Mafia King (Midnight Bratva Kings #2)

1. Nikolai

NIKOLAI

The night draws in suddenly. One minute the city is light, full of the daily hustle and bustle. Then the darkness comes. Deep into winter, this is just how it goes.

Nikolai Chekov wouldn’t have it any other way.

He is the Bratva king, and he rules the darkness with a fist of iron and a blade sharp enough to cut through any man who dares cross him.

Now forty, Nikolai’s past was built on removing his rivals one by one, each time more brutal than the last. Any man who refused to bend the knee to Nikolai would find himself living on borrowed time.

Whether it was weeks, days, or sometimes even hours…

those who crossed Nikolai would be taken down with the mind of ferocious relish that became the stuff of legend on these city streets.

In his youth, Nikolai feared nothing and lived each day like it was his last. Perhaps this was the only way he knew how. After all, coming from a family of street soldiers, hustlers, and dealers wasn’t the most stable. Far from it, in fact.

Nikolai’s younger years were spent living on the edge, each day simply another fight for survival. And as he learned from a very young age, it was very much a case of kill or be killed.

But this was just how it went for Nikolai.

By the time he was eighteen, his father was dead and his mother had disappeared into the night, never to be seen again. With no siblings and only a few second cousins to speak of, Nikolai was never fooled into thinking that anyone cared about him or would take a bullet in his place.

Nikolai knew that if he wanted to avoid the fate that befell his father and so many of his friends, he would need to become a leader and put himself at the top of the totem pole.

And speaking of leaders…

“I’m interested,” Nikolai says, taking a moment to sip on his glass of vodka, no ice.

“Good,” Maxim Kovalev replies, his vodka finished and ready for a refill. “But my offer will not remain on the table forever. You understand this?”

Nikolai eyes up Maxim. There is no doubt in his mind that Maxim is a serious presence in the city, a formidable pakhan in his own right.

Maxim is older than Nikolai, but not by much…

a few years here or there. Nikolai knows that Maxim is ruthless and has had to battle just like him to become a pakhan.

And that makes Maxim Kovalev a great potential ally…

But a potentially deadly rival too.

“Understood,” Nikolai replies. “Xander. More vodka.”

Nikolai watches his right-hand man Xander pour Maxim a new vodka and then pour him one too.

Xander has been with Nikolai for a few years now.

He’s part-IMilon, part-Bosnian, and part-who the hell knows.

But one thing that Nikolai knows for sure is that Xander has more than proven his worth to him over the years.

“Pakhan, we have business arranged across town,” Xander says, his dark eyes telling Nikolai everything he needs to know. “I do not wish to rush you, or Mr. Kovalev. But this is business that requires attention.”

“Understood,” Nikolai replies. “Maxim, you will not take offence if we finish these drinks and reconvene later?”

“Of course not,” Maxim answers, his fresh shot of vodka disappearing almost as quickly as it was poured. “I know how the world works when it gets dark. Believe me.”

Nikolai downs his shot and the two pakhans hold one another’s gaze.

“Until next time,” Nikolai says.

“Until next time,” Maxim echoes, his voice cold but not unduly menacing.

With that, Maxim stands and exits the bar, his two generals following closely behind him.

“Business?” Nikolai asks. “Really?”

“I knew it was time to wrap things up,” Xander says. “You did tell me to step in if it looked like Maxim was pressing for an answer.”

“I did indeed,” Nikolai replies, as a hint of a laugh follows. “Now pour us both a shot and sit with me for a moment. We have much to discuss.”

Nikolai and Xander begin to work through the pros and cons of Maxim’s offer…

“Pro. It would secure the entire west side as yours, no challenges,” Xander says.

“Con. It would mean placing our trust in Maxim to maintain the agreed border with his territory,” Nikolai says.

“Pro. We could push our men into the north harbor, go to war there if necessary,” Xander says, his eyes lighting up at the thought.

“Con. It would tell the other families that we can be negotiated with.”

“Does that have to be a bad thing?” Xander asks. “I’m not questioning your judgement but if we show the other families that we can work with them, on the right terms of course, then doesn’t that mean we could work toward a time of peace?”

Kave takes a moment to consider what Xander is saying. He sips on his vodka and reaches over to pour himself a refill. It’s true that living in a time of peace across the city would bring its advantages.

But…

“I’ve never known peace,” Nikolai says. “All I’ve seen is fake treaties. Peace deals set up to fail. Agreements between families that inevitably collapse and end in more death, more destruction, and less stability than before.”

“Yeah, and the fact that you’ve never compromised with anyone…”

“Ha. That’s true,” Nikolai says. “You’re also lucky I like you.”

“You know I’ll always tell it like I see it, pakhan,” Xander says. “I went through too much with my own family to suddenly start telling people what they want to hear now at the ripe old age of thirty-eight.”

“Indeed,” Nikolai smiles. “Maybe you’ve got a point. I haven’t gone into any kind of deal with anyone before. I guess maybe because no one’s ever asked. Or perhaps because I’ve always dealt with anyone who got in my way?”

Xander nods and casts his eyes toward the bar’s entrance. A pair of boys walk in, already tipsy, clearly not quite understanding what kind of bar they just walked into…

“Shall I handle them?”

“No, let them stay,” Nikolai says. “Not everyone who frequents this little place of ours needs to be knees deep in the underworld. Hell, they might even turn out to be recruits. Stranger things have happened.”

“Yeah, I doubt that,” Xander chuckles, the levity of the situation hitting him as he and Nikolai watch the two boys stumble toward the bar and almost collapse into it.

“Hmmm. I think you were right,” Nikolai says. “Give them a helpful redirection toward the exit. Go easy, but make sure they know this place isn’t quite right for them this evening.”

“As you wish, boss,” Xander says.

And just like that, Xander gets up from the table and firmly but fairly escorts the drunken partygoers out of the bar.

Nikolai watches the boys leave. But his mind is elsewhere.

Maxim Kovalev doesn’t make offers of territory deals and cooperation over resources readily. Clearly, it’s something that he has taken his time over and means business with.

But Nikolai knows that Maxim is ruthless, rich, and didn’t climb to the top of his clan without slicing and dicing a few foes.

Nikolai leans back in his comfortable leather chair and swirls the ice cube around his glass.

He has options, choices, the kind of decisions to make that could shape not only how the city is carved up moving forward, but maybe even decide just how long he has left as a Bratva king.

To trust.

To kill.

Or wait and lay a trap…

Nikolai shuts his townhouse door behind him and without thinking triple-locks it and presses a small red button to bring across the final layer of protection, a heavy metal barricade.

“Pffft. I survived for years with a door so rotten a child could kick it down,” Nikolai laughs, shaking his head in mock dismay at how safety conscious he had become.

Safety conscious or… maybe just paranoid.

Nikolai walks through the high-ceilinged hallway and into the vast space that is his kitchen.

“Glass of water. Slice of sourdough with Himalayan salt. Two magnesium tablets.”

Nikolai moves around the kitchen’s large oak island and picks out everything he needs for his pre-bed routine. It might be 2:00AM but Nikolai isn’t going to rush to get to sleep if that means breaking away from his tried and trusted system.

Even back in his troubled youth, Nikolai would always find a way to incorporate routine or regular patterns. Perhaps this was simply his way of trying to replace some of the chaos that ran amok around him on what felt like each and every day of his life.

And now with his life a very different kind of chaotic, Nikolai continued to put this emphasis on order and discipline wherever he could.

“Three sprinkles,” Nikolai says, picking out the chunky, jagged Himalayan salt crystals and flicking them down onto the slice of sourdough. “Fuck it. One more for good luck.”

Nikolai picks the sourdough up and munches his way through it in four or five bites. Then it dawns on Nikolai… he’s just used the last slice. He’ll need to head out to the nearby bakery first thing in the morning to ensure that he gets his pick of the loaves.

One night imagine that a vicious and not to mention notorious pakhan would have his bread delivered or reserved for his collection.

But that wasn’t how Nikolai moved. Not in this neighborhood.

In fact, not a single soul on the tree-lined streets and cozy strip of stores had any idea of who Nikolai really was.

As far as the local community of wealthy doctors, lawyers, and media professionals were concerned, Nikolai was a quiet businessman who was rarely seen outside of his clockwork visits to the bakery and deli next door.

And this was how Nikolai intended to keep it too.

Nikolai takes a bottle of water from the refrigerator and swallows his two magnesium tablets in one toss back of his head.

“Looks like I’m all done for the night,” Nikolai says to himself. “But how could I ever forget about you…”

With the sound of paws padding down the hallway and into the kitchen, Nikolai allows himself a smile as his treasured cat, Thunder, enters the room with typical nonchalance.

“I won’t ask what you’ve been doing tonight,” Nikolai smiles as he paces across the kitchen to Thunder’s food cupboard and swiftly replenishes his hard biscuits along with a small sachet of wet food too. “And to think you were a humble stray before you invited yourself to become my lodger.”

Nikolai gives Thunder a quick stroke down the length of his bright orange and white back and then makes his way up the long, curved staircase to the bathroom for a swift face wash and toothbrush. Once he’s all done, Nikolai crosses the upstairs open gallery and enters his bedroom.

With a quiet efficiency, Nikolai strips naked and carefully undoes his undershirt gun holster and places it, gun inside, on the antique mahogany cabinet near his bed.

With his thick, heavy cock hanging between his legs, Nikolai turns the bedroom light out and walks toward the window that looks out onto the quiet, sporadically lit street.

There is barely a light on in any of the houses across the street. Everyone will be tucked up in their beds, fast asleep, no doubt having drifted off next to their partner watching some awful Netflix series.

But rather than feeling disgust at his neighbors’ quietly affluent but humdrum lives, Nikolai feels a sense of longing. He’s never known anything like that, only ever seen it in films or on television.

“Nope, that’s just not me,” Nikolai snarls, putting the thought out of his head.

Nikolai doesn’t want to settle down. Not even close. All Nikolai wants is to rule the city, expand his empire, and live his life the only way he’s ever known.

Taking in a deep breath of air, Nikolai reaches down to his cock and grips it in his left hand. Suddenly, all he can think of is having a boy in the room with him… submissive, hard, willing to do his bidding for one night and one night only.

“On your knees for Daddy,” Nikolai says, closing his eyes and imagining his boy, naked and hungry for anything and everything he can deliver.

And with that, Nikolai turns to walk to his bed, his cock rock-hard and ready to allow him a little bit of blood-pumping escapism before he closes his eyes and sleeps for the night, ready to face whatever comes his way tomorrow…