Dostoevsky Novels & Stories

A turbulent wave clashed in my chest and I pressed my fist on the conference table, even children hadn’t been spared. Dominic, sensing the pressure building inside me, flipped the list to something else and I was now staring at a picture of an unfamiliar man. “This is Yaroslav Kozlov aka the deathsmith and he’s the Alexei’s most deadliest krysha-” Krysha was the Russian term for enforcer and I didn’t need Dominic’s information to tell that this Yaroslav fucker was one. He had the empty gaze of one who had sent many men back to their maker.

Blood drips from their daggers onto the stone floor. My heart stops. Time seems to stretch. One of them—the muscular one—shuts the door behind him. "You were right about her, Vladimir," the ratlike one remarks. "She’s truly a beauty." He inhales deeply and grins. "Mm. So sweet and innocent as well." "Aye." Vladimir’s thin lips twist into a sinister smile. "But not for long." I leap from the four-poster bed, nearly tripping over the covers. I snatch the letter opener from my bedside table and hold it out in front of me. Despite being made of silver, it’s a feeble weapon against three bloodthirsty Wolves.

As if he'd seen something that could've been more. And now it was just… broken. That night, in the dark, Zane whispered to himself. “I will kill you Andrei Dostoevsky. I will kill you all." He said it again. And again. And even when his voice failed, the words echoed in his skull.

He leaned closer, invading my space so completely I could feel the unnatural heat radiating off his massive frame. "I am Yaroslav Dnipro," he murmured, his rasping voice dropping to a frequency that seemed to vibrate straight through the marble bar. "Head of the Dnipro syndicate. I heard Volkov had taken a bride—a fiery, mechanical little thing from the lower sectors and I simply had to see if you lived up to the exaggerated tales." My stomach flipped into a hard, cold knot, but I forced my spine to remain straight as steel. I didn't flinch. I slowly set my crystal glass down on the bar, looking him dead in his dark, unblinking eyes.

Two men stood next to Victor, and their presence sent a spurt of frozen adrenaline through his system. To his right, there sat Dmitri Volkov, the notorious "Tsar of Siberian Gas." The granite-jawed mogul with a track record for crushing competitors with the tacit support of the Kremlin. He was oligarchy personified—Politically unstoppable, pitiless, and wallowing in mineral wealth.

Russell kicked me in the stomach, causing me to fall over, and he wasted no time to climb on top of me. His hands found my throat, trying to squeeze the life out of me. I could feel the nerves in my head popping while my breathing was slowing down. "I want it all, Chelsea, and I will have it all." He shook me hard. "What can I say? I fuck women for their money. I go on the internet to find the most liable rich whore to make my tragic. I found out that most was faking the lifestyle and killed them." His hands tighten. "But you, a tough one. I should hold you for ransom. I had so many chances to, and could have taken every red cent that bastard father of yours has, and when he can't produce an

My purpose here is clear: to reclaim what rightfully belongs to me. My name is Nikolai Fedorov, a seasoned assassin who has faithfully served the Bratva for countless years. Renowned for my exceptional skills and unyielding brutality, I have earned a fearsome reputation among our ranks. Having held the esteemed title of Vor within the London Bratva, I now find myself in Chicago, prepared to assume the mantle of Vor for the esteemed Chicago Bratva. As Vor, I bear the weighty responsibility of maintaining order and ensuring strict adherence to the Bratva’s unwavering code of conduct.

I'd half hoped he'd at the very least call to yell about his painting, but he couldn't even spare me his anger. ​But Wolveshedge took my mind off of all that. It was like a different world where everyone was happy all the goddamn time; I was half content with it and half disgusted with the level of joy in the atmosphere. The town was peaceful and everyone seemed to be content with their small little section on the map, even if they were so terribly discontented. But it was why I chose this place, wasn't it? To be safe and discontented, yet I couldn't chase the feeling of something missing from the discombobulated picture I was forming day by day.

he said as he stared at the burning building, and I heard from a distance painful screams from that building. “Grim reaper?” both my mind and mouth asked. I read stories about them from multiple books in my library. He shook his head as he whispered to my ear, “Non, I am Doom and I-“

I was shaking my head again but he responded by nodding his head and stilling the movements of my head, "it all stops today, right at this moment. I don't have the patience to deal with it, my little star, not even the least bit of patience. I'm not an angel, never have been and never will be. I would hope that you know that much about me but I've kept my true self hidden from your innocent eyes your entire life because I really did enjoy the innocent relationship that crossed those blurred lines." He let go of my face, his hands now on the tray, "I'm a bad man, Nastassia. The kind of bad they write about in horror movies and the kind of bad they have locked up in cells on foreign islands un