Nikolai Lantsov Novels & Stories

The group of princesses behind me made a squeal as the young man sauntered out of the crowd into the clearing in the middle of the hall. “Deucalion,” I whispered, looking at the selected prince. I couldn’t see most of him from where I stood, but he had beautiful black hair just like Valerian just longer, reaching almost his waist. He wore a red jacket over a pair of red trousers. He caught my stare, and I instinctively turned back to the announcer. He pulled a parchment from the second box and having already been caught staring at the handsome prince, the thought of having the dance with him was no longer appealing.

“My roommate had him last semester. She said every girl in her class had a crush on him.” “I don’t blame them.” “I heard he has three degrees.” “I heard he speaks five languages.” “I heard he’s single.” My eye twitched. Why did everyone seem to know so much about him except me? What else had he conveniently forgotten to mention? Was he secretly an astronaut too? Maybe he climbed Mount Everest on weekends. The lecture theatre gradually fell silent as Nikolai picked up a marker. With neat, precise handwriting, he wrote two words across the whiteboard. Professor Nikolai Volkov.

His beady little eyes undressing me as he spoke. "That's not it, last week the las we had thrown into the ring with those two creatures and was devoured in two minutes flat. She was a looker, bigger tits than this one too." The Woman who had a hold of my right arm threw in. Her thick Scottish accent made it hard to understand her completely. "Ahh, yes, that's very true. I can't believe I forgot about her." Leon looked up dreamily. This guy is so disgusting. "Sit," Ivan ordered, finally turning his attention to me. I was shoved forward and slammed down into the wooden bench.

He called gently and I looked at him as saliva gathered in my mouth while I tried to act natural. "Meet my brother, Viktor Sokolov." He introduced and it felt like a bucket of ice had been thrown onto me. 'This man was Viktor Sokolov?' I gasped as it now hit me why he looked so familiar. I had seen this man before on this news several times because he was a military soldier captain and it was nothing good. Mostly about him bombing other armies, sneaking an attack or planning a coup. A reporter had once said that the only difference between this man and a Black mamba was that this man could walk so what Don Luciano doing besides him?

“Elias Gray. Thank you for accepting me in your firm. Ms. Vale told me that you needed a lawyer as a second advisor to your lawyer.” “Valerie is fine,” I said. My palm was steady when he shook it; the temperature of his hand matched the room, controlled. “It is Rosalyn who thinks we need reinforcement. I trust her judgment.” “And I trust yours,” he replied, taking the seat I indicated. “I’ll work alongside Ms. Lewis to review investor contracts and filings, particularly with Lorenzo D’Amaris as I was informed that he is one of your potential investors..” My mouth flattened around that name. “You know him?”

And only three, desperate, loud taps against the door would ruin her perfect little day. “Coming.” She rushed to the door and opened it, “How may I help you?” Ellaine could barely distinguish the gender of her visitor. That’s because of the black cloak he wore. It was not until she heard his voice that she realized he was a male. Ellaine found it hard to make out the words he said in that deep, rasping voice, “..is..N..mais..Nromais..” “Sorry, what are you talking about?” “Give me the Nromais.”

“YOU HAVE TO LET ME GO, YOU TRUNK OF A MAN!” A low, sinister chuckle leaves his lips at my lame insult, his wide shoulders shaking slowly at the motion. “My name is Santino Ricca.”

Darius pulls up a picture of some slices in a tree, swiping through them all and each is slightly different and would be barely noticeable were you not looking for something. "It's the code Eligor used to recruit his followers. Ekron is calling for them to support him to finish his work." Samuel says, his voice shifting between rage and apathy. "You can read this? Where are they?" Flame shoves the phone towards Samuel and he frowns, studying the pictures.

Like his jabs at Damian were anything but targeted at making him blow his cover. Nikolai Romanov. So this is who he is in the business world? If Theodore introduced him to me then perhaps the man knows his onions. “You’re Liliana Ravasi,” he says, his eyes crinkling with a smile that reveals a set of pearly whites. A capitalist’s winning ticket, through and through. “Pleasure.” He offers his hand which I shake in a firm grip. I should correct his mistake but for some reason, I decide against it.

Nikolai Volkov, second-in-command of the Bratva, always answered the same way—flat, unimpressed, like Alessandro was wasting his time. Alessandro smirked. “Let’s keep this short, Nikolai. I don’t have all night.” Nikolai let out a low chuckle, devoid of humor. “No pleasantries? You did blow up four of our warehouses.” Alessandro swirled the whiskey in his glass. “You say that like it wasn’t deserved.” Silence. Then, Nikolai’s voice sharpened. “You’ve made enemies, Moretti.” Alessandro’s grip on the glass tightened. “I was born with them.”