Chapter 3 - Nikolai
The moment I hear the word donor, I already know.
The audio crackles faintly through the receiver pressed to my ear while the tiny bug is doing exactly what I planted it to do. It feeds me everything happening behind those pristine walls meant to keep all the lies and deception in.
I sit in a darkened office two floors below with most of the lights off and the blinds drawn, while the glow from my phone is the only thing cutting through the shadows.
Danielle Young’s voice is unsteady but determined. She sounds frightened, as one would expect, but resolute.
She volunteers just like that, all to help save her father’s life. At least, that’s what she thinks she’s doing. The reality is much darker.
My jaw tightens as I lean back in the chair, dragging a slow breath through my nose while the doctor, Volodin, feeds her exactly what she needs to hear. His tone is controlled while he uses carefully chosen words laced with enough truth to make it sound believable.
I’ve heard all of this before.
Despite different names and different families being involved, it’s the same script.
Her father has taken a turn for the worse, and they need her as a donor…but it’s dangerous, of course. She insists, so they’ll prep her, sedate her, and once she’s under, they won’t just take her kidney. They’ll take everything they can sell, on top of what they’ve already collected today.
Arthur is already as good as dead.
My jaw tightens as I listen, well aware of how this will all pan out. Volodin and his partners get two bodies ripe for harvesting and pocket every dollar they can possibly get out of both, all at a negligible cost. A willing donor is like a two-for-one special in their eyes.
As much as I don’t want to, I’m supposed to let it happen. That’s the plan.
I get inside, gather proof, then follow the chain all the way up before I burn it down. This one operation, no matter how brutal, is the leverage I’ve been waiting for. This evidence is a piece of a larger machine I’ve been hunting for months, and if I interfere now, I risk everything.
That exposure could compromise the identity I’ve built, and I might lose access before I can dismantle the rest. I know all of that. I understand it better than anyone.
Even so, I’m standing before I can stop myself.
The chair scrapes softly against the floor as I push back, slipping the earpiece out and pocketing it. I move with as much control as I can muster despite feeling slightly outside of it, and I shrug on my jacket and head for the door.
This isn’t part of the plan, but neither is letting them carve her up while I sit here listening. I won’t be able to stomach it.
The hallway outside is quiet, given that it’s a private wing with restricted access. Still, access is a flexible concept when you know where to push.
I move like I belong here with squared shoulders, a neutral expression, and purpose in every step. If I hesitate, people will notice, and I’ll be done before I even start.
Having memorized the layout, I take two turns, head up two stairwells, then take another corridor.
I don’t break stride as I approach the surgical wing, flashing a forged badge just long enough for the nurse at the station to register it without really seeing it.
She nods, but is more distracted by whatever’s on her screen than anything. That’s a bonus, at least.
The closer I get, the colder the air feels, and I can sense that the walls around me are closing in, waiting for me to either buckle under the pressure or find my way through this. After everything I’ve put into this, I’ll be damned if I fumble this now.
Just up ahead, I catch movement, then dial in to watch as a gurney is wheeled down the hall flanked by several nurses.
It’s her…Danielle.
She’s already in the gown, her skin pale under the harsh lighting. I can’t see her face, but given how rigid she is, she’s smart enough to be afraid, just not for the right reasons.
My gaze shifts to the man walking right behind with a mostly confident stride, not dressed like he’ll be the one performing this operation. No, he doesn’t get his hands dirty as often as the others do.
Doctor Denis Volodin is an integral part of all of this, but he’s more like the professional overseer. His medical degree is legit in every way, but how he uses it sets him apart from any respectable doctor out there.
Denis is in his forties, composed, and entirely professional. He’s the kind of man who could pass for respectable in any room he walks into, and when you look at him, you’ll never see what he really is. He’s as unassuming as they come, and that’s his strength.
It’s also about to be his problem.
I close the distance before anyone thinks to question me. “Doctor.”
My voice cuts through the corridor, carrying just enough authority to make him stop while the others push the gurney inside, save one of the nurses who looks back questioningly.
Volodin turns, irritation already forming in his expression as if interruptions are the last thing he wants to entertain, until his eyes land on me.
He recognizes the fact that I’m not supposed to be here, but something about his hesitation reads like he has a good idea of why.
“This area is restricted,” he says, defaulting to protocol as he subtly adjusts his rectangular-framed glasses. “If you’re looking for—”
“I’m not.” I step closer, close enough that he has to shift his focus entirely to me, and I can already tell he wants nothing to do with this conversation.
“Mr…” Volodin trails off, clearly searching for a name he doesn’t have, and I don’t give it to him.
Instead, I hold his gaze and say quietly, “I have a meeting scheduled with your partner.”
That’s all it takes for the irritation to disappear, immediately replaced by wariness and calculation.
There it is.
“I don’t handle the arrangements,” he replies carefully, less put together now like he’s out of his depth. “You’ll need to speak with him.”
“No,” I return, voice dropping just enough to carry weight. “I won’t.”
A beat of silence stretches between us, and Volodin eventually straightens to reclaim control. “This is neither the time nor the place. We are in the middle of a critical procedure.”
“I’m aware of exactly what you’re in the middle of, and I know what you do here.”
Immediately, his eyes narrow. He’s not stupid.
He hears the implication and just how deep my knowledge goes, and it forces him to pause. As hard as he tries to school his reaction, I catch it all the same.
“You’re mistaken,” he says, but it lacks conviction now.
“Am I?” I tilt my head slightly, silently scrutinizing. “Because to me, it looks like you’re about to waste a very valuable asset, and money.”
His gaze sharpens at that and doesn’t deny it. Instead, he looks at me with interest, as that’s the kind of language he’s familiar with. We both know he’s running out of time.
“I was told you provide exclusive opportunities,” I continue smoothly, “rare, high-quality inventory.”
His lips press into a thin line, and he mutters, “You’re speaking out of turn.”
“I’ll pay extra,” I counter, not letting him see even a scrap of hesitation. He needs to know that I mean business, and I can back it up with any means necessary. “Above whatever you’re planning to extract. I just need you to keep her alive and intact. No operation.”
Volodin’s expression freezes, and for the first time since I approached him, he looks genuinely thrown. “…what?”
“You heard me. I want her alive and untouched.”
A flicker of disgust crosses his face before he can stop it, and I flag that as something interesting. So he draws a line somewhere, just not far enough to redeem him.
He blinks back at me, struggling to find the right words, but as he opens his mouth to flounder, I mutter, “Don’t insult me by pretending you don’t understand.”
That stops him in his tracks, and I can practically hear the calculations running behind his eyes now. Risk versus reward…exposure versus profit. If he doesn’t comply, then there will be plenty on the line.
“She’s already prepped,” Volodin says finally, trying to recover smoothly, but the longer this goes on, the more he seems to stumble. “The procedure has already been initiated. Diverting at this stage could be dangerous.”
“More importantly, this right here could cost you time, resources, and potential revenue,” I say plainly, reaching into my jacket and pulling out a slim card to hold it between two fingers. “Which I’m prepared to compensate for.”
Volodin hesitates again as his eyes slide to the card, then back to me. His voice comes out weaker this time, sounding less sure. “My partner handles negotiations.”
“I’m aware of your partner, but I’m talking to you. Right here, right now.”
I step closer again, closing the last of the distance between us, and my voice drops, losing any pretense of politeness. “You have two choices, doctor. Either you proceed as planned, and I walk away, taking my money with me. Or you adjust, and you walk out of this with more than you expected.”
Volodin stares at the card a moment longer before glancing over his shoulder at the operating room and everything happening inside, then at the nurse waiting expectantly. Given how she has barely flinched through all of this, she’s just as rotten as he is.
Finally, he takes a breath, then looks at me with acceptance.
“After she’s put under, she will need to be moved discreetly. There are protocols…she’ll need to be monitored throughout before she regains consciousness.”
“It will be handled,” I tell him, already doing the mental gymnastics to make this work.
“Why?” he asks suddenly, studying me closely now, as if he wants to find my angle, given how greatly I’m diverting from the usual script. “Why her?”
It’s both a fair question and a dangerous one, and one I refuse to answer honestly.
Not wanting to tarnish the image he currently has of me, I hold his gaze and let a faint smirk touch my mouth. “Because I can, doctor.”
It’s the only answer he needs, and understanding clicks into place.
Rather than morality or conscience, I let him see this as power, ownership, and the kind of reasoning he recognizes.
His shoulders ease slightly, like a visible sign of a decision made.
“Very well,” he says with a note of finality and a sigh.
Just like that, a life has been reduced to a transaction, but it’s no different from their usual business.
“Adjust the dosage,” he murmurs to the nurse without looking away from me. “We’ll be modifying the procedure.”
The nurse hesitates only long enough for me to catch it, then she nods and makes her way into the operating room.
Orders are orders to them, even when they shouldn’t be.
Stepping back, I give them space as the two of them shift into gear, preparing to pivot at my whim.
Regardless of how they’ve caved, something twists in my chest, well aware of what this means.
In a way, I’ve just compromised my position enough that I’ll have to move faster now. This will require me to push harder and to take risks I wasn’t planning to take.
All because of one woman I don’t know, yet managed to creep her way into my head.
Strategically, this is a mistake, but as I turn and walk down the corridor, already pulling out my phone to set things in motion, I don’t feel regret.
Instead, certainty stitches itself into my ribs, and I let it propel me forward.
“Get a vehicle ready, and make sure there’s room,” I say the second the line connects with Ruslan, one of my closer associates. “I’ll forward you the address.”
He pauses on the other end, then his gruff voice comes through, “For what?”
“Pickup within the hour. We’re transporting someone.”
I hang up before he can ask more questions, then I forward the building’s address before organizing everything else.
As the minutes pass, I feel as if everything changes immediately, but it can’t be helped.
I’ll still burn this place to the ground and dismantle every piece of this operation, but for now, I have something else to manage. Someone else.
As I step out into the night air, the dry heat hits my face, and I exhale slowly, dragging a hand down my jaw.
This isn’t clean or as controlled, and it sure as hell isn’t how I planned it.
But I’ve made my decision, and I’ll make it work, like I always do.