Chapter 2 - Matvei
The warehouse smelled like rust and desperation, a combination that Matvei Volkov had grown intimately familiar with over the years.
He adjusted the collar of his black suit, the fabric expensive enough to blend in with the other predators who’d gathered for tonight’s particular brand of entertainment.
The alias he’d chosen for the evening felt foreign on his tongue, but it would serve its purpose.
Viktor Petrov, a wealthy businessman from Moscow with questionable ethics and deep pockets.
Close enough to the truth to be believable, distant enough to keep the Nikolais from connecting the dots until it was too late.
The auction house wasn’t much to look at from the outside, just another abandoned building in the industrial district that the city had forgotten about years ago.
But inside, it had been transformed into something that made Matvei’s skin crawl even as he appreciated its strategic value.
Velvet curtains draped the walls, expensive lighting cast everything in a golden glow, and well-dressed monsters milled about with champagne flutes and predatory smiles.
He’d been to plenty of auctions in his time, mostly weapons and information, occasionally art or jewelry.
But this was different. This was human trafficking dressed up in silk and served with a side of vintage Dom Pérignon, and every instinct he’d inherited from three generations of Volkov men screamed at him to burn the whole place down.
Soon, he promised himself. As soon as the Nikolais were dealt with, he’d make sure places like this ceased to exist. But tonight, he had a role to play.
“Quite the turnout, isn’t it?” The voice belonged to his temporary partner, Dmitri Markov, who’d appeared at his elbow like a bad omen.
The man had been useful so far, providing intel on Nikolai's operations and now delivering their youngest member directly into Matvei’s hands.
But there was something about him that set Matvei’s teeth on edge, a greediness that went beyond simple ambition.
“More than I expected,” Matvei replied, keeping his voice neutral. He’d learned early that showing weakness or disgust in rooms like this was a luxury he couldn’t afford. “Your contact came through.”
Dmitri’s grin was all teeth and no warmth. “Told you I could deliver. The Nikolai princess is going to fetch a pretty penny tonight. Of course, that’s assuming you can outbid the competition.”
Matvei followed Dmitri’s gaze across the room, taking note of the other bidders.
Oil executives from the Middle East, tech moguls with more money than morals, politicians who’d sold their souls so long ago they’d forgotten what conscience felt like.
All of them here for the same reason, all of them convinced they had the right to purchase another human being as if she were a piece of art or a vintage car.
“Money won’t be an issue,” he said, and it wasn’t a boast. The Volkov family had built their empire on violence and strategic thinking, but they’d maintained it through careful investments and ruthless business practices. He could outbid everyone in this room without touching his personal accounts.
“Good man.” Dmitri clapped him on the shoulder with a familiarity that made Matvei want to break his arm. “Just remember our deal when you’re the most powerful family in the city.”
The deal. Twenty percent of all Volkov operations in exchange for Dmitri’s help in taking down the Nikolais. It was a steep price, but Matvei had every intention of renegotiating once the dust settled. Dead men couldn’t collect on their agreements, after all.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” a voice announced from the front of the room, “please take your seats. Tonight’s auction is about to begin.”
Matvei found a chair in the back, close enough to participate but far enough from the stage to avoid drawing attention.
The first few lots were exactly what he’d expected: young women from Eastern Europe, probably snatched from their families and smuggled across borders in shipping containers.
Each sale made him more convinced that burning this place down wouldn’t be enough.
He’d need to hunt down everyone involved and make them pay for what they’d done.
But that was a problem for another day. Tonight, he had a specific goal.
“Lot number seven,” the auctioneer called out, and Matvei felt his attention sharpen. “A very special offering tonight. Twenty-four years old, excellent health, and from a very prominent family. I’m sure our discerning buyers will appreciate her... pedigree.”
The curtain at the back of the stage parted, and two men in expensive suits escorted a woman onto the platform.
Even from his position in the back, Matvei could see the fury radiating from every line of her body.
Her hands were restrained behind her back, but she held herself like a queen surveying her kingdom, not a victim being sold to the highest bidder.
This was Irina Nikolai. He’d seen photos, of course, surveillance images taken from a distance when his people were gathering intelligence on the family.
But none of those pictures had captured the sheer force of her presence, the way she seemed to command attention even in the most degrading circumstances imaginable.
She was beautiful; there was no denying that.
Pale skin that looked like porcelain under the stage lights, black hair that fell in waves past her shoulders, and ice blue eyes that seemed to be cataloging every face in the audience.
But it wasn’t her beauty that caught him off guard. It was her defiance.
Most people in her situation would be terrified, broken, pleading for mercy. Irina Nikolai looked like she was planning the murders of everyone in the room.
“The bidding will start at fifty thousand,” the auctioneer announced, and Matvei felt his jaw clench as hands shot up around the room.
Fifty thousand. They were talking about a human being as if she were a piece of livestock, and these animals were treating her like a casual investment. The number climbed quickly: seventy-five, one hundred, one-fifty. Each bid made the knot in Matvei’s stomach tighten.
“Two hundred thousand,” called out a man in the front row, and Matvei got his first clear look at the competition. Overweight, sweating despite the air conditioning, with the kind of smile that suggested he had very specific plans for his purchase.
“Two-fifty,” came another voice, this one belonging to a younger man with designer clothes and dead eyes.
Matvei raised his hand. “Three hundred.”
Heads turned to look at him, but he kept his expression neutral, playing the part of just another wealthy pervert with deep pockets. The truth was far more complicated, but these people didn’t need to know that.
“Three-fifty,” the sweating man countered, and Matvei could see frustration building in his face. Good. Let him get emotional. Emotional bidders made mistakes.
“Four hundred,” Matvei said calmly, not bothering to look at his competition. Instead, he found himself watching Irina, noting the way her eyes had fixed on him. There was intelligence there, calculation. She was trying to figure out who he was and what he wanted.
If only she knew.
“Five hundred thousand,” someone called from the side of the room, and Matvei turned to see a man in his sixties with silver hair and a face that belonged in a museum of human cruelty.
The bidding continued to climb, each number higher than the last, each bid representing another level of depravity that these men were willing to sink to. Six hundred, seven hundred, eight hundred thousand dollars for the privilege of owning another human being.
Matvei had come prepared for this, but the sheer amount of money being thrown around was staggering.
These weren’t desperate criminals scraping together enough cash for a gun or a car.
These were titans of industry, men who could afford to spend a million dollars on a whim and not even notice the dent in their bank accounts.
“Nine hundred thousand,” he said when the bidding slowed, and he saw several of his competitors exchange glances. They were reaching the point where even obscene wealth had limits.
“One million,” the silver-haired man countered, and Matvei felt a spike of genuine anger. This wasn’t about money anymore. This was about power, about proving who had the biggest dick in a room full of monsters.
“One point two million,” Matvei said, and the room went quiet.
He could afford it. That wasn’t the issue. The Volkov family fortune could absorb the loss without breaking stride. But the principle of it, the idea that he was participating in this grotesque parody of commerce, made him want to put bullets in everyone present.
“One point five million,” the silver-haired man said, his voice tight with determination.
Matvei studied his opponent, noting the slight tremor in his hands, the way his breathing had become shallow. He was reaching his limit, both financially and emotionally. Time to end this.
“Two million,” Matvei said, his voice carrying across the suddenly silent room.
The silver-haired man’s face went red, then pale. He opened his mouth as if to bid again, then closed it, shaking his head in defeat. Around the room, other potential bidders were doing similar calculations, weighing their desire against their wallets and finding themselves wanting.
“Two million going once,” the auctioneer called out, his voice thick with excitement. This was probably the highest bid he’d ever seen. “Going twice...”
Matvei kept his eyes on Irina, watching as she processed what was happening.
Her expression hadn’t changed, but he could see the slight shift in her posture, the way she’d gone from defiant to calculating.
She was trying to figure out what kind of monster had just bought her for two million dollars.
“Sold!” The gavel came down with a sound like a gunshot, and Matvei felt something twist in his chest. He’d just purchased a human being. The fact that it was part of a larger plan, that he had no intention of harming her, didn’t make the reality any less sickening.
Around the room, conversations resumed as people moved on to the next lot, but Matvei was already standing, already making his way toward the back office where transactions were completed. The sooner he got Irina out of this place, the better.
The paperwork was mercifully brief. Cash transactions always were, especially when no one wanted a paper trail. Within twenty minutes, he had a receipt for his “purchase” and instructions on where to collect his property.
Property. The word made him want to break something.
Irina was waiting in a small room behind the stage, still restrained but now flanked by two guards who looked like they’d been hired more for their willingness to hurt people than their intelligence. They stepped aside when Matvei entered, apparently satisfied that he was the legitimate buyer.
Up close, she was even more striking than she’d appeared on stage. But it was her eyes that held his attention, ice blue and filled with a fury that could have melted steel. She was studying him like a puzzle she intended to solve, cataloging details and filing them away for future use.
“You’re not what I expected,” she said, her voice steady despite everything she’d been through.
“What did you expect?” he asked, genuinely curious. Most people in her situation would be begging, crying, or trying to negotiate. Irina Nikolai was making conversation.
“Someone older. Uglier. More obviously perverted.” She tilted her head, still watching him with those calculating eyes. “You don’t look like the type who needs to buy women.”
He almost smiled at that. Almost. “Looks can be deceiving.”
“Yes,” she said, her voice taking on a sharper edge. “They certainly can be. The question is, what are you deceiving me about?”
Smart. Dangerously smart. He could see why her brothers had tried to keep her away from the family business. A mind like hers, combined with Nikolai's ruthlessness, would be a formidable weapon.
“We should go,” he said instead of answering her question. “This place makes my skin crawl.”
Something flickered in her expression at that, surprise maybe, or confusion. She’d been expecting him to gloat, to assert his ownership, to do any of the things that the other bidders would have done. Instead, he was expressing disgust at the situation.
“Where are you taking me?” she asked as he gestured for her to precede him out of the room.
“Somewhere safe,” he said, and realized with a start that he meant it.
The guards didn’t try to stop them as they left. Why would they? He’d paid for her, completed the transaction, and signed whatever papers made this legal in their twisted world. As far as they were concerned, Irina Nikolai was his problem now.
If only they knew how right they were.