Chapter Four - Makar
The Ember House glows like a dark jewel against the Chicago night, its sleek black-and-gold facade both inviting and foreboding. Inside, the bass-heavy music thrums through the building, muffling the conversations of those too drunk or too arrogant to care who might be listening.
I step out of the car, my shoes crunching against the gravel as Andrei and four of my men fall into step behind me. The sharp winter air nips at my face, but it doesn’t cool the fire burning in my chest.
Kris has been running this club like it’s his personal empire, and tonight, he’s going to remember whose name is on the deed.
“Don’t make a scene yet,” I tell Andrei as we approach the bouncer.
Andrei smirks. “When have I ever made a scene?”
I glance at him, unimpressed. The bouncer stiffens as soon as he sees us, his shoulders squaring. He’s a big guy, but even he knows better than to stand in my way.
“Mr. Sharov,” he greets, his voice wavering just enough to betray his nerves.
I nod once, dismissively. “We’re going in.”
He steps aside without hesitation, and we enter the club.
Inside, the music pounds, the lights flash, and the air smells of money and desperation. My men fan out slightly, their presence enough to turn heads as we move through the crowd.
Patrons glance our way, some curious, others uneasy. They don’t know me by name, but they can feel the weight of who I am, what I am.
Andrei leans in as we near Kris’s office. “What’s the plan?”
I glance at him, my voice cold. “We start nice. Then we finish however he deserves.”
Andrei nods, his hand brushing the grip of the gun tucked under his jacket.
We reach the office door, and I don’t bother knocking. Andrei pushes it open, and I step inside first, my eyes immediately locking on Kris.
He’s lounging behind his desk, a cigarette dangling from his lips, a glass of whiskey in hand. The man looks up, startled, but quickly masks it with a grin that’s as fake as the gold chain around his neck.
“Boss!” he exclaims, spreading his arms like I’m an old friend dropping in for a drink. “Didn’t know you were stopping by tonight.”
I say nothing at first, taking in the room. The desk is cluttered with papers, and the faint smell of sweat clings to the air. Kris’s tie is undone, his shirt unbuttoned far enough to reveal a hint of his flabby chest. He reeks of someone too comfortable, too confident.
“Kris,” I say finally, my tone smooth. “How’s business?”
Kris chuckles nervously, glancing at my men, who remain silent and still behind me. “Business is great. Couldn’t be better. You know me, always keeping things running smoothly for you.”
I nod, stepping further into the room. “That’s good to hear. I like when things run smoothly.”
Kris’s grin falters for a split second before he recovers. “Of course. This place is my priority. You can trust me on that.”
“Trust,” I repeat, letting the word hang in the air.
Kris shifts uncomfortably in his chair. “Uh, yeah. Trust. Absolutely.”
I motion to Andrei, who steps forward and quietly shuts the door. The click of the lock echoes through the room, and Kris’s smile disappears entirely.
“What’s this about, Boss?” he asks, his voice a little higher now.
I lean against the edge of his desk, my eyes boring into his. “Let’s stop pretending, Kris. You’ve been busy, haven’t you? Using my club to run your own side operation.”
Kris blinks rapidly, his hands raising in a defensive gesture. “Look, I don’t know what you’re talking about—”
Before he can finish, I grab the glass of whiskey from his desk and hurl it against the wall. It shatters with a deafening crash, amber liquid dripping down the plaster like blood.
“Don’t insult me by lying,” I growl, my voice low and dangerous.
Kris flinches, his eyes darting to the broken glass. “I swear, Boss, I didn’t mean—”
I slam my hand down on the desk, making him jump. “You’ve been using my club to exploit women. Blackmailing them, trapping them, selling them off to the highest bidder. Did you think I wouldn’t find out?”
Kris’s face turns ashen, and he stumbles over his words. “It’s not like that! I was just… it was just a few—”
I grab him by the collar, hauling him halfway out of his chair. “A few?” I hiss, my face inches from his. “You’ve turned my club into a brothel. You’ve brought shame to my name, my rules.”
“Please!” Kris sputters, his hands clawing at mine. “It was a mistake! I can fix it!”
I shove him back into the chair, and he lands with a grunt. His hands shake as he adjusts his collar, his chest heaving with panicked breaths.
“You don’t fix things, Kris,” I say, straightening. “This is beyond that.”
I glance at Andrei, who steps forward, pulling a steel baton from his jacket. He smacks it against his palm with a dull thud, and Kris’s eyes widen in terror.
“Wait,” Kris pleads, scrambling to his feet. “Boss, I can explain—”
“Sit down,” I snap, and the force in my voice sends him crashing back into the chair.
I nod to Andrei, who moves behind Kris and slams the baton into the back of his knee. Kris screams, clutching his leg as he crumples to the floor.
“You thought you could use my name, my club, to run your filthy little business?” I ask, crouching beside him. “Did you think I wouldn’t notice, or that I wouldn’t care?”
“Please,” Kris sobs, tears streaming down his face. “It won’t happen again. I’ll stop, I swear!”
I grab his jaw, forcing him to look at me. “You’re right about one thing, Kris. It won’t happen again. Because after tonight, you’re done.”
“Boss—”
I cut him off with a sharp punch to the face, his head snapping back with a sickening crack. Blood pours from his nose, staining his shirt as he groans in pain.
I rise to my feet, wiping my knuckles on a handkerchief Andrei hands me. “Take him,” I say to my men.
Two of them haul Kris to his feet, dragging him toward the door. He screams, his voice raw with desperation. “Please! I’ll do anything! Just give me a chance!”
The Ember House’s main floor thrums with life: pounding bass, flashing lights, audible even from the office.
None of it registers. My focus is on Kris as my men drag him through the hallway and into my own office across the hall.
“Please, Boss!” Kris sputters, his voice hoarse from crying out. Blood trickles from his broken nose, staining his shirt. His legs buckle as he’s hauled forward, his shoes scraping against the floor. “I swear, it was just a mistake! Just a misunderstanding!”
I follow at a steady pace, Andrei at my side. I don’t rush. This moment has been a long time coming.
We reach the secondary office, a small, windowless room used for more… delicate matters. The bare concrete walls and single overhead bulb give it a grim, utilitarian feel. My men shove Kris inside, and he stumbles, nearly falling before catching himself on the edge of the metal desk.
“Sit,” Andrei growls, shoving him down into the lone chair.
Kris’s chest heaves as he looks around wildly, his hands raised in a pathetic gesture of surrender. “Boss, please. Whatever you think I did, I swear, I can explain—”
“Shut up,” I snap, my tone cold and final.
His mouth snaps shut, his face pale and clammy. I step forward, pulling the chair from behind the desk and turning it to face him. Slowly, deliberately, I sit down, elbows resting on my knees as I lean forward.
“You’ve disappointed me, Kris,” I begin, my voice quiet but razor-sharp. “And do you know what happens to people who disappoint me?”
He shakes his head violently, his lips trembling. “Boss, I swear, I didn’t mean—”
I raise a hand, silencing him. “You’ve turned my club into your personal cesspool. Exploiting women. Blackmailing them. Selling them off like cattle.” I let the words settle, watching as they sink in.
“It wasn’t like that!” Kris blurts, tears streaming down his face. “It was just… it was just a few side deals. Nothing serious. Nothing that could hurt the business!”
I tilt my head, studying him like a bug under a microscope. “Nothing serious?” I repeat, my voice eerily calm. “Using my name, my reputation, to traffic women isn’t serious?”
“It wasn’t trafficking!” he protests, his voice rising. “It was… it was business. They were willing—”
I’m on him in an instant, my fist slamming into his jaw. The force sends him toppling out of the chair, sprawling onto the floor.
“Don’t lie to me,” I snarl, standing over him. “Do you think I’m stupid, Kris?”
He scrambles backward, his hands raised in a futile attempt to protect himself. “I swear, Boss! It won’t happen again! Just give me one more chance!”
I crouch down, grabbing him by the collar and yanking him up to meet my gaze. “You’ve had your chance,” I hiss. “You spat on it.”
His breath comes in short, panicked gasps as he shakes his head. “Please… please….”
I let him go, and he collapses to the floor, sobbing. My men stand silent and unmoving by the door, their expressions grim.
I straighten, adjusting my jacket. “Tie him,” I order.
Andrei steps forward, pulling a length of rope from his jacket. Kris struggles weakly as his hands are bound behind his back, his cries muffled by the gag one of my men shoves into his mouth.
I walk back to the desk, sitting once more as I watch him writhe on the floor. For a moment, I say nothing, letting the tension build. His muffled sobs echo in the room, grating on my nerves.
“Kris,” I say finally, my tone flat. “Do you know the difference between power and weakness?”
He doesn’t respond, his bloodshot eyes darting toward me in fear.
“Power,” I continue, as if lecturing a child, “is earned. It’s built on respect, on loyalty. Weakness? Weakness is what you’ve shown tonight. It’s greed. Cowardice. Exploiting those who can’t fight back.”
I rise to my feet, pulling my gun from its holster. The metallic scrape of the safety being clicked off sends a visible shudder through Kris’s body.
“Boss, please,” he mumbles through the gag, his words slurred and desperate.
I step closer, the barrel of the gun now level with his head. His sobs grow louder, his body trembling violently.
“Do you want to know what disgusts me most about you?” I ask, my voice soft, almost contemplative. “It’s not that you betrayed me. It’s that you did it so… sloppily. No honor. No thought. Just mindless greed.”
Kris shakes his head, tears streaming down his face as he mumbles incoherent pleas.
I crouch down, bringing the gun closer. “You’re not just a failure, Kris. You’re a liability. I don’t keep liabilities.”
I stand, my finger tightening on the trigger. Kris screams behind the gag, the sound muffled but deafening in the small room.
The gunshot echoes, sharp and final. Kris’s body jerks once, then falls still, his blood pooling on the cold concrete floor.
I lower the gun, my expression unchanged. There’s no satisfaction in this, no triumph. Just the cold, detached necessity of cleaning up a mess.
“Andrei,” I say, turning to him. “Clean this up.”
He nods, already moving to direct the others. I slide the gun back into its holster and head toward the door, my footsteps steady and deliberate.
The bass from the club filters faintly through the walls as I step back into the hallway, the noise jarring after the stark silence of the room.
Kris is gone, his mess dealt with, and my rules remain intact.