smile.
"Mikhail!" I called.
He came back in. "Yes?"
"Gather the men. We are paying the Sokolovs a visit tonight."
That night, we descended on the Sokolov estate like a plague.
Fifty brutal men, armed to the teeth.
We broke down their gates. Stormed their house. Shot anyone who resisted.
I walked through the chaos calmly with a gun in one hand and a knife in the other.
The head of the family, Viktor Sokolov, tried to run through a back door.
I caught him and dragged him back to his study.
"You spread rumors about me," I said quietly. "That I was not a real man."
"Please," he begged. "It was just talk. I did not mean..."
"You did not mean to insult me?"
"I am sorry! Please! I have a family!" He begged.
"So did I." I raised my gun. "But she chose to leave. So now I have nothing to lose."
I shot him right between the eyes.
His wife screamed. His daughter cried.
"Get them out of here," I ordered, gesturing to the wife and daughter. "Let them live. But make sure they tell everyone what happens when you cross me."
We burned down the estate, took their money, and their weapons.
This became my routine. Every day, another enemy. Another problem solved with blood and bullets.
Moscow ran red. Bodies piled up. Families fell. Rivals cowered. And I felt nothing. No satisfaction. No guilt. No emotion at all.
Just cold, efficient rage.
The strange thing was, the twelve-year-old boy never appeared.
I waited for him. Expecting to see him in the shadows.
But he never showed up.
I still could not sleep. All the lights were on. But the hallucinations did not come.
One night, after a particularly brutal operation, I realized why.
The boy only appeared when I was grieving. But I was not grieving anymore. I was angry and furious.
And rage doesn’t need comfort. It needed fuel. And I had plenty of that.
After a week of this, after countless bodies and burning estates, I returned home one night.
Blood covered my clothes, my hands and my face.
I went to my study, poured whiskey and sat at my desk.
I pulled out my knife and started cleaning it. The blade was still warm and sticky with blood.
The door opened.
I did not look up. "I said I did not want to be disturbed."
"Not even by me?"
That familiar unwelcome voice.
I looked up.
Katya stood in the doorway. She was dragging a suitcase behind her. Dressed in an expensive coat.
"What are you doing here?" I asked coldly.
"I heard Anya left you. Again." She stepped inside.
"So?"
"So I came back. Like I said I would when you came to your senses."
I should have been angry. I should have thrown her out.
But instead, I smiled.
I set down the knife, stood up and walked towards her.
"Nikolai?" She said nervously. "What are you..."
I grabbed her chin, pulled her close and kissed her hard.
She gasped. Her body went rigid. Then melted.
Her legs curled. Her hands grabbed my shirt as my tongue explored her mouth.
Then, I ripped her clothes off.
She moaned.
I yanked my shirt off.
And right there in my study. On the couch.
I took Katya, hard and rough without tenderness.
Her moans filled the room, echoing off the walls.
I felt nothing. No pleasure. No connection. Just the physical act.
When it was over, I pulled away and looked her in the eyes.
"Welcome home, wifey," I said. My voice was cold and empty.