2. Nikolai

I have always preferred silence. Because silence is more honest.

Noise is where men hide their fear, their lies and weakness. But silence forces truth into the open. It breeds fear, pressing against the skin, crawls into the mind and waits.

And this man, Adrian, a lackey of mine, was sweating in it. Fear.

F*cking hate this. If only my right-hand man was here. Too bad I assigned him to another bloody task. Ah, I wish I was there and bathed in the blood of my enemies.

Adrian stood at my desk. His spine rigid, jaw tight, trying very hard not to cower in front of a man who could end his pathetic life. It was almost admirable and entertaining.

The dim lights of my office cast long shadows across the marble floor, stretching his silhouette into something thinner, more fragile. The city pulsed beyond the glass walls, but up here, everything felt contained. Controlled, measured, including him, and this conversation.

“You look nervous,” I said calmly. Adrian swallowed as he answered me with a quivering voice. “I’m not nervous.”

It was a lie. And a bad one at that. Fucking liars, they make my skin crawl. I leaned back in my chair, fingers steepled beneath my chin, watching him with idle interest. Watching the tension gather behind his eyes. Watching the slow, inevitable unraveling of composure. Men always believed fear announced itself loudly. It didn’t.

Fear was subtle.

Fear can be the tightening of shoulders. The shallow breath. The hesitation before speech. Fear was Adrian standing in my office pretending he wasn’t afraid.

“How refreshing,” I murmured. “Confidence is rare.”

His silence this time was wiser. Good. He was learning.

My gaze drifted briefly to the folder resting on my desk. Untouched and unopened. Because I did not need paper to understand the situation. I already knew the numbers, the territories and the implications. What interested me was not the logistics. It was Alejandro Cortes’ response. Or rather, his lack of one.

I tapped a finger once against the polished surface of the desk. A soft sound echoed sharply in the quiet room. “Tell me,” I said, voice smooth, almost conversational, “how did Cortes react?”

Adrian’s throat bobbed again. The pause that followed was microscopic. But I noticed. I always noticed. Even down to the last details.

“He—” Adrian began, then stopped and corrected himself. “Don Cortes listened.”

Listened? He neither agreed, nor rejected the proposal. He fucking listened. Interesting.

I smirked inwardly and looked at him again dead in the eye. Threatening him to continue. “And?” Adrian hesitated but answered nonetheless. “He didn’t give an answer.”

I smiled faintly after hearing this. There it was. The irritation curled lazily beneath my ribs, slow and deliberate. Not anger. No. Anger was inefficient. Anger clouded precision.This was something colder and sharper.

Alejandro Cortes was many things. And being indecisive was not one of them. Which meant his silence was intentional. Maybe even calculated. And I disliked being kept waiting. “Walk me through it,” I said coldly. Adrian shifted slightly, as though adjusting beneath an invisible weight. “The meeting went as planned. Security was tight on neutral ground and there was no incidents.”

Obviously.

“I presented your proposal exactly as instructed.”

“Word for word?” I asked.

“Yes.” Then another pause.

My eyes lifted slowly to his. “Word. For. Word.”

Adrian stiffened and answered. “Yes.”

I studied him. Measured him, through my deadly gaze. Men revealed more discomfort than they ever did in confidence. And Adrian, despite his competence, had never mastered the art of deception under pressure. Unfortunate. For him.

“What,” I asked quietly, “did Cortes say?”

Adrian exhaled slowly. “He asked for clarification.”

Of course, he did.

Alejandro Cortes was not a man who accepted ambiguity. He dissected everything. Every word and every implication. Every hidden threat is buried beneath polite diplomacy. Which was precisely why the proposal had been structured the way it was. Elegant, unavoidable, and devastating.

“And what clarification,” I asked, “did he require?” Adrian’s voice lowered slightly. “He wanted to know if the terms were negotiable.” A soft laugh escaped me.

Negotiable? Oh, how f*cking charming! The proposal had not been designed for negotiation. It had been designed for submission. For inevitability. “For the sake of accuracy,” I said smoothly, “repeat the proposal.” Adrian went still. There was a flicker of hesitation. Then he spoke it carefully. “As per your directive,” he began carefully, “we offered a strategic alliance between the Vassiliou Syndicate and the Cortes Family.”

I nodded once and beckoned him to continue.

“Continue.”

“In exchange for peace between territories, mutual protection, and unrestricted operations within contested regions…” His voice tightened almost imperceptibly. “…Don Cortes would formally recognize Vassiliou authority over the eastern ports.” Eastern ports were the heart of it. The incision point. Territory was power and ports were arteries. You control the arteries, you fucking control the empire.

“And,” I prompted softly.

Adrian’s jaw clenched. “And he would enter an exclusive binding agreement.”

I tilted my head slightly. “Define.” Adrian’s gaze flickered downward. Then back to me.

“The agreement would establish permanent integration between both organizations.” Still dancing around it. Still resisting the blade. My voice dropped, silk wrapped around steel. “Define.” Adrian inhaled slowly. “… Through marriage.”

Silence flooded the room. It was heavy. It was perfect for me. There it was. The truth laid bare. No fucking theatrics and no embellishment. Just the brutal elegance of reality.

Alejandro Cortes. Mafia don.

Feared sovereign of violence and discipline.

Presented with a proposal that demanded no space but a tribute. A permanent binding, an unavoidable union. Not a political merger or a temporary alliance, but a marriage. Legal and symbolic to many, but here, ah, I could almost taste it. The emotional and psychological devastation. The chaos would ensue. Because power shared through contract was one thing. But power, bound through intimacy, was something else entirely.

“And Cortes’ reaction?” I asked sharply. Adrian’s voice was tight now. “He didn’t respond immediately.”

“That is not a reaction.”

Adrian hesitated.

Then spoke.

“He smiled.”

I went very still. A slow, deliberate stillness. Alejandro Cortes did not smile lightly. Men like him smiled the way predators bared teeth. “And?”

Adrian’s voice dropped further. “He said…” Another pause. Another fracture in composure.

“If you continue to f*cking stall, I’m going to blow your brains out and make it splatter across this room,” I spoke menacingly, in which he trembled in fear. Good.

“He said it was… bold.” He answered with trembling lips.

Bold? My smile deepened slightly. “Yes,” I murmured. “It is.”

Adrian shifted again. Uneasy. Because he understood what that word truly meant. Bold meant intriguing, dangerous, and not immediately rejected. “And after that?”

“He dismissed the meeting.”

Alejandro Cortes was not a man who entertained absurdity. Which meant he had not seen the proposal as absurd. He had seen it for what it truly was. A challenge and provocation from yours truly. An invitation wrapped in threat. My gaze drifted back toward the city lights, glowing softly beyond the glass. It was beautiful but at the same time, deceptive. Like everything worth wanting. “Leave us,” I said quietly.

Adrian didn’t argue and didn’t hesitate. He turned and walked out with the rigid efficiency of a man grateful to still be breathing. The door clicked shut as silence reclaimed the room. I allowed myself a slow exhalation, fingers tapping lightly against the armrest.

Marriage. Most men would see it as political theater. A strategic absurdity. But Alejandro Cortes would understand. Marriage was not symbolism. For us made men, marriage was ownership. Access, proximity, and above all, control. Not just over territory, but over the man himself. Because power was easiest to dismantle from the inside. And Alejandro Cortes was a fortress worth breaching.

My smile lingered in the darkness. He hadn’t said no.

And men like us—

We both knew what that meant.

War was coming.

One way…

Or another.