10. Nikolai
Fyodor’s Rules #23 - Never let them know when you’re surprised.
It was finally time for the ball. All the meetings, all the conversations, all the deals — it led up to this. Yet, I couldn’t wait for it to be over. To return to my office, my brothers around me, while we shared a bottle of bourbon and took a moment to just relax and breathe.
I couldn’t remember the last time we’d been able to do that. Had we ever?
I picked up my jacket and slid it on, watching in the mirror as the lights reflected off the sequins. Some people might have said that it was cliché, the way the lines of crimson sequins traced the veins and arteries that flowed through the left side of my chest and arm. Sometimes a cliché was useful, though. Besides, I wouldn’t be the only one dressed according to my lineage.
The point of the Masquerade had once been to put aside who we were, divest our external trappings, and conduct business. Peacefully. Like it didn’t matter who we were on the outside. But it had never really been about anonymity. Everyone knew the Italians would all be dressed as angels, to match their wings and halos. They were the only one of the four families who were all the same type of Scions—Nephilim. The rest of us were a much more motley crew, made up of a mixture of divine lineages, shifters mostly. Though the Irish had a fair few Fae amongst them, so always dressed like a Fae Court from a fantasy book. It was almost like Titania and Oberon walked here among us.
None of them were as varied as my little family, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Leaving the safety and sanctity of my bedroom, it was a short walk to the penthouse foyer. Even after all these years, it appeared I could still be surprised by my brothers. They were all standing ready, waiting for me. I had expected to be chasing after at least one of them; hurrying them along like I had to most years. Pasha was the only one of us who enjoyed this wretched event. I liked it more than Alexei or Lukas, though maybe like was the wrong word. Out of the four of us, I found it the most useful. Pasha found it the most fun. Lukas suffered through it, and Alexei used it as another chance to instill fear into those around him.
That really was his favorite activity.
Pasha, like me, had dressed to honor his lineage. His jacket was silver, and while I had been half expecting it to be covered in sequins or crystals, instead, it was like the fabric itself had been woven from metal strands. He wore no shirt under his jacket, and his pants were a simple black, a perfect balance to his simple black domino mask, which was edged in silver.
Lukas looked much like always, dressed entirely in black from head to toe. His mask was canine inspired—a black reflection of one of his dogs. Although I don’t know why, we still bothered to call them dogs. They were more like demons who possessed a vague canine shape.
I almost rolled my eyes as I looked at Alexei, but resisted the temptation. I’d had a lot of experience resisting rolling my eyes at my brothers. You would think that Pasha would be the highest on that leaderboard, but no, Alexei took the top spot year after year. Alexei was in a white dress shirt, no jacket or tie. The sleeves were rolled up, showing his tattooed forearms. Red splashes, that I was certain were blood, covered bits of his tattoos, and spread across his shirt in a fascinating pattern. Dark jeans and hiking boots didn’t quite complete the look. What completed the look was the Ghostface mask he was wearing.
“No bloodied knife, Alexei? I’m almost disappointed.” I wasn’t sure my voice could get drier, but he was always inspiring me to new heights.
“Now, now. I know the rules about weapons. I may hate this event, but I’m not about to get turned away at the door for the sake of fashion.”
Pasha was muttering quietly under his breath in Romanian as Alexei spoke, but I just shook my head. It was better to let him wear this than start an argument that might make us later than was advisable.
It took little to herd the boys out to the car that Lukas had already parked in front of the hotel. He was the one driving; there were never any fights about that. It had been a while since our last car chase or shoot out, but it was important to be prepared. Lukas, while being the best shot of the four of us, was also the most proficient driver. It didn’t matter how skilled a marksman you were if you had been run off the road. He could also be a bit of a control freak with our vehicles, so it was best to let him do things the way he wanted.
The journey was over quickly, as the Masquerade was held in a mansion just on the edge of the city. Its owner didn’t belong to any faction; the now elderly English woman had been a fixer, the best in the city before she retired. She’d given me a lot of useful advice when we were struggling to first carve out a name for ourselves while remaining neutral. Mrs. Westerly was someone for who I had all the time and respect in the world.
The Masquerade had been held in her home for as long as I had been attending. I wasn’t sure if it had originally been her initiative, but any of the families you spoke to would tell you it had been their idea. Clearly, I knew that wasn’t true. I had asked her about it a few times, but every time she just waved away the question.
“Does it really matter? What is important is that people continue to respect it. This gathering goes a long way to keeping the city from becoming a war zone.”
The first time she had given that answer, I hadn’t understood what she was talking about—of course, it mattered who did things. But as I grew out of my teenage years and better understood the inner workings of the Chicago Underground—more than Fyodor had ever taught me—I realized she was right.
Once we had all piled out of the car, I took one last look at my brothers and steeled myself for the battle ahead. “I don’t need to remind you all how important tonight is. Keep your ears open. If it is the Bratva who are attacking us, we need to be ready. They won’t strike tonight, but that doesn’t mean they won’t be making moves. I want to take control of the board back from them.”
I hadn’t believed Lukas when he had first told me that the Bratva were the ones attacking us. Whilst I knew most of them didn’t consider us family, there had always been an understanding between us, mostly out of respect for Fyodor. It seemed that tentative understanding had a shelf life of about a decade.
“Try not to marry us off like a little girl with a box of barbies, yeah?”
I didn’t acknowledge Lukas’ biting remark. There was no point in engaging when he got like this, he was the most stubborn man I knew, and that was saying a lot, as we were all quite tenacious. Instead, I straightened my tie and cufflinks, and then made my way up the steps to the door.
The invitation was a black card; it was the same every year. But Mrs. Westerly wasn’t worried about people trying to sneak in. Her reputation was more than enough to keep anyone from trying to meddle in her affairs—I was sure even Alexei would think twice about it. I didn’t have to look behind me to know the others were following. They’d never let me enter a dangerous place alone. However, make no mistake, there may have been no violence allowed, but the Masquerade was still a treacherous place.
We weren’t the last to arrive, but we also weren’t the first, as it wasn’t fashionable to be standing around with no one to talk to. The Irish were the first ones here most years, taking up space around one of the two bars. I could see the different families congregating in the territories they had claimed for the night, though the later it got, the more the lines would blur. People would mingle, the alcohol always helped that along.
We didn’t stake out territory, instead, we split up, each of us heading for different areas. Lukas went straight for the bar, while Alexei beelined to a staircase which gave him a good view of everyone—it was one of his favorite spots to lurk. Pasha was already talking to people even though I was sure we’d been here less than a minute. That just left me. I had a list of things I wanted to accomplish tonight, but I hadn’t bothered to put them in any order. It was always hard to guess who would be free, and who would already be deep in a conversation you couldn’t interrupt. There were also private rooms for more serious or sensitive business. Looking around the ballroom, I could already make some guesses how many of those rooms would become occupied, and by who.
It was while I was looking around the room that I saw her for the first time. I wasn’t sure who she was, and that was what drew my attention. I made it a point to know everyone. It was something Pasha and I had many long, in-depth conversations about. Who was who, who they were allied to, and how they tied into the families.
My first thought was she may have been someone’s date, but she appeared far too comfortable. She wasn’t looking toward the bar, like she was waiting for someone to return, or standing around awkwardly, like she didn’t know anyone. Fascinated, I watched her move through the crowd, like a predator through prey, and I could feel my fangs itch in my mouth, my bloodlust stirring in interest. I didn’t want to hurt her, but there was something about watching someone hunt that made me want to hunt as well.
I followed her progress, not moving from my spot near the door. At first, I thought her long gown was black, but as she passed between people, the light caught her at different angles and I realized it was actually a dark, shimmering green. When she turned to look at someone, it revealed that the dress plunged at the back to a risqué level, and a gold spine draped down her skin, delicate gold ribs connecting it to the dress.
I couldn’t see her face, as it was hidden behind a plain black mask. She had her dark hair twisted up. Part of me was enjoying watching her—the way she moved through the crowd—clearly listening to the different conversations, but never pausing long enough to make it obvious she was eavesdropping. I hadn’t realized that I had been moving toward her until I was brought to an abrupt stop.
Lukas was standing over her, glaring down.
My eyes flicked around the room. I could see Alexei leaning forward, hands braced on the banister of the stairs. If he didn’t have such a tight grip, I would be worried he was going to tumble into the crowd below. Pasha had inched closer to the pair as well, not even trying to hide his curiosity, ignoring everyone else around him.
Gritting my teeth, I side-stepped one of the Italians, and his wings brushed against me. I ignored the feathers as they danced over my skin; it seemed almost like he was trying to annoy me or entice my attention. It was hard not to take my eyes off Lukas. I was worried that I was going to have to speed across the room and intervene before he did something stupid.
I should have been happy he had approached a woman. Wasn’t that what I wanted? He needed to pick a wife, and he would have to talk to her at some point—the wedding, at the very least. But there was something about the rigid way he stood that had me on edge. Like he was fighting his every impulse not to lunge at her.
She didn’t seem bothered, though. Her body language hadn’t changed; she wasn’t tense, nor did she seem upset. As she faced away from me, I couldn’t tell if she was smiling as she spoke to him, but I imagined she had the lazy sort of smile you would expect a lioness to be wearing as they sauntered about the savanna.
When she reached out and patted his arm, I was sure that this was it. This was the moment one of us would step over the line, and all of us were going to suffer. I didn’t want to have to fight my way out of here. I wasn’t even sure we could. Sure, we had pulled off other fights where the odds were not in our favor, but taking on the entire Chicago Underground? That was suicide.
Lukas was tenser than I had ever seen him. But then she just turned and walked away. He didn’t move—standing frozen—still staring at the spot she had just been. Like he had pinned her soul to that point, and she had left it behind just for him.
It took me seconds to reach him, and whilst my impulse was to touch him, to see if he was okay, I kept my hands to myself. When his eyes met mine, they weren’t their usual green, but the gold of his lineage.
“She doesn’t smell like anything. Nikolai—Who the fuck is she, and who is she here with?”
Always direct and to the point.
The trouble was, I didn’t have any answers for him.