Chapter 15 Nikolaj
Nikolaj
Under the lavender bruise of dawn, the body leaves Vintermoor in silence. No procession. No ceremony. Just a covered stretcher wheeled through the main gate, flanked by two guards who keep their eyes straight ahead as if even looking at the thing they’re escorting might curse them.
Good. Maybe next time, he’ll choose his opponents more wisely. Maybe next time, he won’t crawl into a lion’s den wearing a Vieri name like it makes him untouchable.
Only there won’t be a next time.
The sun creeps over the edge of the stone courtyard. Everything looks the same as it did yesterday—same stone, same chill in the air, same distant buzz of weapons practice from the southern quad—but it feels different. The air tastes like scorched meat and iron, like a warning curled in the lungs.
He hasn’t come out yet, but he will. He always does when someone crosses him. I know the pattern by now. First comes the silence, then the calculation, then the fury that simmers so cold it burns.
I almost want to laugh. He’s probably planning something elegant and poetic. Something with purpose that makes a fucking statement. I’m not scared of his vengeance, I’m waiting for it.
It doesn’t take long.
Battle Simulation Arc. 14:15.
The battle simulation is the perfect setting.
Every year, Vintermoor pits us against each other in a massive, two-day strategy gauntlet.
Real weapons, real pain, minimal supervision.
They say it’s to evaluate tactics. Really, it’s to weed out the weak and let the strong bleed each other down to nothing.
Alliances are made. Betrayals are scripted.
Everyone walks into it knowing only half of them will finish without limps or stitches.
I gear up early. Black tactical vest, knife strapped to my thigh, gloves, hair tied back. Every inch of me coiled, ready. I’ve got Maksim running recon, Kai coordinating from the hills. We’re already two moves ahead of the opposing team. My side will win. That’s not even a question.
But I’m not here for victory. I’m here for him… and he doesn’t disappoint.
I spot him just past the perimeter of the east bunker—silent, alone, stalking through the trees like he was born to hunt. He’s not with his team, not even flanked. He’s moving with intent, and I know exactly who he’s here for.
So, I let him find me.
I circle the outer path of the red zone, slipping into the abandoned structure where the flag is supposedly hidden. It’s all cracked concrete and broken rebar, the air thick with dust and heat. The second I step inside, I hear his boots.
I don’t turn. “Nice of you to show,” I say lazily, scanning the shadows.
His voice hits like steel across my spine. “You think you can fuck with people like they’re pieces on your board?”
I grin without looking back. “I don’t think, Vincenzo. I know.”
He’s behind me before the echo even fades. His hand grabs my shoulder and spins me around, shoving me back against the wall hard enough to make the rebar groan. And just like that, we’re close. Breathing the same air, rage blistering between us like heat off asphalt.
I grin, slow and wide. “Let me guess. You came to cry about your little pawn?”
“You killed him,” he snaps, voice low but shaking. “You knew exactly what you were doing, and you didn’t hesitate.”
“He was a willing participant,” I say calmly. “He knew the rules, and he lost. That’s not on me.”
His hand slams into the wall beside my head, close enough that the concrete cracks. “You’re a fucking monster.”
I lean in, nose almost brushing his. “And you’re still watching me like you want to be one.”
His other hand flies out, grabs my collar, yanks me forward—and then the first punch lands. It’s a brutal hook to the side of my face, ringing sharp through my skull, but I don’t fall. I laugh.
Because finally, finally, he’s showing me something real.
“There he is,” I breathe, straightening. “Knew you wouldn’t stay on your marble throne forever.”
I retaliate fast, driving my fist into his ribs, feeling the sharp grunt he doesn’t mean to let out. His fist connects with my jaw this time—enough to snap my head sideways, make the inside of my mouth slick with blood, and split my lip open.
I spit, then wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. “Feels good, doesn’t it?” I whisper. “Letting yourself get dirty. You should try it more often.”
“You killed one of mine,” he snaps.
I laugh, blood still warm on my tongue. “You lent me one of yours. He played and lost.”
Vincenzo slams me against the wall, forearm against my throat, pressing just enough to make the edges of my vision flutter.
“You think you’re untouchable,” he growls.
I spit blood, grinning. “I think you’ve been dying to touch me,” I say, my voice straining against his hold.
He punches again, and this time I catch it, twisting, slamming my elbow into his jaw, and shoving him off. We circle each other, both of us breathing hard, sweat already slipping down our necks. “You bleed just like the rest.”
“So, make me bleed, Your Majesty,” I shoot back sarcastically, bowing low. “Or are you too scared I’ll moan when you do?”
Something snaps behind his eyes, and then we’re both swinging again.
The next few seconds are chaos—fists, knees, bruises blooming like wildfire.
He’s fast, but I’m mean. I catch him in the ribs, the shoulder, the mouth.
He grabs me by the collar, throws me to the ground, but I roll and kick out hard, catching the side of his thigh and sending him staggering.
“You want a war?” he bites out. “I’ll fucking give you one.”
He lunges again and we crash together—grappling, punching, teeth bared. His hand closes around my throat, and this time he doesn’t stop until my head hits the stone. The stars behind my eyes pop like glass.
“Give me a reason,” he whispers into my ear, breath ragged. “Give me one fucking reason not to end this now.”
I grin, even though I can’t breathe. “Because you can’t. Because you’d rather fuck me than kill me.”
His whole body goes still, and I take that gap to spin us and pin him.
Or maybe he lets me.
My knees straddle his hips, hands gripping his wrists against the concrete. Both our lips are bleeding, one of my eyes is swelling shut, and we’re both panting.
But he’s staring at my mouth like it’s the last goddamn thing he believes in. “Say it,” I whisper. “Say you want it.”
His jaw clenches hard, but he doesn’t say no. I shift slightly, enough that my weight presses into his hips, and I feel the twitch of his traitorous cock through the layers between us.
Oh, Vincenzo. You were never going to win this. Not when you let me inside that iron fortress you call control. Not when you looked at me like that.
I tilt my head, eyes locked on his, and he still doesn’t move. I lean in anyway. The tip of my tongue grazes the cut on his lip, and I feel the sharp breath he hisses out between his teeth.
It’s not pain he gives me, but it’s not fear either. It’s want, and it thrums in the air like a live wire between us, snapping against my skin, sharp and delicious.
“You bleed so pretty, Prince,” I murmur against his mouth, close enough that the words hit him like a caress.
His whole body goes taut beneath me. Not in shock—no, that would be easy. He’s used to playing god and being above it all; untouchable, unbothered. But this? This is where I break him with the filthy little truth between his thighs and the way his gaze dips to my lips again.
I chuckle and ease back; dragging my weight off him with unhurried precision. My fingers slide down his chest as I rise, tapping once, right over his heart.
“Relax, Vincenzo,” I add, licking the blood off my thumb. “I’m not gonna trash your reputation today. We wouldn’t want the future Don of the Vieri Empire caught moaning my name in a bunker, would we?”
I stand fully, roll my shoulders, and turn—because nothing says you’re no threat to me like giving him my back.