20. The First Step
The First Step
Nathan
The warehouse is quiet when we arrive.
Not the kind of quiet that means peace—the kind of quiet that means something is waiting. The kind of quiet that hums with the memory of violence, with the echo of things that have been done in the dark and will be done again. The kind of quiet that settles into the bones and makes itself at home.
I've been coming here for years. First with my father, then on my own.
I know every corner of this place—the loading dock where product comes in, the offices where the ledgers are kept, the cages along the far wall that are empty now but won't be for long.
I know the smell of it—rust and salt and something older, something that doesn't wash out no matter how many times you scrub the floors.
I know what this place is.
I know what I am.
But tonight, for the first time, I'm not here alone.
Monika walks beside me, her footsteps quiet on the concrete. She's wearing dark clothes—jeans, a sweater, the boots she wore on the farm. She looks like she belongs here. She looks like she's been here before.
She has. She's stood in this warehouse and thrown up after seeing what's inside. She's walked through these doors and pretended she didn't see the cages. She's been part of this operation for weeks now—ever since she told me she'd help me.
I should be suspicious. I should question why she changed her mind. I should wonder what she's really doing here.
But I don't. I can't. Because I need her.
"You're quiet," I say.
She looks at me. Her eyes are brown, steady, unreadable. "I'm thinking."
"About what?"
"About everything." She gestures at the warehouse—the shipping containers, the offices, the cages. "This is a lot to take in."
"You've seen it before."
"Not like this." She stops walking. She turns to face me. "Before, I was on the outside looking in. Now I'm—"
"Inside."
"Yes."
I reach for her. I can't help it. Every time she's near me, I need to touch her. I need to feel her skin against mine. I need to know she's real.
"You're not just inside," I say. "You're with me. That's different."
"Is it?"
"Yes." I pull her closer. "You're my partner now. My equal. You're the only person in this world I trust."
She doesn't answer. She just looks at me with those steady brown eyes, and I feel something shift in my chest.
I take her through the operation.
I show her the ledgers—the names, the dates, the dollar amounts that represent lives bought and sold.
I show her the contacts—the men who run the routes, the men who handle the money, the men who make problems disappear.
I show her the product—the cages, empty for now but waiting, the shipping containers that will hold the next shipment.
She doesn't flinch. She doesn't look away. She just watches, and listens, and learns.
"This is bigger than I thought," she says.
"It's going to get bigger."
"How much bigger?"
"Much." I lead her to the office—the small room at the back of the warehouse where the real work gets done. The desk is cluttered with papers. The map on the wall is covered in pins. The safe in the corner holds more money than most people see in a lifetime.
She stands in the center of the room, looking around. She's beautiful in this light—all shadows and curves and steady, steady eyes. She looks like she belongs here.
She does belong here. She belongs with me.
"This is where you work?" she asks.
"This is where I plan." I close the door behind us. "This is where I build."
"Build what?"
"An empire." I walk toward her. "A new one. Something bigger than what my father created. Something that will last."
"And what happens to your father? To Gabriel?"
I don't answer. I don't have to. She knows.
I reach for her. I pull her into my arms. I kiss her—not gentle, not tender, but hungry. Desperate. The kiss of a man who has been waiting for something he thought he'd never have.
She kisses me back.
I undress her slowly. I take my time, pressing my lips to every inch of skin I reveal. Her collarbone. The hollow of her throat. The soft curve of her breasts. She shivers beneath my touch, and I feel her body respond to mine.
"You're beautiful," I say. "You're so beautiful."
"Nathan..."
"I love you." The words come out before I can stop them. "I know I don't deserve you. I know I've hurt you. But I love you."
She doesn't say it back. She doesn't have to.
I lay her down on the desk. The wood is cold beneath her back, but I don't care. I'm already pushing her thighs apart, already positioning myself between them.
"I need you," I say. "I need you, Monika."
"You have me."
"No." I shake my head. "I need all of you. I need everything."
She reaches for me. She pulls me down. I feel her body open to mine, and I don't hesitate. I push inside her with one smooth stroke, and she gasps—not in pain, but in surprise.
"You feel so good," I say. "You always feel so good."
I move inside her. I'm rough—rougher than usual—and I can feel her nails digging into my shoulders, her body tightening around mine. The desk creaks beneath us, the papers scattering, and I don't care.
I fuck her like I'm trying to bury myself in her. Like I'm trying to forget everything except her.
"You're mine," I say. "You're mine, Monika."
"Yours," she gasps. "I'm yours."
I fuck her harder. I pin her wrists above her head. I bite her shoulder, her neck, the soft skin of her breast. I leave marks on her body that will take days to fade—marks that will remind her who she belongs to.
She comes with my name on her lips. Nathan. Nathan. Nathan. Like it's a prayer. Like it's a curse. Like it's the only word she remembers.
I follow a moment later, burying myself to the hilt, filling her.
We lie on the desk afterward.
Her head is on my chest. My arms are wrapped around her. The office is quiet, the only sound our breathing, slow and steady.
"I love you," I say again.
She doesn't answer.
I hold her tighter.
"Tell me about the plan again," she says.
Her voice is soft. Curious. She turns her head to look at me, her eyes dark and steady.
"What plan?"
"The plan to take over. The plan to eliminate your father and your brother." She pauses. "I need to understand what we're doing."
I'm quiet for a moment. I've never told anyone the full extent of what I'm planning. Not Ivan. Not Viktor. No one. But I trust her. I trust her more than I've ever trusted anyone. I told her the plan last night. Her asking again is good, shes looking for holes in my plan I missed.
"There's a meeting," I say. "In two weeks. My father is meeting with the Volkovs—a rival family, old enemies. There's a treaty that's been in place for twenty years, but it's been strained. He's going to try to negotiate a new agreement."
"And you're going to use that meeting to move against him."
"Yes." I sit up, reaching for the map. "I have men stationed at the meeting location. They'll take out my father while he's inside. It'll look like the Volkovs did it—an ambush, a double-cross."
"And Gabriel?"
"Gabriel will be in Boston. A medical conference. I've already arranged it." I pause. "I'll handle him myself."
"You'll kill your own brother?"
"He's not my brother." The words come out before I can stop them. "He's a rival. A threat. He's been working against me for months—trying to stop me, trying to take what's mine."
"He's trying to save you."
"He's trying to save you." I look at her. "He wants you, Monika. He's always wanted you."
"I know."
"And you want him."
She doesn't answer.
I feel something dark and violent unfurl in my chest. Jealousy. Possession. The desperate need to prove that she belongs to me and no one else.
"You're mine," I say. "You're not his. You're not my father's. You're mine."
"I know."
"Say it."
"I'm yours, Nathan."
I kiss her. Hard. Demanding. I want to brand the words into her skin. I want to make her believe them.
I take her again.
This time, slower. This time, I want to savor her. I want to memorize every inch of her body. I want to hear every sound she makes.
I lay her back on the old desk. The wood creaks beneath her. I kiss her mouth first—slow, deep—then her jaw, the pulse in her throat. I take my time going lower. Her ribs. The curve of her waist. The soft skin just above her hip. She gasps, her hands tangling in my hair.
“Nathan—”
“Let me,” I murmur against her skin. “Let me worship you. Tell me if you want me to stop.”
“Don’t stop,” she breathes. “Please.”
So I don’t. I guide her wrists above her head, my grip loose—just enough to remind her she can let go. “Keep them there,” I say. “If you want me to stop, say so.”
She nods, eyes dark. “I won’t.”
I kneel between her knees and kiss a path down her body until she’s arching off the desk, one hand fisted in my hair, the other gripping the edge.
I listen to every sound—the broken breaths, the whispered pleas, the way she says my name like it’s the only word she knows.
I take my time. I want to memorize the way she trembles.
The way she tastes. The way she comes undone.
When she shatters, it’s with a sob that sounds like relief. I stay with her through it, soft and steady, until her body stops shaking.
Then I help her up. I turn her toward the cracked mirror. I stand behind her, one hand splayed across her stomach, the other tilting her chin until she meets her own eyes.
“This time,” I say, “you’re going to watch.”
She shivers. “Nathan…”
“You’re beautiful,” I tell her. “I want you to see what I see.”
I hold her gaze in the glass. “Tell me what you are.”
Her lips part. “I’m yours.”
“Again.”
“I’m yours, Nathan.”
I move with her, slow and deep, and make her watch. I watch her mouth fall open. I watch her eyes go dark. I watch her come apart under her own gaze. I’m right there with her, breath hot against her ear, whispering her name like a prayer. Monika. Monika. Monika.
When she comes again, I follow. I bury my face in her neck and hold her like she’s something precious. For a long moment, neither of us moves. Then I press a kiss to her shoulder.
“Again,” I whisper. “When you’re ready.”
She laughs, breathless. “You’re going to ruin me.”
“No,” I say. “I’m going to worship you.”
We lie on the floor afterward.
The map is crumpled beneath us. The city is spread out above us—the territories, the routes, the plans for expansion. I can see the future in those pins and lines. I can see everything I'm going to build.
And I can see her in it. Beside me. Always.
"You're going to help me," I say. "You're going to be there when I take over. You're going to be my partner."
"Yes."
"You're going to help me kill my father."
She pauses. Just for a moment. Then: "Yes."
"You're going to help me kill Gabriel."
Another pause. Longer this time.
"Yes."
I turn to look at her. Her face is calm. Her eyes are steady. She looks like she means it.
I believe her.
I shouldn't. I know I shouldn't. But I do.
I show her the rest of the warehouse.
The loading dock. The shipping containers. The vans that will carry the next shipment of product. She watches everything. She learns everything.
"This is a lot of product," she says.
"Demand is high."
"Where does it come from?"
"All over. The Midwest, mostly. Runaways. Kids from group homes. Kids no one will miss."
"You don't care?"
"Should I?"
She looks at me. Her eyes are unreadable.
"I don't know," she says. "Should you?"
I don't answer. I don't have an answer.
The meeting with Ivan is short.
He doesn't ask questions about Monika. He doesn't need to. He's been in this business long enough to know when to keep his mouth shut.
"The next shipment is ready," he says. "Twelve units. All healthy. All compliant."
"Good." I glance at Monika. She's standing beside me, her face calm, her hands steady. "When can we move?"
"Three days. The routes are cleared. The money is in escrow."
"Then we're done here."
Ivan nods. He leaves.
I turn to Monika. "You see? It's all going according to plan."
"I see."
"Everything is going to change, Monika. Everything is going to be different. And you're going to be there with me."
She doesn't answer.
We leave the warehouse.
The city is waking up—the streets filling with cars, the sky turning grey, the world continuing on without us. I light a cigarette and lean against the car, watching the light creep over the buildings.
"You're quiet," I say.
"I'm tired."
"Let's go home."
She nods. She gets in the car. She doesn't look at me.
I drive.
The mansion is quiet when we arrive.
The servants are moving through their morning routines. My father is in his study. Gabriel is in the greenhouse. The house is the same as it always was—full of secrets, full of ghosts, full of the weight of everything that's been done in its name.
I walk Monika to her room. She stops at the door. Turns to face me.
"Nathan."
"What?"
"I need you to know something."
"What?"
She looks at me. Her eyes are brown, steady, unreadable.
"I'm going to help you," she says. "I'm going to be your partner. I'm going to be there when you take over."
"I know."
"But I need you to know—I'm not doing this for the empire. I'm not doing this for the power. I'm doing this for you."
"For me?"
"Yes." She touches my face. "I'm doing this because I love you."
The words hit me like a punch to the chest. I've been waiting for her to say it for a year. I've been waiting for her to choose me—really choose me—and now she has.
"I love you too," I say.
She kisses me. Soft. Tender. The way she kisses Gabriel.
I don't think about that.
I don't think about anything.
I just hold her.