21. The Collapse
The Collapse
Aleksander
Ihave been losing control for months.
Not in the ways that matter to the empire—the deals are still made, the shipments still move, the money still flows.
The machine grinds on, indifferent to the hands that feed it.
But the family—the family is splintering.
And I am the one holding the pieces together, my fingers bleeding from the effort.
I see it in Gabriel's eyes when he looks at me.
The disappointment. The quiet judgment. He's been retreating for years—into his research, his ideals, his desperate hope that he can still become something other than what I made him.
He spends his days in the greenhouse now, surrounded by his mother's orchids, pretending he can grow something beautiful in a house built on blood.
I see it in Nathan's smile when he thinks I'm not looking.
The hunger. The ambition. He's been pushing into territory I never wanted to touch—the trafficking routes, the children, the darkness that even I have lines I won't cross.
He thinks I'm too distracted, too old, too weak to see what he's becoming.
He's wrong. I see everything. I just don't know how to stop it.
And Monika. Monika is in the middle of it all, the still point in the storm, the woman who has somehow become the axis around which my entire family revolves.
I didn't mean for this to happen. I didn't mean to fall in love with her. I didn't mean to make her mine. But I did, and now I can't unmake it. I can't let her go. I can't imagine my life without her steady hands and her steady eyes and the way she looks at me like I'm not a monster.
She's wrong. I am a monster. I've always been a monster.
But she makes me want to be something else.
I find her in the hallway.
It's late—past midnight, past the hour when the servants retire, past the hour when the house should be sleeping. But I can't sleep. I've been walking the halls for hours, my footsteps silent on the marble, my mind racing with things I can't control.
She's coming out of Nathan's room.
I stop. I watch her. She's wearing one of his sweaters—dark grey, too big for her, slipping off one shoulder. Her hair is loose, her face pale, her eyes tired. She looks like she's been crying.
She sees me.
For a moment, neither of us moves. The hallway is dark, the only light coming from the sconces on the walls. The distance between us is a gulf I don't know how to cross.
"Monika."
"Aleksander." Her voice is quiet. Guarded.
We've been together for a year and a half. I've held her in my arms. I've been inside her body. I've told her I love her more times than I can count. And still, she looks at me like I'm a stranger.
"I need to talk to you," I say.
"About what?"
"About Nathan. About what you're doing."
She doesn't flinch. She doesn't look away. She just stands there, her eyes steady, and waits.
"What am I doing?" she asks.
"You tell me." I walk toward her, my steps measured, my voice calm. "You've been spending time with him. More time than usual. You've been helping him with... whatever it is he's doing."
"He's my partner."
"Your partner." The word tastes like poison on my tongue. "What does that mean?"
"It means I'm helping him." She meets my eyes. "I'm helping him become something better."
"Something better?" I stop in front of her. Close enough to touch. Close enough to see the faint bruise on her collarbone—a bruise I didn't make. "He's trafficking children, Monika. He's selling children. And you're helping him become something better?"
"He's not—"
"Don't." My voice is sharp. "Don't defend him. Don't pretend you don't know what he is."
"I know exactly what he is." Her voice is steady. "I know what all of you are. But I also know what you could be."
"And what's that?"
"Better." She steps closer. Her hand touches my chest—light, tentative, the way she used to touch me before everything went wrong. "You could all be better. And I'm going to help you get there."
"By helping Nathan destroy everything I've built?"
"By helping him see that there's another way." Her fingers curl into the fabric of my shirt. "He's lost, Aleksander. He's been lost for years. But he's not beyond saving."
"Everyone's beyond saving."
"No." She shakes her head. "That's what you tell yourself so you don't have to try. That's what you've always told yourself."
I feel something crack inside me.
I grab her arm. I pull her against the wall. I press my body against hers and I feel her breath catch in her throat.
"You don't know what you're doing," I say. "You don't know what you're risking."
"I know exactly what I'm risking." She looks up at me. Her eyes are brown, steady, unreadable. "I'm risking everything. For you. For Nathan. For Gabriel. For this family."
"This family doesn't deserve to be saved."
"Maybe not." She reaches up. She touches my face. "But you do."
I kiss her.
It's not soft. It's not tender. It's the kiss of a man who has been holding himself back for too long, who is tired of pretending he's something he's not. She makes a sound against my mouth—surprise, or maybe relief—and I feel it go through me like a current.
I pull back. I look at her. Her lips are swollen, her cheeks flushed, her eyes dark.
"I hate that you've been with him," I say.
"I know."
"I hate that you touch him the way you touch me."
"I know."
"I hate that you love him."
She doesn't answer. She doesn't have to.
I kiss her again. Harder this time. Demanding. I push her harder against the wall, my hands finding her hips, her waist, the soft curve of her breasts beneath Nathan's sweater.
"Tell me to stop," I say. "Tell me, and I will."
She doesn't tell me.
She reaches for me instead. Her hands find my shoulders, my neck, tangling in my hair. She pulls me closer, and I feel her breath hot against my ear.
"I don't want you to stop," she says. "I never wanted you to stop."
Something in me breaks.
I take her against the wall.
The marble is cold against her back, but she doesn't flinch. She just looks at me with those steady brown eyes—the same eyes that have looked at me a thousand times, the same eyes that have seen the worst of me and somehow stayed.
I push up her skirt. I tear at the fabric of her underwear. I'm not gentle—I'm not anything but hungry—and I know I should be careful, I know I should be tender, but I can't. I can't.
She gasps when I enter her. Her back arches against the wall, her head falling back, her mouth open. I watch her face, watching the way she comes apart beneath me, and I feel something I haven't felt in years.
Alive.
"You're mine," I say. The words come out before I can stop them. "You're mine, Monika. You've been mine since the night you pulled that bullet from my side. You've been mine since the moment you looked at me and didn't flinch."
"I'm yours," she says. Her voice is breathless, broken. "I'm yours, Aleksander."
I lose control.
I fuck her hard against the wall, my hands gripping her hips, my breath ragged against her neck.
The marble is cold against my palms, her body hot against mine, and I don't care about any of it.
I only care about her. The way she feels.
The way she sounds. The way she says my name like it's something sacred.
"You're perfect," I say. "You're so perfect. My good girl."
She comes apart beneath me. Her body tightens around mine, and she cries out and I feel it everywhere. In my chest. In my gut. In the broken, shattered place where my heart used to be.
I follow a moment later, burying my face in her neck. I'm shaking. I'm actually shaking.
And I don't care.
We slide to the floor.
Her head is on my chest. My arms are wrapped around her. The hallway is quiet, the only sound our breathing, slow and steady. The sconces flicker on the walls, casting shadows that dance across the marble.
"I love you," I say.
I don't know why I say it. I don't know if I mean it. I don't know anything anymore.
She doesn't say it back. She just holds me tighter.
And I let her.
We stay there for a long time.
Her head is on my chest. My arms are wrapped around her. The house is quiet, the only sound our breathing, slow and steady.
"I need to tell you something," she says.
"What?"
She sits up. She looks at me, her eyes steady, her face calm. She looks like a woman who has made peace with her fate.
"I'm not going to let you destroy each other," she says. "I'm not going to let this family fall apart."
"It's already falling apart."
"Then I'll hold it together." She touches my face. "I'll hold all of you together. Even if it kills me."
I stare at her. The hallway is dark, the only light coming from the sconces. She's beautiful in this light—all shadows and curves and steady, steady eyes.
"You can't save everyone," I say.
"Watch me."
I kiss her. Soft. Tender. The way she kissed Gabriel.
I don't think about that.
I don't think about anything.
I just hold her.
"Tell me about Elena," she says.
The question comes out of nowhere. I've been dreading it for months—ever since she found the photograph, ever since she learned the truth about my wife's death. But she's never asked. Not directly. Not like this.
"Why?" I ask.
"Because I need to understand." She looks at me. Her eyes are brown, steady, unreadable. "I need to understand what you lost. What you've been carrying all these years."
I'm quiet for a long moment. The fire crackles. The clock ticks. I can feel the weight of the past pressing down on me—the grief, the guilt, the rage that has been burning in my chest for twenty years.
"Elena was the love of my life," I say. "I met her when I was twenty. She was eighteen. We were married within a year. She was the first person who ever made me feel like I could be something other than what I was born to be."
"What were you born to be?"
"A monster." I say it without hesitation. "I was born into this life. I was raised to take what I wanted and destroy anyone who stood in my way. But Elena—she saw something else in me. She saw the man I could have been."
"But you loved her."
"More than anything."
"And she was pregnant when she died."
"Yes." The word comes out like a wound. "We'd been trying for years.
She wanted a third child. She was so happy when she found out.
She told me she was going to name her Sofia.
After her mother. Nathan was from a mistress I had, her name was Jinger.
She was a whore that was more than willing to fuck anything that walked.
Gabriel was raised by Elena from birth, his mothers name was Mariam, but Elena was the only mother he ever knew. "
Monika doesn't speak. She just listens.
"The night she died—" I stop. I swallow. I haven't talked about this in years. I haven't let myself remember. "The night she died, I was at a meeting. Business. The Volkovs—they were rivals, enemies. They wanted what I had. They thought killing my wife would break me."
"Did it?"
It's the same question Monika asked months ago. The same question I didn't answer.
"It broke something," I say. "But not the way they expected. I didn't fall apart. I didn't grieve. I hunted. I spent years tracking down every single person involved in her death. And when I found them, I killed them. One by one. Slowly."
Monika doesn't flinch. She doesn't look away. She just watches me with those steady brown eyes.