Chapter 18 – Niko
Demyan steps inside, his face carved from stone, eyes flicking once toward Noelle before settling on me. He closes the door softly behind him.
“Boss, I need to speak with you. Alone.”
I shake my head, jaw set. “No. Whatever it is, you can say it here.”
His mouth tightens, but he doesn’t argue. Instead, he reaches into his jacket and pulls out a tablet, the screen already glowing. “We pulled footage from last night’s blast. You need to see this.”
He taps, and the video plays.
The clinic fills the frame, quiet, ordinary. A heartbeat later, the world goes white. The explosion tears through concrete and steel, glass spraying like shards of ice. The camera shakes violently, then cuts to black.
Another angle—closer this time. The fireball consumes the hallway in a blink, swallowing everything in its path. Men running. Screams tearing through the air. The sound cuts out, but the images are enough.
My grip on the armrest tightens until my knuckles burn.
Demyan swipes again, showing still shots of the wreckage. Walls gutted. Floors blackened. Bodies—if you could even call them that—charred beyond recognition. Flesh and bone melted into ash.
I feel Noelle’s breath catch beside me, sharp and strangled. I don’t look at her—I can’t. Not when rage is clawing its way up my throat, hot and vicious.
“They wanted to make a point,” Demyan says quietly. “This wasn’t just about killing. This was about sending a message.”
I drag my gaze from the screen, forcing myself to breathe. “And the message is received.”
But inside, I’m already planning. Already calculating. If Anton thinks fire will scare me, he’s forgotten who I am.
Still, a question burns through me, sharp and relentless.
“Where the hell is he getting all this?” I mutter, staring at the still image of the wreckage. “The money, the ammo—this wasn’t some crude homemade device. This was precise, military-grade. And the men who carried it out…they weren’t amateurs.”
Demyan finally drags his eyes from the screen to meet mine.
“That’s the problem, Boss. You’ve stacked up a mountain of enemies over the years.
Anton doesn’t need to build an empire to do this—he just needs to convince the right people you’re vulnerable.
And men like that? They’ll line up to fund him if it means watching you bleed. ”
The words sink like ice into my chest. Enemies. Rivals. Betrayers I’ve put down, families I’ve dismantled, alliances I’ve crushed. I’ve always known the list was long, but hearing it out loud is something else.
I press my palms against my thighs, steadying the rage clawing at my gut. “So he’s using my enemies as his investors.”
Demyan nods once. “And your ghosts as his army.”
The room feels colder suddenly. Noelle shifts beside me, her silence heavy, her eyes fixed on me as though searching for the cracks Anton is so desperate to split open.
“I want the families of the doctor and the soldiers compensated. Immediately,” I say, my voice cutting through the quiet like a blade. “It won’t bring them back, but it’s the least we can do.”
Demyan inclines his head. “Yes, sir.”
My chest feels heavy. My eyes go back to the footage, to the flames licking at the walls, to the shadows of people who never should’ve been part of this war. A young doctor who just wanted to heal, two soldiers who had no choice but to stand guard. Caught in the crossfire of a message meant for me.
I lean back in my chair, dragging a hand over my face. For once, the rage doesn’t burn—it weighs. They didn’t deserve that.
The silence stretches. Noelle’s hand brushes against mine on the bed, grounding me, her touch a reminder that even in this bloody game, there are still pieces of me Anton hasn’t poisoned.
Anton thinks fire will weaken me. What he doesn’t understand is—I’ve lived in fire my whole damn life.
“I want a full lockdown,” I say, looking up at Demyan. “No one moves without clearance. Every soldier, every ally—no distractions, no side jobs. From this point forward, every ounce of our strength is aimed at Anton and whatever pitiful network is backing him.”
Demyan straightens. “Understood. I’ll send word to the captains.”
“Not just the captains.” I lean forward, my tone leaving no room for misinterpretation. “Everyone. I don’t care how far down the chain they are—they’ll feel the shift. Anton wants a war? Fine. He’ll get one. But it’ll be on my terms.”
Demyan hesitates a little. “A full lockdown, Boss…it’ll strangle the city. Our business fronts will feel it. Our allies will notice. And if Anton’s goal is to smoke you out, this kind of shift could play right into his hands.”
I meet his gaze, unblinking. “Then let him. At least this way, he’ll be stepping into my fire, not the other way around.”
Demyan exhales slowly, the faintest shake of his head betraying his concern. But he doesn’t argue further. “Very well, sir. I’ll start the calls. But understand this—once we tighten the circle, it’s going to be harder to breathe. For everyone.”
“Good,” I murmur, my voice low, final. “Let them choke. As long as Anton drowns first.”
When Demyan doesn’t move, I sigh with impatience. “Anything else?”
Demyan straightens, his tone measured but laced with weight.
“Niko…the elders are losing patience. They see the chaos spilling over in Chicago, and it’s drawing eyes we don’t want.
Other bratvas are beginning to take notice, testing the air.
The elders fear this won’t stay between you and Anton.
They’re worried it could ignite into something much larger. A war.”
His words hang in the room, careful but heavy, as though he’s laying down truth without daring to cross the line of insubordination. His gaze never wavers, but I catch the faint dip of his head—a silent acknowledgment that he respects me enough to voice it, even if he knows I won’t like it.
I stand, shoving my hands into my pockets, the movement sharp and restless as I walk to the window. The city sprawls beneath me, glittering, oblivious. My reflection stares back at me from the glass—jaw tight, eyes like stone.
Behind me, Demyan clears his throat softly, choosing his next words with precision. “Bogdan reached out.”
I don’t turn. “Bogdan?”
“Yes.”
Bogdan is a much older enforcer and has been in the business for over sixty years. He recently moved to Russia, where he commands respect amongst the Bratva. His voice carries weight with the elders, so Demyan’s words catch my attention.
“Bogdan?”
“He’s asking for Noelle,” he says. “Says she should be handed over. For questioning.”
The words strike like a blade to the spine. My chest goes still, breath suspended. For one fraction of a second, everything inside me freezes. Then the heat comes, fast and violent, like fire crawling through my veins.
I turn from the glass, my eyes cutting into Demyan. “He said what?”
Demyan doesn’t flinch, but I can see the tension in his jaw, the faint steel in his spine. He knows he’s just dropped an inferno in this room.
“He thinks she’s in cohorts with Anton and wants to talk to her himself,” Demyan says.
“No.”
Demyan blinks. “Sir—”
“Noelle is under my name.” My words cut through the air, iron and final. “Anyone—Bogdan, the elders, Anton himself—anyone who touches her will die by my hand.”
The fury in my chest surges, too hot to hold still.
I step closer, my shadow falling long across the room.
“She is not at fault here. She is not the one setting off bombs, or spilling blood in our clinics. She is Anton’s pawn, nothing more.
And I will not—” my voice deepens, low and dangerous, “—let her suffer for his games.”
Demyan’s eyes sharpen, but he bows his head slightly, a mark of acknowledgment. He knows when my mind is sealed shut.
“Make sure the elders understand me,” I finish. “Noelle is off-limits. She carries my name now. That makes her untouchable.”
“Yes, sir.” Demyan steps back, his shoulders straight, but I catch it—the way his gaze flickers to the side. From the corner of my eye, I see Noelle shrink into herself, curling small against the cushions, as if she could disappear into the space between heartbeats.
I don’t look at her. If I do, the rage boiling in me will spill over, and Demyan will be the one to feel it.
“Get out,” I bite, the words sharp enough to draw blood.
Demyan takes some more steps back. “Sir…there’s something else. Information brought to me directly by Lev. He said it was for you, and you alone.”
I turn fully now, my eyes narrowing. “Say it.”
Demyan’s jaw ticks once before he delivers it. “Lev retraced Anton’s money trails. He found a shell corporation moving funds in and out. The trail leads back to Kirill Seinoff.”
The name slams into me like a punch to the ribs. My spine goes rigid, every muscle locking. Kirill.
Demyan presses on, careful, deliberate. “Lev also intercepted chatter. Anton is planning to hijack an upcoming shipment. It’s heavy with weapons, and if he gets his hands on them…he’ll have enough firepower to tear into Rusnak strongholds.”
The air in the room goes sharp, electric. My fists clench at my sides. Kirill—an ally, or so I thought. One of mine. Feeding Anton? Funding him? The betrayal tastes like ash in my mouth.
My pulse hammers, rage a steady drumbeat in my skull. Kirill. Weapons. Betrayal. It all snarls together until the only clear thing is the promise of blood.
“I’ll handle this,” I say finally, my voice low, even. Too even. The kind of tone that makes men step back without thinking. “Every thread, every shadow. Anton, the shipment, Kirill—mine.”
Demyan nods once, sharp, but I catch the flicker in his eyes—relief, maybe even fear. He knows what it means when I say I’ll deal with something personally.
“Leave us,” I add, cutting off whatever thought he’s holding onto.
“Understood.” He dips his head, then turns and exits, the door clicking shut behind him.