Nikolai Petrov Novels & Stories

“I know it.” I wasn’t so sure. But I wanted to believe it — for him. For the pups. “I had a dream last night,” I said. “I was walking through the forest, but everything was quiet. Too quiet. Then I saw her — Mila — standing by the river. And when I got close, she smiled like she was proud of what she’d done. Nick’s face hardened. “She’s not done breaking people,” I said. “Unless we stop her.” “We will,” he said firmly. “You’re not going to have to keep looking over your shoulder. I promise.”

"Alpha, Nicholas. While I don't know him on a personal level, I do know who he is." Everyone's attention falls on my mate as Nick signals for her to carry on while my gut twists and already I have absolutely no doubt that whatever she's about to tell us next will result in me ending that prick's life. "His name is Talon Beckham. He's one of the leaders of the... pack, and unfortantly, he is my mate." Yeah, he's going to die!

After all, he was one of Klaus's men, his right-hand man, or at least someone the man would definitely trust to do a couple of dirty deals. "Oh, come on, I'm sure I wouldn't mind a nearly two-meter-tall man with gray eyes and muscles," she said, laughing. "Russian men are definitely adorable, thinking they're tough and aggressive." Anika shook her head. "Oh, believe me, the Petrovs are pretty aggressive on their own," she said, instinctively caressing her cheek, although the bruises and wounds had healed long ago. The emotional wound Nikolay had left behind was hard to forget.

He understood what Caspian was moving toward and he was offering something that was genuinely useful. The question was what he wanted back that he hadn't said yet. "What's the part you haven't told me," Caspian said. Viktor smiled again. Slower this time. "I have a problem. In New York. A man named Petrov who has been disrupting my operations there for two years. I need him to understand that I have friends he hasn't considered." He looked at Caspian evenly. "Not violence. I want to be very clear. I'm not asking for anything that crosses your new lines. I just need him to know that the people who are now standing next to me include someone he should think twice about."

Lila, halfway down the stairs in her pajamas, froze at the sight of the men on the threshold. Four of them. Black coats, black gloves, faces carved from stone. The one in front was the tallest—broad-shouldered, dark-haired, with eyes the pale gray of winter skies over the Neva River. A scar cut through his left eyebrow, giving him a permanent look of disdain. Nikolai Volkov. Even she knew the name. Head of the Volkov Bratva in New York. Ruthless. Untouchable. Vincent’s voice cracked. “Nikolai. I asked for more time—”

Nikolai A figure emerged from the shadows. Tall and regal, he introduced himself, “My name is Vladimir, the Vampire King of America.” Nikolai didn’t flinch, though tension twisted in his gut. “You know who I am,” he replied, keeping his voice steady. “You claim peace,” Nikolai challenged. “But why surround us?” Vladimir held his gaze, unblinking. “I needed to ensure you wouldn’t attack.” Nikolai raised an eyebrow. “Fine. I’ll listen.”

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.”

Dimitri asked and everyone turned to me, waiting for a confirmation. “There's nothing going on with her and I don't have women issues. Can we focus on what this meeting is about?” I asked. “You're the one who wasn't focusing,” Ivan Petrov muttered. He was a Russian prince and the only reason he was here was because we had been kidnapped together when we were younger. “Now I am so can we focus?” I asked and everyone went silent. My eyes darkened towards O'Neil Smith, a millionaire here in America that ran several news outlets and stations.

"And who is the lady?” I didn't bother with the game. “Natalie. My special projects coordinator.” His smile widened. “Interesting." Ivan straightened and turned to Natalie. "Ivan Romanov.” His introduction was straightforward. Nikolai lifted one hand lazily from his chair. “Nikolai Romanov.” Then he settled back like he owned the room. Natalie nodded with a simple smile. Nikolai opened the folder in front of him. He clearly had something to say.

“Say it.” Marco’s jaw tightened. “Someone we weren’t expecting to move this fast.” Adrien’s gaze sharpened. “Who?” Marco tapped the last photo. Adrien stilled. The man in the picture wasn’t unfamiliar. Dark hair. Sharp features. Eyes that carried something calculating beneath the surface. “You’ve heard of him,” Marco said quietly. Adrien’s voice dropped. “Yes.” A beat. “Leonid Petrov.” The room felt colder instantly. The analyst shifted slightly. “You know him?” he asked carefully.