25. Vlad
CHAPTER 25
VLAD
The moon sits low in the velvety sky and looks ominous as I pull up to the rendezvous point. I'm greeted by gravel crunch against tires. Nico's silhouette materializes from behind his own vehicle. He's wearing a pair of jeans and a black hoodie and looks strangely normal. Maybe too normal against the desolate landscape. Except for the watch on his left wrist. The only indication of who he is behind this disguise.
There's a chill in the air that grazes my skin like an icy whisper, and the faint metallic pinch of anticipation lingers, bitter on my tongue like bad coffee making its mark. In this moment of stillness, all I can hear is our breathing syncopating in slow rhythm.
Nico breaks the silence first. "You said to come alone." His eyes dart around the lot and past me. We are in on the Solovey plot of land sparsely filled with the old vehicles ready to be actioned off for parts. Just one of the fronts for all the dirty money my family makes. Nico doesn't know that two unmarked vans parked further down are coming with us. My custom Audi waits nearby, deadly as a panther.
"I assume you know how we can steal a truckload of coke without being caught?" Nico asks.
"No, I don't," I reply and motion at one of the vans. The door slides open and Seven jumps out of the vehicle. "But they do." I drive my point home as Hector and the rest of the Hellhounds make their appearance. Ivan, despite all of the reservations about this plan is with them, ready to rock'n'roll.
Nico's blue eyes meet mine. "I see that you're ready for some fun."
I force my lips to form a half smile while tamping down the urge to scream. "Always." I know my statement doesn't really match my personality or my current mood. But I can't show my fear. Not in front of Nico.
"We ride in my car, you and me," I tell him. As I start moving in the direction of the Audi, I throw a few brief commands to Seven. He acknowledges them with a nod.
Then Nico and I quietly slide into the Audis. The leather interior embraces us, crisp and welcoming. The engine purrs to life and we're off to orchestrate the heist I planned for the man I seem to care about more than I should.
As we pull onto the highway, streetlights flash by outside like fireflies. And I marvel at the absurdity of it all. Here I am, Vladimir Solovey, driving my family's rival to steal what belongs to him from his own cousin. And I'm getting nothing out of it. The irony is almost poetic.
Poetic and deadly.
"I don't know why you keep insisting to get involved in my mess," Nico mutters.
"The mess isn't yours, is it now?"
"Hard to tell at this point."
"The mess is Salvatore's. And Roberto's." I pause, waiting to see if Nico reacts, but he remains quiet, jaw set, eyes on the road ahead of us. "The great Tony Morelli really lucked out. Both of his sons are deadbeats waiting for him to die so they can have his fortune."
"You pulled the words right out of my mouth."
"I'm sorry if I'm being harsh, talking about your family." What's wrong with me? Vlad Solovey doesn't apologize.
"I'm not offended. I never wanted this last name to begin with. You don't have a choice when it comes to parents. You, yourself, know a thing or two about this."
"I do."
We fall into a tense silence as the car continues to eat up mile after mile on the way to the destination.
"Hey," Nico drawls all of a sudden. "Ever think about just... disappearing? Leaving all this behind?"
I chuckle darkly. "Only every goddamn day."
"Yeah?" He raises an eyebrow. "Where would you go?"
"Somewhere humid. Quiet. Where no one knows my name or what I've done."
Nico nods thoughtfully. "Sounds nice. But you'd get bored in a week."
"Probably," I admit, glancing at him briefly. "What about you? Where would Nicola Morelli run off to?"
He grins, a flash of white teeth in the dim car. But there's veiled sadness in that grin. "Oh, I'd go big. Buy an island, start my own country. The Republic of Nico has a nice ring to it, don't you think?"
I snort. "Your ego knows no bounds."
"Part of my charm." He winks.
The words flow easily between us. It would be so simple to let my guard down, to pretend we're just two friends or lovers on a joyride. But the weight of my gun against my ribs is a constant reminder of reality. I question my decision again. Do I need to be doing this without getting anything out of it?
"You know," Nico muses, interrupting my thoughts, "with the haul we're about to get from Salvatore, we could actually do it. Vanish. Set ourselves up for life."
I grip the steering wheel tighter, possibilities swirling in my mind like smoke. "And what would Uncle dearest say about that?"
Nico's face darkens. "Fuck him. I'm tired of living under his thumb."
"Aren't we all?" I murmur, thinking of my own father's iron fist. Even now, when he's gone, his shadows still haunt him from time to time.
For a second, I let myself imagine it—Nico and I, free from our families' bloody legacies. But the fantasy crumbles as quickly as it forms. There's no escaping who we are, what we've done. There's just moving forward, not running away.
The remainder of the drive is filled with the soft hum of the engine. We are both lost in thought and quiet.
Soon, the familiar set of buildings loom on the horizon, hulking shapes rising against the night sky as we get closer. My pulse quickens—an insistent drumbeat at my temple, each thud echoing through my chest like a warning bell tolling. I force myself to draw in air slowly, to steady the storm inside. A hundred percent focus is crucial.
I ease the Audi behind dense desert bushes where it's camouflaged by shadow and foliage—a safe harbor hidden from prying eyes.
I turn off the engine and glance at Nico. His hand reaches over to cover mine and we sit like this for a second, just breathing.
"Ready to raise some hell, caro ?" he asks, his voice uncharacteristically gentle.
I nod, pushing down the conflicting emotions roiling in my gut. "Let's do this, Romeo."
And then we climb out of the vehicle and head over to meet the rest of my crew.
As Nico and I approach the warehouse, a devious whisper slithers through my mind. It would be so easy to take advantage of Nico now, to seize this opportunity and eliminate a rival. My father's voice, cold and calculating, urges me to strike.
But then Nico turns to me, his blue eyes catching the moonlight, and it's like I'm struck with a realization he's the one before he even speaks.
"You know, Hot Shot, I'm glad you're here." His lips quirk up. That stupid heart-stopping cocky smirk. "Surprisingly, there's no one I trust more to have my back."
His words are a cruel, unexpected punch to the gut, warm and devastating. I see my mother's gentle smile, hear her soft voice telling me to be kind, to be better than my father. For years, I've buried that part of myself under layers of ruthlessness and ambition. But now, looking at Nico, I feel that buried shard of humanity stirring.
"We need to be smart about this," I say, pushing away the unnecessary thoughts and emotions. "Hector confirmed that the front gate's too risky. Too much noise, too many eyes. Someone may hear us trying to break in. Or we can get caught on the security camera from the business next door."
Nico's all business now. "What's your play?"
"Side door. We put down the guards. Go in quiet, get the merch out by hand. Last thing we need is some nosy neighbor calling the cops."
"Agreed. And Vlad?" Nico's voice drops low. "No unnecessary bloodshed."
I meet his gaze, seeing my own reluctance to cross that line mirrored in his eyes. "My guys can make it happen. We get what we came for, we get out. Clean and quiet."
As we finalize our strategy, I feel a weight lifting from my shoulders. For the first time in years, I'm not just my father's son, not just a cold-blooded killer. I'm choosing a different path, even if it's just for tonight. Even if we're committing a crime.
The Hellhounds move like shadows, chloroform-soaked rags at the ready. Ivan's skills motherfucking shine here.
Four guards. Four swift takedowns.
Bodies slump to the ground, one after another. Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud.
I'm at Nico's side, our movements fluid, practiced. He catches my eye, an eerie smile playing on his lips. We're good together. Too good.
"Tie them up," I whisper an order. "And get those vans closer. Now."
My men work with brutal efficiency, securing the unconscious guards. Nico helps. Seven and I kick off the locks. The soft metallic clang in the still night air is the only sound before we quietly enter the space.
"Vlad," Nico murmurs, his breath hot against my ear as we slip through the darkness. "We make a hell of a team."
I suppress a shiver. "Focus, Morelli. We're not out of the woods yet."
The smell of cardboard and chemicals hangs heavy here, but I try not to pay attention. I don't care what's going on in this place. I'm helping Nico. Nothing else.
My men get to the container in an instant and remove the locks with deadly proficiency the same way I did the other night. They start unloading the boxes, their movements quick and silent. One by one. Hundreds of thousands of dollars in each box. Blood money all the way from Brazil that are no longer taking this detour Salvatore Morelli came up with.
Nico and I help, climbing inside and joining Hector in handing the merch to Seven, who's managing the rest of the crew. These guys are gold, pure, and insanely valuable. I can understand why Isaac Thoreau treated them like family, with great care, and why he asked me to do the same.
Once all the boxes are out of the container, we get out.
Nico leans against its wall, a wicked grin spreading across his face. "You know, leaving this thing empty... Sal's in for one hell of a surprise next time he tries to move product without checking."
I chuckle, the tension in my shoulders easing slightly. "Serves the bastard right."
Our laughter fades, and suddenly I'm acutely aware of how close we're standing. The darkness feels electric, charged with something dangerous and intoxicating.
Before I can think better of it, I press myself up against Nico, my lips crashing into his. He tastes like adrenaline and possibility, and I'm drowning in it.
The kiss is a warfare, a battle for dominance. Neither of us is willing to yield. Nico's hands grip my shoulders, his fingers digging in with bruising force. I retaliate by fisting my hand in his hair, tugging just hard enough to make him gasp. The sound sends a violent jolt of electricity down my spine. Almost as if I'm hit by lightning.
It's hard muscle on muscle. I can feel the rapid beat of Nico's heart, matching my own frantic rhythm. His tongue sweeps across my lower lip, demanding entry, and I grant it with a low growl.
The kiss is like a forest fire, consuming everything in its path. It's desire and danger and the thrill of the forbidden fruit. For a fraction of a second, I forget about the operation, about my men, about everything except the taste of Nico's mouth and the heat of his skin.
"Boss?" A voice comes through the haze. "Need to know—"
I wrench myself away from Nico, panting raggedly. Seven appears from around the truck and stands a few feet away, his expression carefully neutral.
"Right," I say, struggling to regain my composure. "Finish loading the vans. We're almost done here."
As Seven walks away, I turn back to Nico. His lips are swollen, his eyes dark with unfulfilled desire. I clear my throat. "Any more dirt on Sal you want to dig up while we're here?"
Nico's gaze sharpens, the strategist replacing the lover. "Give me five minutes to search the office."
"Be quick, Romeo." I watch him disappear into the shadows of the warehouse. Rushing over to my men, I bark out orders. "Move out. We're right behind you."
Ivan hesitates. "You sure, boss? We can wait—"
"Go," I insist. "We'll be fine."
As the sound of engines fades into the distance, I follow Nico's path deeper into the warehouse. The silence is oppressive, broken only by the occasional rustle of papers somewhere far away.
"Any luck?" I call out, rounding a corner to find Nico rifling through a filing cabinet inside a tiny glassed off office area with his cell phone's flashlight dancing in the dark.
Before he can answer, a metallic click echoes through the empty space. I halt, listening, hoping to hear Seven's voice. But there's this dreadful feeling slithering through me as if I hear something different—the distinct sound of the side door slammed shut.
"Fuck," I mutter, taking off, rushing toward the exit, my feet pounding against the cement floor. I weave past the containers, my shoulder snagging on one.
"What's going on?" Nico's right behind me, his breath hot on my neck. I reach for the handle, yanking it hard. Nothing.
" Blyat' ," I hiss out in Russian, slamming my palm against the unyielding metal.
"What the hell, Vlad?" Nico's voice is low and suspicious, when I turn to face him. "Is this your endgame? Trap me here and fucking pretend?"
"Are you serious right now?"
"Very." He takes another step forward. There's a couple of inches of space left between our bodies. "Was this your plan all along? Take what's mine and get rid of me?" He looks hurt, saying this. Looks so goddamned human.
Something snaps inside me. In one fluid motion, I draw my gun and close the remaining distance between us, one arm wrapping around his waist to keep him close. The barrel presses against Nico's abdomen, cold steel meeting warm flesh through his hoodie.
"Listen carefully," I whisper, my lips brushing his cheek. "If I wanted you dead, I wouldn't need this elaborate setup. I could handle you on my own, detka. "
I feel him tense, ready to fight. But instead of pulling away, I press the gun into his palm, wrapping his fingers around the grip. "Kill me if you really believe I'd try to harm you now," I breathe against his cheek, "after all we've been through."
The air suddenly crackles, static and desire and something else, something tangible, something very real. Nico's chest rises and falls rapidly, his grip on the gun white-knuckled. I can taste the mixture of fear and want on my tongue, heady and spellbinding.
Nico's expression shifts. His nostrils flare. "Vlad... do you smell that?"
I turn, scanning the gloomy warehouse. "What do you mean?"
But before Nico can elaborate, realization hits me hard. The acrid scent of smoke.
"Shit." My blood runs cold.
And then the world erupts in flames. They come out of nowhere. Orange tongues lick up the walls, devouring cardboard boxes and wooden pallets with voracious hunger. Smoke billows, thick and black, choking the air from our lungs. The heat hits like a physical force, searing my skin even from across the room.
"Fuck!" I snarl, grabbing Nico's hand. "We need to move. Now!" And when I glance at him over my shoulder, his face is leached of color. It has this sickly pallid look. I realize he's in shock. "Nico!" I shout, yanking at his arm.
Panic sets in as I try to piece together what happened.
Who did this?
One of my own men?
Impossible?
Nico’s family?
To get him out of the picture.
The thought twists in my gut like a serrated knife.
Nico coughs violently, doubling over. "The door—"
I pat my pockets hoping to find something to cover my face but there's nothing. I wasn't expecting to be in a burning building tonight. I wrestle off my jacket and shove it into Nico's hand, then press it up over his face. "Breathe through this, okay?" I mutter. "Just breathe through this." My own head feels heavy like there's no more oxygen for me to function. Immediately, I rip the bottom of my shirt to cover my mouth and nose.
"The side door is locked," I remind Nico, grabbing his free hand. My voice is muffled by the fabric as I drag him away from the approaching inferno. "We need another way out."
We stumble through the haze, the roar of the fire seems deafening, even though it makes little sound. It's mostly the destruction of property that cries under the onslaught of heat.
"Hold on!" Nico yells, halting us to a stop. "We have to split up, Vlad. We'll cover my ground that way." He's finally snapped back to reality and his face is filled with determination. "Or we'll both die."
I don't want to let him go. Don't want to separate. My fingers instinctively tighten, my grip on his hand hard and uncompromising.
"Vlad!" His gaze meets mine and he stares at me with those blue eyes.
"Okay," I grit out and let him go. He disappears into the smoke right away.
What are you waiting for, Vladimir?
Do you want to die?
Burning alive is not the honorable way to depart this world.
Fuck.
This stupid little voice in the back of my head that sounds like Yuri again. I hate it. What I hate more is not being able to prove him wrong. To prove that I can run his empire on my own terms with no bloodshed. But to do this I need to move. Need to get out of here.
Sweat pours down my face, stinging my eyes as I rush down to my end of the warehouse, frantically searching for any escape route.
Nico's footsteps echo sharply on the stone floors, each stride fading until completely gone.
I'm scared, I realize. Scared for him.
Suddenly, Nico's voice—urgent and clear—cuts through the chaos from a distance. Relief almost knocks me off-balance. "Here!"
Without hesitation, I whip around and sprint to him, weaving through blazing wings of fire and menacing heat.
I see Nico, standing in the corner and pointing upward.
A small window, high on the wall, winks at us. Hope flares, but it's quickly tempered by reality. It's at least fifteen feet up, behind a huge rack filled with various containers.
"We'll have to climb," I growl, eyeing the metal shelving units lining the walls.
Nico nods grimly, his expression all shadows and tension. At least the part of his face not hidden behind the fabric.
I grab the nearest container from the next shelf over, testing its stability. It protests with a metallic groan but doesn't give way. Nico flicks my jacket aside to use both hands to bring another one over. I try lifting it, but it's stubbornly heavy. He grips the container's edges. Together we heft it up, muscles straining until it perches awkwardly atop the first.
Now, we need to be able to get on this tower. But before I figure out how, Nico's already identified the next step.
"Wait—I think I saw a step stool," he blurts out, vanishing into the maze of racks.
True to his word, he reemerges with the step stool clutched in his hand, setting it down with a dull thud. A raw cough wracks his chest, bending him at the waist again.
"Damn it, Nico!" I hiss out, snatching my jacket from the floor. "Take it. Cover your mouth and nose," I tell him. I don't like the way he looks—weak despite all the bravado.
Nico does as instructed, placing my jacket over the lower portion of his face. I reach out and try to tie it at the back of his head. Not ideal but at least he'll have use of both hands to get out.
The smoke is so thick now I can barely see anything. "You go first," I say.
"No, you go!"
"Come on."
"I said you go, then you go, caro ." He nudges me toward the step stool.
"Fuck." That's all I say and start climbing. If we keep on arguing, we'll both burn and suffocate.
"Stay close," I order as I continue to the window.
The metal, hot now in places, sears my palms, but I grit my teeth and push on. We don't have time for caution. Behind us, I hear a rumbling crash as part of the office wall caves in.
Don't look.
Just keep going.
Don't worry about minor cuts and burns.
Worry about your empire waiting for you.
When I'm finally at the window I allow myself to glance down. Nico's halfway there but my heart clenches at the sight of him struggling. His movements are sluggish, his breathing labored. The smoke is choking us both now. I can feel it. The piece of fabric tied around my face isn't helping anymore.
"Almost there," I rasp, reaching the window. Without hesitation, I smash my elbow through the glass. Shards slice into my skin, but I barely notice the pain. "Hurry!"
He's only a few feet below me now, but his strength is failing. His fingers slip on the metal, and for a horrifying moment, I think he's going to fall.
"Don't you dare," I snarl, grabbing his wrist. With a surge of adrenaline, I haul him up to sit beside me on the rack. The shelving moans under our weight and trembles as Nico collapses against me, coughing violently. "Vlad, I can't—"
"You can and you will," I growl, cupping his face. His blue eyes are hazy with pain and exhaustion. "Stay with me. We're almost there. We just need to make it through this window."
"You go first," he whispers. "I'm right behind you."
"Liar," I mutter, sticking my head out to assess the drop. It's not great, but it's our only chance. Break a leg or burn alive. Those are the only options. Without warning, I shove Nico through first, wincing as I hear him cry out in pain.
I follow immediately after, glass slicing into my palms as I push myself through. For a moment, I'm falling, and then I hit the ground hard, rolling to absorb the impact.
Gasping, I scramble to my feet, searching for Nico. He's sprawled a few feet away, motionless.
"No, no, no," I mutter, dragging him further from the blazing warehouse. The heat is oppressive, even out here. It's not an electrical malfunction. Someone doused the inside and outside of the warehouse with the gasoline or lighter fluid. No, my mind says. Gasoline and lighter fluid smell. Shut up. Not the time to figure out who wants both of you dead.
I pull us into the cover of some nearby bushes, cradling Nico against my chest.
"Hey, Hot Shot, open your eyes," I demand, tapping his cheek. "Don't you dare pass out on me now."
He stirs slightly, eyelids fluttering. "Vlad?" he mumbles. "Are we out?"
"Yes. We're out. I'm here," I assure him, relief flooding through me. "Stay awake, okay? Just... stay with me until help arrives."
As I hold him, something shifts inside me. The fear of losing him, this wretched need to keep him safe–it's more than just business, more than our tentative alliance, more than sex. I've been denying it, running from it, but in this moment, I can't anymore.
I care for him. Deeply.
Nico's chest heaves with a ragged cough. I clutch at his hoodie, my fingers digging into the smoke-stained fabric.
"Listen to me, you stubborn bastard," I growl, my voice raw and unfamiliar even to my own ears. "You don't get to pass out on me. Not here, not now."
Nico's eyes flutter open, hazy with pain and confusion. I lean closer, our faces inches apart.
"I need you. Got it? More than I've ever needed anyone." The words tumble out, unbidden and unstoppable.
A hint of a smile touches Nico's lips, a flicker of understanding in his blue eyes. " Il mio gattino ," he whispers brokenly. "Always so... demanding."
His eyelids droop, and then he's gone, slipping into unconsciousness.