Chapter 9
CHAPTER
NINE
NIKOLAI
The sun is just breaking through the horizon when we touch down in St. Petersburg. My city.
Sofiya is out cold, unsurprisingly, after everything I put her through.
I sit nursing a whiskey, my eyes fixed on her as the plane taxis down the runway. I angle my head, studying the strands of her silky hair, dark with a hint of auburn, like the embers of a dying fire. They frame her delicate face, and I have the sudden urge to brush them aside so I can feel the softness of her skin. But I know better. My touch would be as welcome as a slap.
I have to get these urges under control. She’s my wife in name only. On paper. But fuck me if being around her doesn’t stir something inside me. I told her I’m an unfeeling monster, and ninety-nine percent of the time, that’s true. Turns out, she’s the one percent exception.
I felt it watching her dance on stage. And I definitely felt it when she cried in my arms as I dragged her onto the plane. I did what I had to, but seeing her miserable stirs something I’m not willing to explore.
The jet comes to a stop, and a few minutes later, the door opens. One of my soldiers, Emil Merinov, bounds up the stairs, a grin stretching his face. “Welcome home, pakhan.” He claps me on the back, his eyes flicking to the sleeping woman across from me. His head tilts with curiosity. “You brought a friend with you.”
I grit my teeth. Turns out I don’t like others looking at Sofiya when she’s sleeping and vulnerable. But Emil doesn’t know who Sofiya is to me, so I’ll give him a pass. Along with the rest of my crew, he’ll find out soon.
“You could say that.”
He raises an eyebrow but doesn’t press further. Emil and I have a long history. Along with Eva, one of my top lieutenants, we grew up in the same crappy apartment complex. Now, they’re both trusted members of my bratva.
Guarding Sofiya will be his first major responsibility. He won’t see it that way. He’ll see it as babysitting duty, but that’s too fucking bad. In my organization, the only way up is to earn it.
I don’t bother waking Sofiya. I scoop her into my arms. The blanket she had over her falls, but I keep on going. She’s soft and warm pressed against me, her head falling against my shoulder like it belongs there.
And it does. We fit together perfectly. The memory of fucking her will haunt me for the rest of my days. The way her body trembled against mine, the feel of her nails biting into my scalp, the way she clenched around my cock, milking the hardest orgasm of my life from me.
I knew what it would cost me to fuck her, but it was well worth it.
Her eyes flutter open, confusion clouding her expression. “Wh—what’s going on?”
“We’ve landed,” I inform her.
“Put me down.” She struggles, but it’s no use. I hold her tighter, refusing to let her go as I carry her down the steps to the car waiting on the tarmac.
“It’s either in my arms or in cuffs. Which do you prefer?”
The cuffs are an empty threat. She wouldn’t run with armed guards around and her friends’ lives at risk. Vadim’s idea to use them as leverage was genius. He’s still in Moscow setting up surveillance on her friends.
Her cheeks flush, and she turns her head away, refusing to meet my eyes. But she stops resisting.
My driver, Matvey, jolts in surprise when he sees us, hurrying to open the car door. I place her gently inside the back seat, her gaze flitting around the interior, trying to make sense of what’s happening.
“Emil and Matvey will take you back to my estate. I have other matters to deal with.”
Her expression fills with panic. “Y-you can’t leave me. Where are you going?”
My jaw tightens. I don’t like seeing her scared, and I have a strange impulse to get in the car and soothe her anxiety, but I stop myself. I can’t show her softness. It’s not who I am, and it’s not why she’s here. The sooner she understands that, the better.
Irritation spikes when I catch Matvey and Emil eyeing her in the rearview mirror. Without the blanket, her club dress leaves too much exposed—her toned legs, her mussed hair, the smudged makeup around her eyes. The thought of any other man looking at her sends a murderous heat through me.
I shrug off my jacket and drape it over her shoulders. Her eyes snap to mine. “Keep that on,” I say flatly, my tone leaving no room for argument. “You’ll be fine.”
I slap my hand against the roof of the car, and Matvey and Emil turn their attention toward me, their bodies straightening.
“This is Sofiya Ivanova, Roman Vasiliev’s sister-in-law, and my new wife.” I let that sink in for a second. Their surprise is clear, but neither dares to speak. I look straight at Emil. “Let Yelena know she needs a room, and for fuck’s sake, have Eva find her something decent to wear. I’ll need you to keep an eye on her. The marriage wasn’t what you’d call a mutual decision.”
“You got it,” Emil says, while Matvey, a man of few words, nods. The look they give her this time around holds more respect. Good.
I’ve never brought a woman to my home, let alone mentioned marriage. The women I fuck know the deal—no strings, no questions. My life doesn’t leave room for anything more. It never has. My entire existence has been about clawing out of the gutter I was born into.
I started small, stealing cars for chop shops, learning how to strip them for parts or resell them clean. It wasn’t glamorous, but it kept Sergey and me off the streets. From there, I moved to robberies—small stores, cash-heavy businesses, anything that wasn’t too risky but paid well enough to survive. By my early twenties, I was hitting armored trucks. The adrenaline rush was addictive, and the payouts were life-changing.
The next step was controlling territory—smuggling high-value goods like stolen jewelry, rare artifacts, or anything that moved through the underground. It made me both rich and respected. By twenty-five, I had built the Zhukov Bratva into a force to be reckoned with.
After a childhood spent feeling powerless, I finally understood the value of power and money. They were a shield and a sword, ensuring no one could ever hurt me again.
A wife is a distraction I’ve never had any interest in. Whatever protective instinct I feel toward Sofiya is only that—an instinct. It doesn’t mean anything.
I leave her with a final warning. “Your friends are being tailed from now on. Don’t make me do something you’ll regret.”
Her shoulders tense, her gaze flicking away as if she can’t bear to look at me. I slam the door shut and step back, giving Matvey the signal to drive off.
Despite the exhaustion tugging at my body, energy courses through me. The kind that comes with knowing you’ve won. Sofiya is more than leverage—she’s the turning point I’ve been waiting for.
My Bugatti Chiron waits at the edge of the airstrip, where Emil left it. Triumph courses through my veins as I stride toward the sleek machine, the symbol of everything I’ve worked for. With a press of my thumb on the keypad, the car unlocks, and I sink into the driver’s seat, the engine humming beneath me.
Taking Sofiya was a gamble, but it went off without a hitch. Now, the real game begins. And I can’t fucking wait to throw this victory in the Syndicate’s face.
The heavy iron gate swings open, and I nod to the guard at the entrance before following the winding lane that leads to the opulent French colonial-style mansion ahead.
As I pull into the driveway, two guards instinctively rest their hands on their holstered weapons. But the tension melts away as I step out of the car, and recognition flashes across their faces. They lift their hands in greeting. I’m a regular at Igor Bocharov’s estate.
Igor is a high-ranking politician, serving as the senior advisor to the minister of finance. But the real reason he can afford such a beautiful home and lavish estate is his criminal ties to me.
He approached me not long after I put a bullet in Sergey’s head. Back then, he wasn’t the big-time player he is now—just another mid-level politician Sergey kept close for leverage. But when I took out my brother and the power shifted back to me, Igor proposed an alliance: he’d use his political connections to help me rebuild and grow the Zhukov Bratva in exchange for a cut of our deals.
It was mutually beneficial. As a politician, Igor had access to sensitive information, influence over law enforcement, and the ability to sway political favor.
With his help, I expanded my operations without worrying about the cops or the government getting in my way. In return, I made Igor a very rich man.
A corrupt politician and an organized crime leader turned out to be a match made in underworld heaven.
Igor’s connection to the minister all but guarantees my legitimate company will be awarded the deal.
Here is how we both benefit: casinos attract billionaires, foreign investors, and oligarchs—people we can sway, buy, or blackmail. This means power, legitimacy, and influence.
For Igor, it’s his ticket to climbing higher on the political ladder.
With the power and influence the casinos bring me, the Zhukov Bratva will finally put me on equal footing with the Belov Syndicate. They’ve ruled Russia for far too long, their reach stretching far beyond their territory. I’m sick of it.
After today, the Syndicate will understand one thing: I’m done playing second to anyone.
As I step up to the entrance, one of the guards points me toward the back gardens, where Igor likes to spend time when the weather’s good. I cut through the sprawling home, as luxurious on the inside as it is on the outside.
Stained glass doors imported from France open to an impeccable garden where Igor is tending to his prized roses, pruning them with care.
“Nikolai.” He greets me without looking up, his back still to me. “What brings you here so early?”
Sliding on my sunglasses, I make my way toward Igor. He’s in his late fifties, heavy-set, balding, and shorter than my six-foot-three frame, but his presence demands respect. “I’ve got news. Thought you’d want to hear it right away.”
“First, come and admire my flowers.” He waves me closer without stopping his pruning. He once told me that tending his garden clears his mind—a bit of peace in a chaotic world. Ironic, considering the man might wear the mask of a respectable government official, but there’s a ruthless criminal beneath his polished veneer.
Igor gestures to a cluster of roses, their petals a soft ivory. “Beautiful, aren’t they? Reminds me of the ones my mother used to grow.”
I raise an eyebrow but stay silent. Sentimentality isn’t my thing, but I let him have his moment. Igor finally steps back from his flowers, brushing a speck of dirt from his fingers. “Now, what’s this news you’ve brought me?”
“I dealt with the Belov Syndicate problem. They’ll soon agree to the casino deal.”
Igor pauses, his shears hovering over a stem. He shoots a curious look my way. “How did you convince them? I thought they only allowed family to operate in their territory.”
I shrug, a hint of a smirk growing on my face. “I made myself family. Sofiya Ivanova, Roman’s sister-in-law, is my wife.”
He raises an eyebrow. “How the fuck did you do that? I’m assuming Roman didn’t hand her over to you on a silver platter.”
If I’ve learned one thing dealing with Roman over the years, it’s that he’s fiercely protective of his wife and sister-in-law, especially after all the shit they've been through. He’d do anything for them. And in this case, his devotion is his weakness.
“Not at all. Roman doesn’t even know yet.” I let out a dark laugh. “I’ll spare you the sordid details. For now, what’s important is we have something over the Syndicate. If Roman wants Sofiya back, he’ll agree to our terms.”
Later today, Vadim will send Roman a package containing a copy of our marriage certificate, video footage of her on my jet, and a picture of the ring I’ll soon require her to wear. I’m sure I’ll be able to hear Roman cursing me out all the way from New York.
His fucking problem. He reaped what he sowed. If the Syndicate doesn’t want to share power with me, I’ll have to take it from them. I haven’t worked this hard and sacrificed this much to stand down.
Igor whistles between his teeth as he clips a flower and hands it to a gardener he has standing by. “She’s a very beautiful young woman if I recall. Met her once, a little while ago. A dancer, is that right?”
“That’s right.” I choose my next words carefully. Igor sees women as things to own and sometimes as things to break. Sofiya may mean nothing to me, but I don’t like the idea of him playing with what’s mine. It’s why I plan on keeping Sofiya far from him. “It’s a marriage on paper, nothing more. I don’t care what she does, only that she’s useful to me.”
His grin is wolflike. “Come on now. I’m sure you’ll enjoy the benefits of possessing such a young and innocent creature.”
My fists tighten at my sides, and I do my best to keep my voice even. “Like I said, a wife on paper. If I need to fuck, I have plenty of women on speed dial more than willing to do the job.”
“But breaking her in is part of the fun, Nikolai. If you want to light a fire under Roman, a picture of his sister-in-law bound and gagged with your dick up her ass would do the trick.”
Anger blazes up my spine. He has a point, but I don’t much like that idea.
He snips a dead leaf with more force than necessary, his expression hardening. “But I’m glad you know better than to let her get close. Women make you weak. Roman is proof of that.”
I clear my throat. “I’ll keep you updated once the Syndicate responds to my happy news.”
“The minister wants to award the casino contract in the next six weeks. Not much time. You’ll need to show the Syndicate how serious you are—what you’re willing to do to get your way.”
“I’ll do what I have to. I always do,” I say through clenched teeth.
“Good. Everything should fall into place perfectly.” With a deceptively calm smile, Igor hands me a single blood-red rose, full and healthy. There’s a good reason for that. Igor claims human remains make excellent fertilizer. “A blooming rose for your wife.”
My hand wraps around the stem as a sharp pain shoots through my finger. A thorn has pierced my skin, a small rivulet of blood trickling down my hand.
I meet Igor’s gaze, his eyes glinting with intensity. “Be careful, Nikolai. Even the most beautiful things can be dangerous.”
My molars press together. “I’ll keep that in mind.”