Chapter 33
Nikolai
Maybe this girl has a death wish. Maybe she wants to be fucked until it kills her.
Because there’s no reason—no rational, sane reason—for her to be touching me.
My pulse is steady, my hands controlled, but inside…
I’m not sure I’ve ever wanted anything as much as I want to crush her and keep her right here, right now, under my power.
“You should not touch me, malyshka,” I whisper, keeping my voice low and threatening. My eyes lock on her hand, falling from my wrist, and I feel a flash of something—anger, frustration—maybe.
“I—” She struggles, her words barely audible. “I want to talk to you now.”
It takes everything in me not to let any emotion play across my face. Any sign of weakness could be catastrophic.
The De Luca princess… she’s so strong, so stable in this massive, chaotic world. I could rip her to shreds without blinking. But every instinct I have—the ones I’ve honed over years, the ones I’ve trained into near perfection—screams at me to keep her here.
“You will,” I say finally, just above a growl. “But I have a meeting, and Ivan needs to get you some new chains.”
I pull myself away from her, turning my back, forcing myself to leave despite the tug of every nerve in my body screaming to stay. To press close. To take just one more second with her warmth, with her defiance, with that fire in her eyes that doesn’t belong in a cage.
She says nothing, just watches, and I have to remind myself: she doesn’t know yet how deadly I am. She doesn’t understand the stakes. And she’s already testing boundaries I rarely allow anyone to approach.
I walk toward the door, each step measured. My eyes flick to Adrian, beaten and bloody in the corner, his chains rattling faintly against the concrete. His incompetence to follow orders has once again almost cost him his life. Proving, I can’t trust anyone to do what needs to be done.
As I step into the hallway, the weight of authority and danger settles on my shoulders, her scent follows me.
It lingers in my mind, burning my thoughts.
Everything in me is screaming that she is mine, that this fragile, impossible girl is the only thing that matters in this prison of my own making.
* * *
I run the messy edges on Vostralya. The island tastes like diesel and lemon peel at the docks, a smell that says deals in the morning and bodies in the night. My ledger lives in my head: who pays, who blinks, who can be bought with a smile.
Nightshade. It’s the synthetic cocktail that turns addicts into devout disciples.
Powder as white as salt, packaged in tiny black vials stamped with a moon that isn’t real.
Nightshade goes through the clubs and high-risers of Ravetta dressed as perfume, and returns to Vostralya in cash and favours.
Everyone on Vostralya calls it a product; I call it a problem that pays for silence.
Silk Passage is uglier. That’s the name for the network that moves women through our ports; not a thing to be proud of, just a ledger line I balance when necessary.
I will help them eventually, but right now Viktor is the one with final judgment.
I try not to think about what it does to the girls; I think about who smiles when it happens, who loses a meal ticket when it doesn’t.
In my world, human lives are inventory the same way the crates are.
I don’t pretend otherwise. I manage the paperwork, the appearances, the way people look at me when they ask where the girls come from.
I give them an answer that nods politely and keeps the palms that matter greased.
Then I kill them for even requesting such a disgusting matter.
I choose wisely, not letting Viktor notice a drop in client count, and so far it’s worked enough to leave me with some shattered soul left.
Everything in my world is a routing problem: which port, which warehouse, which man with the right kind of loyalty. I keep the obscene parts off Viktor’s shelf. My job is the noise, the petty wars that keep the world looking elsewhere.
This is why I love Vostralya. It’s noisy.
Maksim slides into my office, an envelope balanced on gloved fingertips. “Manifest from Sector Three,” he says. “Deputy Captain Steel. Unscheduled. Paid in cash.” He watches me, waiting for the twitch that says I care.
I slice the seal. “Who signed off?” I ask.
“Mirov. Says he has family in Anova,” Maksim answers. “He’s new to this lane.”
New men are mistakes in motion. New men leak. “Tell Mirov his family is safe,” I say, my tone casual. “For a fee.”
He nods.
Night falls slowly over the docks, first painting everything orange, then a raw, iron-black. The freighter horns sound and little men become ants with crates.
I watch the men watching me until my attention shifts to the broker who tipped her hand last month, sitting on a bench by the warehouse, her fingers counting invisible coins.
She looks happy to see me—but trust on Vostralya is always transactional, and I’ll never trust a soul who willingly thrives in this business.
Designer drugs, trafficked girls, black-market diamonds—they all draw attention, business of all kinds, and I prefer to keep them separate from the things that truly matter when running an empire.
Everything that is delicate and permanent stays in Drotki?.
Exactly where I’ve kept Aurelia. The rest…
the noise, the chaos, the expendable, it belongs here.
I exchange bitter business until I can finally leave and move on to the more interesting part of my evening.
* * *
I push open the doors to the velvet-red room.
Glittering chandeliers, flickering over the bodies of girls dancing to the slow music, this place screams my father.
Every shadow, every curve of light is meticulously designed for control.
This is the safest place I could invite my company; it’s the place where deals are made and no one walks away without my say so.
As I step into the back room, two hooded figures sit tied to steel chairs. The calm in their posture and the lack of any defensive movement almost make me smirk. They don’t know what to expect, and that’s good. They’ll find out soon enough.
I wave at my men, a simple flick of the hand, signalling to remove the hoods. Their faces lift, adjusting to the dim light, eyes snapping to me as they take in the space. I let the moment hang, let the weight of my presence settle on them.
“Were the hoods really necessary, Nikolai?” Enzo speaks first, his voice slightly irritated. We’ve met before, but he hasn’t warmed up to me. Which is surprising because I’m very likable.
“Elijah, yes?” I let my attention sweep over Aurelia’s bodyguard with pure disdain. One job, and he failed. Disgust courses through me.
“Yes,” he answers cautiously, every muscle in his body tight.
Enzo watches me warily, eyes darting between us as I drag a chair close, sliding it forward, and sit so my knees press against Elijah’s. He stiffens, but the proximity alone forces him into submission.
“Tell me,” I begin, “about how you lost access to Aurelia, allowing my men to take her.”
A muscle jumps in his cheek, and almost instinctively, “Don’t call her that,” escapes his lips.
I grab his jaw firmly, tilting his head slightly, my grip reminding him whose authority this room answers to.
My eyes flick to Enzo. “You will not tell me what to do with my toys.”
Both men struggle silently against the restraints binding them. I can see it in their eyes: the effort to resist the urge to lash out, to tear me apart just for the mention of her. But she’s mine now, mine to control, and mine to punish. They’ll have to accept that.
Keeping my hand on Elijah’s jaw, I lean back, letting the tension hang heavy in the room before pressing again. “Tell me why you couldn’t do your job.”
He coughs, as though forcing the words out of him requires physical effort. “Ace… she was mad at me. To prove a point, she dismissed me and snuck out with her dog.”
“Why was she mad?”
“She saw me fucking a girl the night before.”
I release my hold and sit back. “Interesting, so she cares for you.”
Elijah hesitates, glancing briefly at Enzo as though seeking confirmation. “Yes.”
My body tightens from the rage coiling inside me. I’ve never wanted to burn a man alive more than I do right now. The audacity—the betrayal of proximity, the care he inspires in her—it makes my blood boil.
I turn my eyes to Enzo. “And Enzo,” I ask, cutting through the tension, “you allow this in your estate?”
He swallows, stiffens, and looks down, clearly weighing the consequences of answering. The room grows quiet, the weight of my authority pressing against them. Every second stretches as a reminder: in my domain, I control the outcome.
“I have requested that Elijah… fuck the girl I provide him with,” he says slowly, letting each word land in the room like a hammer, “since the beginning of his isolated protection of my sister. Keeping him from making a mistake with her.”
I shift in my seat, finally processing the full dynamic. So the so-called “protector” has had a history with her. No wonder he’s so rigid in my presence.
Elijah’s eyes flick to me, tight with suppressed anger and something closer to resignation.
“What do we need to do to get her back?” he asks. His words lack emotion, but his relation to her alone gives him away.
I lean forward slightly, letting a slow smile creep across my face. “You sure you want her back? She’s been fucked more times than I can count.” Teeth bare, the statement designed to sting.
Every man in the Orlov empire would kill to have her, and right now, she is mine, so, of course, no one’s laid a hand on her that I haven’t sanctioned—or rather, I’ve already broken the ones who dared. But I like to think that she’ll cave to me, eventually.
Enzo thrashes in his seat, raw anger flashing in his eyes. “Fuck you,” he spits, the restraint in his body failing him.
I lean back slightly, letting the room feel smaller than it is.
I’m not a monster. We’re both from families with long histories of messed-up rituals and power games.
Aurelia is just a girl, but to my father, she’s a byproduct of betrayal.
For him, that means she must die. For me… I have other plans.
“Relax, my friends. I have no issues with you,” I say, my voice even. “I will give you a chance to get Aurelia back, but I’m going to need Elijah here for a little while.”
“No,” Enzo cuts in immediately. “Elijah is coming back with us. He’s not staying.”
I raise a hand and gesture to my men. “I don’t need him for long. Keep him in Vostralya for a few nights.”
They have no idea what’s coming.
They think this is a negotiation.
They think they can take her from me.
They don’t understand our history.
They don’t understand how much she used to trust me.