4. The Expansion
The Expansion
Nathan
The city is a wound.
I stand at the window of my office, looking down at the streets below, and I see all the ways it's been carved open and left to bleed.
The alleys where deals are made in the dark.
The warehouses where product changes hands.
The corners where men die for the crime of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.
This is my inheritance. This is what my father built with his own two hands and the blood of everyone who stood in his way. And now it's mine—or it should be. But my father won't let go. He's holding on like a dying man clutching a rope, and he's going to drag all of us down with him.
I turn away from the window. The map on my desk is spread out, marked with pins and lines and the careful notations I've made over the past six months. The territories my father controls. The territories he's too cautious to take. The territories I'm going to claim for myself.
It's not enough. It's never enough. The empire is vast, but it's stagnant. My father built it, but he's been too busy playing at being a patriarch, too busy with his new ward, to see what's happening around him.
He doesn't see the cracks. He doesn't see the opportunities.
I do.
I've been thinking about the Volkovs for months. The trafficking routes they control. The children they move through the city like cargo. It's a dirty business—I'm not naive enough to pretend otherwise. But it's profitable. And profit doesn't care about morality.
My father would never agree. He has lines he won't cross, rules he won't break. He pretends it's about honor, but I know the truth. It's about control. He wants to control everything—including his own conscience.
Gabriel would lose his mind. He'd lecture me about ethics, about the sanctity of life, about all the things he's learned in his precious medical school. He'd tell me I'm becoming a monster.
He doesn't understand. I've always been a monster. I'm just finally being honest about it.
I don't need their permission. I don't need their approval. I just need Monika.
I find her in the kitchen at midnight.
She's making tea, her back to me, her hair loose and falling down her shoulders. She's wearing a robe that's too thin—one of mine, I realize, the dark silk she's been borrowing for weeks. It hangs loose on her frame, slipping off one shoulder, revealing the pale curve of her collarbone.
She looks tired. She always looks tired now. There are shadows under her eyes, hollows in her cheeks that weren't there a year ago. I've been taking too much from her. I know that. But I can't stop.
I never could.
"What are you doing up?" she asks. She doesn't turn around. She knows it's me. She always knows.
"I couldn't sleep." I step closer, my hands finding her waist. The silk is warm beneath my fingers, her body soft and familiar. "I was thinking about you."
"That's not true."
"It's always true." I press my lips to the curve of her neck. She shivers. I feel it travel through her body like a current. "You're the only thing I think about."
She sets down the kettle. Turns in my arms. Her eyes meet mine, brown and steady and full of things she'll never say.
"Nathan," she says. "What are you doing?"
"What do you think I'm doing?"
She doesn't answer. She just looks at me with those steady eyes, and I see the wariness there. The careful distance she's learned to maintain.
I hate it. I hate that she's learned to protect herself from me. I hate that I'm the reason she needs to.
"I need you," I say. The words come out before I can stop them. Raw. Honest. The kind of honesty I've never shown anyone.
She doesn't respond. She doesn't pull away. She just waits.
I kiss her.
I push her against the kitchen counter. The marble is cold against her back, but I don't care. I don't care about anything except the feel of her beneath my hands.
"I need you," I say again. "I need you, Monika. I need you to trust me."
"I don't trust anyone."
"I know." I kiss her neck, her collarbone, the hollow of her throat. "That's why I'm telling you now."
"Telling me what?"
I pull back. I look at her. Her eyes are dark, guarded, waiting.
"I'm going to do something," I say. "Something you won't like."
"Since when have I liked anything you've done?"
I laugh. It's a harsh sound, brittle and sharp. "Fair point."
"What is it, Nathan?"
I don't answer. I can't. Not yet. Not until I'm sure she'll stay.
Instead, I kiss her again. I push her robe off her shoulders. I leave marks on her skin that will take days to fade.
And when she comes apart beneath me, I hold her. I hold her like she's the only thing keeping me tethered to this world.
"Don't leave," I whisper. "Don't ever leave."
She doesn't answer.
I'm in the warehouse by dawn.
It's cold, the concrete floors slick with frost, the air thick with the smell of rust and rot. I've been here before—dozens of times, hundreds of times. This is where the empire lives. This is where the work gets done.
Ivan is waiting for me. He's a heavy man, balding, with the kind of face that's used to getting what he wants. He's been in this business for decades, longer than I've been alive, and he knows every corner of the trafficking routes.
"Nathan." He extends his hand. I take it. His grip is dry, firm. "Good to see you."
"Likewise." I don't smile. I don't pretend. We're not here for pleasantries.
We walk through the warehouse. The cages are in the back, behind a wall of shipping containers. I've seen them before. I know what's inside.
Children. Young children, their eyes empty, their bodies thin. They're not crying. They're past crying. They've learned that crying doesn't change anything.
I feel something in my chest. I tell myself it's nothing. I tell myself it's just business.
"You're expanding," Ivan says. "Your father's territory is stable, but the demand is growing. The supply needs to grow with it."
"I know."
"We can offer you routes. Infrastructure. Product." He stops in front of one of the cages. Inside, a boy is sitting in the corner, his knees drawn up to his chest. "The market is infinite. There's always demand."
"How much?"
Ivan names a figure. It's high. It's higher than I expected.
But I don't hesitate. I've already made my decision. I've already crossed the line.
"Done," I say.
Ivan smiles.
I walk away from the cages.
I tell myself I'm not looking back. I tell myself I'm making the right decision. The empire needs to grow. The empire needs to adapt. If my father won't do it, I will.
The boy's face is burned into my mind. The way he looked at me. The way he didn't look at me. The way he'd already given up.
I push the image away. I can't afford to feel guilt. Guilt is weakness. Guilt is for people who don't understand how the world works.
I walk out of the warehouse. The sun is rising over the city, painting the sky in shades of gold and pink. It's beautiful. It's obscene.
I light a cigarette. I breathe in the smoke and the cold and the weight of what I've just done.
"Business," I say to no one. "It's just business."
I almost believe it.
I go home.
The mansion is waking up, the servants moving through the halls, the smell of coffee drifting from the kitchen. I walk through the front door and I feel the weight of this place settle on my shoulders like a second skin.
My father is in his study. I can hear his voice through the door, low and measured, talking to someone on the phone. Gabriel is in the greenhouse, retreating into his orchids and his ideals. Ashlynn is in the kitchen, preparing breakfast.
And Monika.
Monika is in her room.
I walk up the stairs. I don't knock. I never knock. I push open the door and I find her standing at the window, her back to me, her hair loose and falling down her shoulders.
"Monika."
She doesn't turn around. "What do you want, Nathan?"
"To see you."
"You saw me last night."
"That's not enough."
She turns. Her eyes meet mine. Brown. Steady. So full of things she'll never say.
"I need you," I say. "I need you, Monika. I need you to help me."
"Help you with what?"
I walk toward her. I stop in front of her, close enough to touch.
"The empire," I say. "I'm going to take it over."
"Take it over?"
"My father is too cautious. Gabriel is too weak. They're holding us back. I can build something bigger. Something better."
"Something better?" She laughs. It's a brittle sound, hollow and raw. "You're talking about the trafficking routes, aren't you? The children."
"How do you know about that?"
"I know everything, Nathan. I've known for months."
I feel something cold slide down my spine. She knows. She's known the whole time.
"Then you know why I need you," I say. "You're the only person I trust."
"Trust?" She shakes her head. "You don't trust anyone. You don't even trust yourself."
"Maybe." I touch her face. She doesn't pull away. "But I need you, Monika. I need you to stay with me. I need you to help me."
"Help you destroy everything your father built?"
"Help me build something better."
She looks at me. Her eyes are steady, unreadable.
"Okay," she says. "I'll help you."
I should be relieved. I should be grateful.
Instead, I feel something cold settle in my chest.
She's not going to help me. She's going to try to stop me.
And I'm going to let her.
I leave her room.
I walk down the hall, past the portrait of my mother, past the door to my father's study, past the greenhouse where Gabriel is pretending to be something he's not.
I think about Monika. About the way she looked at me. About the way she said "okay" like it was a death sentence.
I think about the boy in the cage. The way he looked at me. The way he didn't look at me.
I think about the empire. The one I'm trying to build. The one that's going to consume me alive.
I stop in front of the window. The city stretches out below me, vast and hungry and waiting.
"One more year," I say. "One more year, and everything will be mine."
The city doesn't answer.
It never does.
I go to the greenhouse.