Chapter Two - Makar
The faint hum of the city buzzes outside my office window, but it’s nothing compared to the pounding in my skull. Paperwork is a necessary evil, though I hate every second of it. Contracts, accounting records, agreements with people I’d rather see buried six feet under—I sift through them all with growing irritation. My desk is a mess of leather-bound ledgers and sleek laptops, the dichotomy of old-world tradition and modern business.
Andrei’s knock at the door interrupts my thoughts. Three sharp raps, precise and impatient.
“Come in,” I say, not looking up.
Andrei steps inside, his boots heavy against the hardwood. His expression is as serious as always, the tight line of his mouth signaling that whatever he’s about to say will test my already thin patience.
“You have a visitor,” he says, his tone neutral.
I don’t bother masking my irritation. My pen drops onto the desk with a sharp clatter, and I finally meet his gaze. “Why wasn’t I informed of this visitor in advance?”
Andrei doesn’t flinch, which is one of the reasons I keep him close. The man has a spine, unlike most. “She showed up unannounced.”
“She?” That catches my attention. My eyes narrow, my interest piqued despite my annoyance.
Andrei nods. “A young woman. Says it’s urgent.”
My fingers drum against the desk as I lean back in my chair. A young woman, here, demanding my time? The curiosity is enough to temper my anger, if only slightly.
“Does she have a name?” I ask.
“She didn’t say,” Andrei replies. “Just that it’s important.”
For a moment, I consider telling him to send her away. It wouldn’t be the first time someone thought they could barge into my world demanding an audience. The fact that she had the gall to come here—alone, from the sound of it—is intriguing. Stupid, but intriguing.
“Fine,” I say, waving a hand. “Bring her in.”
Andrei nods once before disappearing through the door. I take a moment to compose myself, straightening the papers on my desk. My irritation simmers just below the surface, but I mask it well.
When the door opens again, I see her.
She steps inside hesitantly, her movements small and careful, as if she’s testing the air for danger. She’s young—early twenties, maybe—with auburn hair pulled back into a messy ponytail. Her clothes are plain but clean, though she’s clearly uncomfortable under my gaze.
I let the silence stretch as she stands there, shifting her weight from foot to foot.
“Sit,” I say finally, gesturing to the chair across from me.
She hesitates before perching on the edge of the seat, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. Her eyes flit around the room, taking in the dark wood paneling, the expensive artwork on the walls, the faint smell of cigar smoke that lingers in the air.
“Who are you?” I ask, leaning back in my chair.
“My name is Lily,” she says, her voice trembling slightly. “Thank you for seeing me, Mr. Sharov.”
I raise an eyebrow. It’s rare to hear my name spoken with such… trepidation. Most people fear me, yes, but they also respect me enough to keep their voices steady. This one is nervous, which makes me wonder why she came here at all.
“What is it you want, Lily?” I ask, keeping my tone measured.
She swallows, her fingers twisting in her lap. “It’s about the Ember House.”
That gets my attention. I own several establishments in the city, but the Ember House is one of my prized possessions—a high-end nightclub that doubles as a hub for more… discreet dealings.
“What about it?” I ask, my voice sharp enough to make her flinch.
“It’s the manager,” she says quickly, as if afraid I’ll cut her off. “His name is Kris. He’s been working there for about a year now.”
I nod, recalling the name. Kris was a recommendation from one of my associates, and he’s done a decent job keeping the club profitable. At least, as far as I’ve been told.
“What about him?” I ask, my patience thinning.
Lily hesitates, her gaze dropping to her lap. She’s clearly weighing her words, trying to decide how much to say—or how to say it without pissing me off.
“He’s… not who you think he is,” she says finally, her voice barely above a whisper.
My eyes narrow, and I lean forward, resting my elbows on the desk. “Explain.”
She looks up at me, and for the first time, I see the resolve beneath her nervous exterior. “He’s stealing from you,” she says, her words more confident now. “He’s using the club for things I don’t think you’d approve of.”
A dangerous silence falls over the room. My mind races, but outwardly, I remain calm.
“You’re making a serious accusation,” I say, my voice dangerously low. “Do you have proof?”
Lily nods, pulling a small flash drive from her pocket. “I started working at the Ember House six months ago,” she says. “I saw things—transactions that didn’t add up, people coming in and out who weren’t on any official lists. I started keeping track, taking notes, recording things when I could.”
She places the flash drive on the desk, her hand trembling as she slides it toward me.
I pick it up, turning it over in my fingers. “Why come to me?” I ask. “Why not go to the police?”
Lily’s lips press into a thin line. “Because the police don’t scare people like Kris,” she says. “You do.”
Her words hang echo in my mind, and for a moment, I say nothing. She’s not wrong. The police might make an arrest, but I’d make sure Kris disappeared. Permanently.
I lean back in my chair, studying her. She’s brave, I’ll give her that. Stupid, maybe, but brave.
Relief flashes across her face, but I don’t let her relax too much.
“Lily,” I add, my voice turning cold, “if you’re lying, or if this is some kind of game….”
She shakes her head quickly. “I’m not lying. I swear.”
“Then you’d better start talking,” I say, my tone sharp.
Lily inhales shakily, her trembling hands clutching the hem of her jacket as if the words she’s about to say might destroy her. Her lips part, but for a moment, nothing comes out. I lean back, watching her, my patience wearing thin.
“Kris,” she finally begins, her voice small. “He… he met me at the club. I didn’t think anything of it at first. He was charming, and he said all the right things.”
I stay silent, letting her speak. The tension in the room is palpable, my anger simmering just beneath the surface.
“We… ended up at a hotel,” she says, her cheeks flushing with shame. Her hands twist together in her lap, and I already know what’s coming. “We had sex. I thought… I thought it was just a one-time thing.”
She swallows hard, blinking back tears. “It wasn’t. He recorded me without my consent. I didn’t even know until he showed me the videos.” Her voice cracks, and she pauses, taking a deep breath before continuing.
“He started threatening me. Said he’d leak the videos if I didn’t do what he wanted.” Her eyes dart to mine, searching for any sign of empathy, but I keep my expression neutral, my rage contained for now.
“What did he want?” I ask, though I already know the answer won’t sit well.
Lily’s hands shake harder, her knuckles white. “He wanted me to… to serve some of the guests at the club. Not just serve them drinks.” Her voice breaks, and she lets out a choked sob. “He said they’d pay him for it. If I didn’t do it, he’d ruin me. My life, my reputation—everything.”
She breaks down then, her shoulders shaking as she cries into her hands. “I don’t know if you would care,” she says between sobs, “but I didn’t know what else to do. I had to come to you. You own the club. I thought maybe….” Her voice trails off, hopelessness written all over her face.
The room feels colder as her words settle. My jaw tightens, and the rage I’ve been holding back begins to seep through the cracks. Kris. That worthless piece of shit has been using my club as a front for exploiting women. Women like Lily, who probably thought they were safe when they walked through the doors.
Using women? That’s beneath the Bratva. There’s no honor in it, no respect. It’s filth. It’s weakness. And Kris has brought that filth into my territory.
“Do you have proof?” I ask, my voice a low growl.
Lily nods, fumbling with her phone. She pulls up a folder, scrolling through images and videos before handing it to me. Her hand trembles so badly I have to steady it as I take the device.
What I see only fans the flames of my fury. The evidence is damning: messages from Kris, screenshots of his threats, even a partial clip of one of the recordings he made of her. She wasn’t lying. Not about any of it.
I slam the phone down on the desk, making her flinch. My fists clench as I fight the urge to unleash my anger on something—anything.
“You’ve done the right thing by coming to me,” I say, my voice rough but steady.
Lily sniffles, wiping at her eyes with the sleeve of her jacket. “What are you going to do?”
I look her directly in the eye, my expression cold and unyielding. “Kris will never contact you again. That’s my word.”
Her lower lip trembles, and fresh tears spill over. “Thank you,” she whispers, her voice thick with emotion.
I stand, my movements sharp and deliberate as I step around the desk. “Andrei,” I call, my voice carrying through the thick walls.
The door opens immediately, and Andrei steps in, his eyes scanning the room before settling on me.
“Take her home,” I order, my tone leaving no room for argument. “Make sure she’s safe. No one touches her.”
Andrei nods without hesitation, moving to Lily’s side. She looks up at him, then back at me, her gratitude evident even as fear lingers in her eyes.
“Go,” I tell her. “You’ll be fine now.”
She hesitates for a moment, as if she wants to say something else, but then she nods, letting Andrei guide her out of the office.
When the door closes behind them, the silence in the room is deafening. I let out a slow, controlled breath, my hands flexing at my sides.
Kris has made a mistake. A fatal one.
I walk to the window, staring out at the city below. The lights twinkle like stars, oblivious to the darkness lurking just beneath their surface. Kris thinks he can use my club, my name, to line his pockets with the pain and humiliation of women like Lily.
He’ll regret that.
I reach for the phone on my desk, dialing a number I haven’t called in months. It rings twice before a familiar voice answers.
“Makar,” comes the gruff greeting.
“I need a cleanup,” I say, my tone clipped. “Someone crossed a line. Badly.”
There’s a pause on the other end, then a low chuckle. “Name?”
“Kris,” I say, the name tasting bitter in my mouth. “You’ll find him at the Ember House. Make it quiet. Make it permanent.”
The line goes dead, and I set the phone down, my chest still tight with fury. Kris has sullied my reputation, my rules, and the sanctity of my business.
By the end of the night, he’ll pay the price.