Nikolai Volkov Book Novels & Stories

"And no one will try to stop you, Evelina. Not Sergei, and certainly not the brothers. Not after they saw you nearly crack Mikhail’s ribs with a piece of silver." "Good," I snapped, my eyes never leaving the rhythmic, agonizingly slow rise and fall of Leo’s chest. "Because I’m done being the piece on the board. I’m the one moving them now." Nikolai stepped further into the room, his shadow stretching across the linoleum. "You need to understand something before we go down to the levels. Volkov isn't just a man. He’s a rot. He has been systematically dismantling our borders for three years. He uses children as leverage and ghosts as soldiers. If you step outside these walls seeking him, you a

I snarled, taking a threatening step forward. Nikolai didn't flinch. Instead, he stood, moving with that impossible grace until he stood directly in front of me. "I suggest you remember who you are. The Roman Volkov I remember wouldn't let anger make him sloppy. He'd use it, channel it, turn it into something precise and deadly." His words cut through the haze of rage and exhaustion that had been clouding my thoughts. He was right – I'd been reacting exactly as they wanted me to, letting my fear for Amelia override everything else.

"After everything I've done to keep you in power, after every string I pulled for your benefit—this is your gratitude?" The president coughed, blood staining his lips. "You...you’re nothing but a criminal," he spat weakly. Nikolai let out a sharp laugh, his voice dripping with mockery. "A criminal who made you untouchable. And now? Look where you are. Pathetic." I crouched beside him, close enough that he could feel my breath on his face. "Do you know what happens to fools who betray the Volkov name?" I asked, tilting my head.

I looked at the photograph. At the shoulders. At the initial. V. Viktor Volkov had been twenty years old in the summer of 1991. Before the company. Before everything. Before anyone knew the shape of what he'd become. I sat in the Islington café and held a photograph of my mother and a young man whose face I couldn't see clearly and felt the world do the thing it had been doing to me at intervals for three years reorganising itself quietly around a fact that had been true the whole time, waiting for the moment I was ready to see it.

Nikolai I glared at Anya over the table, ready to really kill this bitch for real. She was clearly having fun with this because she grabbed her father’s arm and then sheepishly said, “I don’t think that’s necessary, Father. I wouldn’t want to impose anything on Nikolai. He seems like someone who would rather find his own person.” “Nonsense.” Volkov waved dismissively. “He should be honored that he’s having my daughter as his wife. Is that right, Grey?”