Chapter 3

Nick

The tires of my taxi crunched over the gravel driveway as we pulled up to the imposing gates of the Sokolov Mansion, the place I once called home. Despite the passage of time, the old estate still exuded an air of power and authority, its grandeur a testament to the wealth and influence of my family.

I stepped out of the car and approached the gates, memories flooding my mind—the memories of a childhood spent roaming the sprawling grounds, of late nights spent huddled around the fireplace with my family, listening to my father's tales of his rough childhood in the streets.

But as I pushed the gates and made my way up the entrance of the house, those memories were tinged with a bit of resentment. My father may have built this empire, but he had also left behind a legacy of betrayal, a legacy that I was determined to uncover and confront as soon as possible.

The door swung open before I could even knock, revealing the figure of my mother, Elena Sokolov, standing in the doorway. She was a striking woman, with sharp features and steely blue eyes that seemed to pierce straight through to my soul.

"Nick," she greeted me, her voice cool and composed. "I wasn't expecting you."

"I'm sure you weren't," I replied, my tone equally as cold. "But I need answers, mother. Someone tried to kill me, and I intend to find out who."

Elena's lips curved into a smirk, her gaze unwavering as she stepped aside to let me enter the mansion. "Always the dutiful son," she remarked, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "But I'm afraid I don't have any answers for you, Nick. You know as well as I do that the world we live in is a dangerous place, full of traitors."

I clenched my jaw, frustration boiling up inside me like a dormant volcano ready to erupt. My mother may have been ruthless, but she was also cunning, always two steps ahead of everyone else, always playing the game with a skill and precision that left me feeling like a mere pawn in her hands.

But I refused to be manipulated any longer. I had spent too many years living in the shadow of my father's legacy, too many years pretending to be something I wasn't. It was time to take control of my own destiny, to carve out my own path, no matter the cost.

"I don't believe you, mother," I said, my voice low and dangerous. "You know more than you're letting on, and I intend to find out what it is. Whether you like it or not, I'm going to get to the bottom of this."

Elena's smirk widened into a grin, her eyes glinting with amusement. "You always were your father's son," she remarked, her tone affectionate. "Stubborn to the end. But be careful, Nick. The road you're on is not an easy one; it's full of traps. And if you're not careful, you may find yourself falling into one of them."

With that ominous warning ringing in my ears, I turned and strode away, determined to uncover the truth no matter what it took. I may have come from a family of wolves, but it was time to show them that the son of Boris Sokolov was a force to be reckoned with, a force they would underestimate at their own peril.

                                                                                   __

The morning sun filtered weakly through the light curtains that my mother always preferred to have, casting a golden glow over the opulent office where I sat, surrounded by the remnants of last night's indulgence. Empty glasses littered the desk, their contents long since drained, while the air hung heavy with the scent of stale alcohol and food.

I ran a hand through my disheveled hair, trying to shake off the fog of sleep and alcohol that clouded my mind. The events of the previous week seemed like a distant, blurry memory.

In the cold light of early morning, the harsh reality of my situation crashed down on me. Someone had tried to kill me, and I was no closer to uncovering the truth than I had been one week before. Desperation clawed at my insides, urging me to search for answers in the only place I knew they might be found—the old documents and ledgers that my father kept over three decades.

As I rifled through the papers, my phone buzzed loudly on the desk, startling me out of my reverie. I glanced at the caller ID and felt a surge of relief wash over me; it was Dmitri, my right-hand man and closest confidante.

"Nick," Dmitri's voice crackled over the line, his tone urgent. "Your wife is furious. She's coming back early from her trip to France, and she's not happy."

I grimaced, the knot of tension in my stomach tightening with every word. My wife—Isabel, the woman I had once thought I loved—had been nothing but a thorn in my side for years now, her constant lies and deceit driving a wedge between us that seemed impossible to bridge.

"I don't care, Dmitri," I replied, my voice cold and detached. "I don't want to see her. Not now, for sure. She's betrayed me, and she needs to face the consequences."

There was a pause on the other end of the line, as if Dmitri was trying to process my words. "Nick, you can't just ignore her," he said at last, his tone tinged with concern. "You need to talk to her, to work through whatever issues you're having. Ignoring the problem won't make it go away."

I clenched my jaw, frustration bubbling up inside me like a dormant volcano ready to erupt. "I'll deal with her later, Dmitri," I said, cutting him off before he could say anything else. "Right now, I have more important things to worry about. I need to find out who tried to kill me and why."

There was a sigh on the other end of the line, the sound heavy with resignation. "Fine, Nick," Dmitri said at last, his voice tinged with disappointment. "But don't say I didn't warn you. Your wife may be angry, but she's still your wife. And if you keep pushing her away like this, you may find yourself regretting it in the end."

With that warning ringing in my ears, I ended the call and returned my attention to the documents spread out before me. The truth was out there, somewhere, hidden among the tangled web of lies and deceit that surrounded me. And I was determined to uncover it, no matter the cost.