22. NIKOLAI
Chapter twenty-two
L ucian, Lachlan, Gabriel, and Julian moved without a word, forming a loose semicircle in front of the altar. Tension was carved into their faces.
I stood behind them, silent.
Luca rested a hand on the altar. “This rite is sacred. We don’t do it often. We don’t take it lightly. Once you cross this line, you don’t come back.”
No one spoke.
Julian cracked his neck. Lachlan and Gabriel stood stiffly, arms at their sides. Lucian’s hands squeezed into fists.
Cutting between them, I stepped forward and stood shoulder to shoulder with Luca before the altar.
“I’ll go first.”
Luca turned toward me, brows pinched. The corners of his mouth curled up in approval.
“You don’t have to,” he said.
“I know.” I looked down at the blade.
They needed to see I wasn’t asking them to endure anything I wouldn’t.
That I bled for this life too.
That I stood by the code, by the brotherhood, by them .
And that I was ready to burn for it.
I let my hands fall to my sides and said calmly, “I was born and bred to be a monster. There’s no pretending otherwise. I’ve known nothing outside the reach of the bratva. My soul’s already blackened to char.”
I turned slightly, scrutinizing them closely. “You men bring something different to the syndicate. A new view of the world. Of right and wrong. Of who we protect—and why.”
My voice dropped. “You’re not joining some moral crusade. No. We’re not angels.”
I paused, jaw tight.
“We’re wolves of the night—the Volkovi Notchi.”
The words landed like thunder.
“We protect the lambs. But we feast on the shepherds.”
The room stayed silent, breathless.
I took a step closer to the altar and rested my hand on the edge, peering down at the candlelight flickering on the blade.
“My father made me kill my first man when I was twelve.” I inhaled deeply. “He handed me the pistol like it was a rite of passage, like he was a father teaching his son how to bring down his first deer. He adjusted my grip. Told me how to squeeze—not pull —the trigger.”
My vision blurred from the memory.
“The gun kicked harder than I expected. The bullet caught the man square in the throat, as if in slow motion. I still remember the sound—the wet tearing of flesh and sinew, the crack of bone. I remember the way his body snapped back. The way the blood sprayed against the wall.”
I swallowed hard.
“But mostly, I remember his eyes.”
The men stared back at me, aghast.
“He didn’t die right away. There was a heartbeat between the shot and the collapse. And in that heartbeat…I was the last person he saw.”
“Whatever he believed about the afterlife, whatever he carried with him into death—it included me. My face. My hands. My bullet.”
I stared at the flame, watching it dance.
“They say we carry nothing into the next life. No money. No possessions. No name.” I let the words hang. “Only what’s in our memories…our soul.”
I paused for a moment.
“And this life? This business? It eats away at that soul, piece by piece. Until you don’t even recognize yourself in the mirror.”
I stepped back from the altar, taking slow, measured breaths.
“So if you’re not ready for that…leave now. Because once you make the oath, it’s forever. No takebacks. No clean exits. You bleed for this syndicate, or you die because of it.”
No one moved.
Luca watched me, pride in his eyes.
And the candle flames burned on.
The air was thick with a respectful silence.
Wax dripped in slow tears down the candles, smoke curling toward the carved ceiling above us.
Luca stepped forward.
“Tonight, you become bound,” he said, his voice solemn and resonant. “Not by blood alone, but by choice. By fire. By silence.”
We stood motionless in an arc around Luca as his eyes moved down the line—Lucian, Lachlan, Gabriel, Julian, and me.
He reached for the blade and lifted it from the cloth with reverence.
“You are not swearing your allegiance to a name or a flag. You are making a vow to a brotherhood that exists in the shadows. You will bleed for this family. You will kill for it. You will die for it.” His eyes flashed with a grim resolve.
“If you betray this oath, may your flesh rot before your soul even leaves your body.”
He raised the blade slightly, pointing it skyward. “Repeat after me.”
His tone dropped an octave, and the vow began.
“ I swear before my brothers, before the saints, before the ghosts who came before me… ”
We echoed the words together.
“… to uphold the code of silence, omertà, even to my death. ”
Luca paused, inhaling deeply as we spoke the line.
“ I swear to protect this family. To serve the interests of the syndicate. To never speak of its business to an outsider. ”
We repeated, the air growing heavier with every line.
“ I will not betray. I will not steal. I will not take what belongs to another brother—not his money, not his secrets, not his woman.
“ I will take vengeance on those who wrong us. I will not falter, even in the face of death.
“ You must be forged in fire to be strong like a blade, ” he said, bowing his head for a moment.
Then, Luca said slowly in Latin:
“ Vitam meam pro fratrum meorum dabo.
“ I will give my life for my brothers, ” he translated.
We echoed it together, like a prayer.
Luca turned the blade slowly in his hand.
“Now you are no longer outsiders; you are brothers.”
The room was utterly still.
Six men stood quietly—unified not by name but by the oath now etched into their souls.
Luca stepped to the side of the altar and slid open a narrow drawer tucked beneath the cloth.
He rifled through its contents with slow deliberation, then paused, drew out a single card, studied the image for a moment, and placed it facedown on top of the other saint cards.
He glanced my way, making it clear this one was meant for me.
Then he ran his thumb over the handle of the blade, admiring its carved relief as if it were something holy.
He turned to me. “Nikolai.”
This part I hadn’t needed to do. I’d been born into this world, given no choice, and my blood had been spilled a hundred times since.
But the Xyst men were watching, uncertain and tense.
If I wanted their loyalty, I had to show them what leadership looked like—and that I was willing to stake my life for theirs.
“Your saint,” Luca said, lifting the card, “is the Virgin Mary.”
That earned a raised brow from a few of the men. Even I was caught off guard.
Luca smirked faintly. “The mother of purity. The one who brings hope to those lost in the dark.” His gaze dropped to the burning candle. “We’ll see if she saves your soul.”
I didn’t respond, just held out my hand.
Without hesitation, he sliced my palm.
My flesh tore beneath the blade. The bite of it came a second later, then the ache, and then the bone-deep throb settled in.
Luca then rested the back of his hand on the altar. As the candlelight flickered on his skin, he slowly drew the blade across his own palm. He didn’t even flinch. The slice was clean, deep. Immediately, blood welled dark and thick.
He extended his bleeding hand without a word. I met it with mine.
Our palms slammed together. Blood and ash smeared between us, sticky and throbbing, a union of the sacred and profane.
My breath hitched at the contact—not just from the pain, but from the significance of what it meant.
For the first time in my life, I wasn’t spilling blood out of duty, debt, or vengeance.
I was giving it freely…for men I’d chosen. A brotherhood I wanted.
He released my hand, picked up the saint’s card, and rolled it like a cigarette. He pressed it to my palm. The paper felt cool against the heat of my wound—until he lit the edge.
Flame crawled upward.
The pain was excruciating.
I didn’t move.
Not an inch.
The burning snaked inward, searing flesh and sinew, scorching the cut with a hiss of holy fire. My jaw clenched, the only outward sign I would give.
It wasn’t just the agony—it was the symbolism. A life of sin, branded with sanctity. The Virgin’s image charred black in my palm, her ashes mingling with our blood—a mark I’d carry not as a burden, but as a vow.
By the time the flame died, my hand was sealed, scorched, and trembling. My chest was tight—not from the pain, but from the strange, foreign truth sinking into my bones.
I wasn’t just in my father’s bratva anymore.
I’d found a new sort of family. Not saints.
Not clean. We still made our living where the law couldn’t—or wouldn’t—reach.
But there were lines we didn’t cross. No sex trafficking.
No rape. No children traded into slavery. No drugs pushed into the hands of kids.
We took from those who could afford the loss. We punished the corrupt, the predators, the ones who thought power meant they could do anything without consequence.
This wasn’t Delgado’s world of rot and decay. This was a syndicate with teeth and a code—and now, I was bound to it in blood and fire.
I stepped back, my chest tight with resolve to protect my new brothers.
Luca nodded, then turned to Lucian.
He raised the next card. “Saint Longinus. The Roman soldier who pierced the side of Christ, then repented and believed. Fitting, don’t you think?”
Lucian didn’t answer, just stepped forward, jaw clenched tight.
The blade cut.
He hissed through his teeth but didn’t back down.
Luca extended his cut hand. Lucian gripped it firmly, blood smearing between them. Then I stepped in and took Lucian’s hand in mine, sealing the bond in pain and blood.
When the card hit his palm, the flare of the fire lit up his face, accentuating the hard lines as sweat beaded at his temple.
“Fuck,” he growled, “now I know why they call this branding.”
The pain was evident, but so was his resolve.
I watched him closely.
Lucian had always been one to resist control. But under fire—he stood his ground. There was something deeper there. Loyalty, maybe. Or perhaps he was just a man tired of running from another sort of pain.
Luca moved on to Lachlan.