4. Nikolai

I left the private lounge with the same calm that had carried me through decades of negotiations, assassinations, and power plays. The Amalfi Coast stretched beneath me, the horizon smeared in the dying light of sunset, but I barely registered it. Nature’s beauty was irrelevant to men like us; what mattered was consequence, timing, and leverage.

Alejandro Cortes had received the proposal. He had not rejected it. That detail alone was delicious. Bold? Yes. Provocative? Certainly. Effective? Immeasurably. And yet, his silence, the pause he held, the subtle tension behind his eyes, spoke volumes. He was already calculating how to respond, how to regain control, and in that calculation lay vulnerability.

I relished that.

Men like Cortes were dangerous, yes, but they were also predictable in ways that made them manageable. Their empires were steel, forged through fear and blood, yet every fortress had a seam. Every unbreakable wall had a fracture point. I had found his.

Marriage. A word most would dismiss as political theater. For Alejandro, it was a lever. For me, it was inevitable.

As I descended the marble staircase toward the waiting car, I replayed the meeting. The way he had measured me, the way his jaw tightened at the suggestion of collateral, his daughter and his wife. Ah, yes. That small detail was already setting a fire in him that could not be contained. I would stoke it, carefully, invisibly.

The city outside the lounge was alive, unaware of the storm I had already planned. My men were in position, moving like shadows, invisible, silent. The subtle orchestration of chaos was always more effective than brute force. And soon, the seams of the Cortes empire would be tested, but not by armies, but by precision. By psychological incision. By inevitability.

Alejandro Cortes, devil incarnate, thought he controlled everything. I knew better. Men like him believed in absolutes: loyalty, fear, power. They did not account for the subtle art of breaking without touching.

The proposal was more than a contract. It was access. It was leverage. And, if handled with care, it would become a weapon aimed at what mattered most to him.

I smiled faintly, not for satisfaction, but for anticipation. I could see the cascade already forming. The first tremors were subtle: hesitation in his spine, the tightening of his chest, the calculation of risk. Soon, those tremors would grow. His daughter, Lana, would be exposed to circumstances. His wife, Camila, would be tested. And Alejandro himself…

I would watch him unravel with the same meticulous patience I applied to every empire I touched.

Power was always a reflection of will. Alejandro’s will was formidable, yes. But so was mine. And the difference? I did not hesitate. I did not consider morality. I considered inevitability.

The car whisked me away from the Amalfi Coast, the sun slipping behind the horizon like a promise of darkness to come. I allowed myself a small measure of indulgence: the knowledge that Alejandro Cortes, the unyielding, the predator, would soon be forced to act on something he had not initiated, something he could not control.

I had been patient for decades. I had observed men like him, empires like his, families like his. Alejandro was human, no matter the legend. And humans, who are monsters in their own right, are always flawed.

I allowed the faintest smirk. I could almost hear the gears turning behind his eyes: calculation, strategy, control. He would try to protect his family. He would try to strike preemptively. And in doing so, he would play into the orchestration I had already begun.

The private plane awaited. My men boarded silently, as always. Orders had been given weeks ago, and contingency plans had already been rehearsed. The pieces were in motion. Alejandro Cortes would never see the board as clearly as I did. He would react, and I would guide that reaction, invisible and unavoidable.

I considered the aftermath, the inevitable chaos. Lana Cortes, bright, fearless, innocent, would not survive untouched. A collateral fracture. A consequence of inevitability, not malice. Her death would not please me, nor sadden me. It was simply effective. He provoked me first. Then, let chaos ensue.

Camila? Strong, calculating, loyal, but she would break in ways Alejandro would never anticipate. He would descend into chaos. And that chaos, that would be my triumph.

I leaned back in my seat, eyes closing briefly. I did not feel guilt. I did not feel satisfied. I felt clarity, precision, control. Like I always do.

Alejandro Cortes believed he had invited inevitability into his life by engaging with me. In truth, he had only opened the first door. The rest was already preordained.

I would watch him burn, not from hatred, not from revenge, but from consequence. The devil does not revel in suffering; the devil orchestrates it. And Alejandro Cortes, devil as he was in his own right, would meet a force that was equal, patient, and entirely unyielding.

We would collide. But first, I will allow the first ripple to spread. The first shadow to fall. The first domino to tip. I do not make mistakes. I do not miscalculate. And men like Alejandro rarely anticipate what is not visible. Soon, he would. And when he did, he would understand.

The Amalfi coastline faded behind the clouds, darkness claiming it, as darkness claimed all I touched. I had planted inevitability.

And Alejandro Cortes would fall into it.

I allowed a thought to linger, one small indulgence before the night swallowed me entirely: men like him believed in control. But no man, no matter how brilliant, could control the storm I was about to unleash. And when that storm arrived, it would not just tear through his empire, it would tear through him. His mind. His blood. His soul.

I had made a promise, subtle and invisible: to break him without touching him. To teach him what inevitability truly meant.

And I would.

Even now, as the plane lifted from the tarmac, the city lights shrinking beneath us, I imagined the small, innocuous sequences that would set the avalanche in motion. A distracted guard, a misread signal, a single unnoticed courier. Imperceptible. Invisible. Yet, sufficient. Just enough to bend probability.

I pictured Alejandro’s face when he learned of the first fracture. The tightening of his jaw. The silent counting of potential outcomes. The careful, measured response. Ah, yes, he would act, and he would act too late. And that delay would be enough.

In the distance, the horizon swallowed the last traces of sun, and with it, any illusions of clarity Alejandro might have possessed. The night was mine. The inevitability was mine. The orchestration complete, ready to cascade.

I exhaled slowly. The weight of the coming storm did not thrill me. It was merely a fact. I had set the chain in motion. I had introduced a variable too volatile to be ignored. And Alejandro Cortes, devil as he was, would soon learn what it meant to be human, fragile, and powerless in the face of inevitability.

And when he fell, he would not fall alone.