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#musings (ZOYA OF THE LOST CITY)
visd3stele · 3 years
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If these three characters would meet, they'd either end the world, or save it, depends on what kind of day it is:
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art credit in order:
Nesta *all photos from pinterest
Ink.Fae on instagram
Erika Gentile on instagram
krasnyzmeya
I don't know, I'm sorry
Zoya *all photos from pinterest
1. can't find it anymore :((
2. kolarp em (morning doodles on instagram)
3. jxclecl on tumblr
4. camerommccafferry
Azula *all photos from pinterest
1. SkyFreim on DeviantArt
2. I don't know
3. can't find it anymore
4. kissyushka on DeviantArt
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“don’t go,” he said, still half asleep.
“i have to bathe. i smell like a forest fire.”
“you smell like wildflowers. you always do. what can i say to make you stay?” his words trailed off into a drowsy mumble as he fell back asleep.
tell me it’s more than war and worry that makes you speak those words. tell me what they would mean if you weren’t a king and i weren’t a soldier. but she didn’t want to hear any of that, not really. sweet words and grand declarations were for other people, other lives.
she brushed the hair back from his face, placed a kiss on his foreheaed. “i would stay forever if i could,” she whispered. he wouldn’t remember anyway.
leigh bardugo, rule of wolves
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sanktnikolais · 3 years
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Feed The Wolves
A/N: your local zoyalai stan neighbor is here yet again for another content but this time it’s for @wafflesandkruge​‘s birthday!!! I went way overboard with this ig but the Vincenzo fever we’ve been on for the past two weeks was still strong and the ending still tugs at my heart. So pls have this mess, Tiff, I’m sorry HAHDKLHJAFDS Happy birthday, dearest! 🥺🥺
Word count: 13 874
CW: graphic depictions of violence and gore. Read at your own risk.
The Lantsovs have finally taken their move to overthrow the Brums’ tyranny to the extremities. They thought they already have the upper hand and that the odds are finally on their side. But in a game that two players have nothing and everything to lose, there is always a catch in every move they make, and with it also comes a price.
How far are they willing to take it?
If Nikolai could be proud of one moment, he knew it would be today. One couldn’t just make an easy audience with the head of the Brum Family; usually it would take nearly a week to set up an appointment. Jarl Brum was one of the first men to establish their own Families, along with the Tabans, Lantsovs, and the Morozovas, and he was the most powerful among them. 
          For now. 
          When one of the biggest Families was in a war and planning to attack another with the same reputation, it was only necessary to play carefully. Especially going against a cunning opponent like Jarl Brum. Today’s predicament was tricky; one wrong move could cost them the chance. Or worse—their lives. Either way, it was dangerous. But if they didn’t at least try to keep the Brums at bay, it would only be a matter of time before they take over all the cities, including Os Alta. And considering how they handled things, lots of lives could be lost. 
          There was still another way out of this, but it involved extreme measures and there would be no returning after that. He could only hope he wouldn’t have to settle for that last resort no matter how slim his chances were.
          Nikolai snapped the lid of his lighter closed, his loud mind finding solace in the metallic clink it made. His eyes caught on the engraving on the side of the lighter. Consigliere Idiot. He fought a smile. The lighter had been a gift to him by Zoya on his birthday a few years back, and it somehow became his talisman ever since. It was a weird kind of gift at first, with Zoya knowing too well that he didn’t smoke that much. But he still got attached to it. 
          You never know, it might come in handy when you suddenly have an urge to set some place on fire, was what she had told him. 
          He scoffed at the memory, and then took a deep breath as he focused on his current situation. The risks of having this meeting turn to the bloodbath Nikolai was expecting were high, and if he were to be honest, winning a fight against the Brums was almost impossible. 
          But he was never the one to believe in impossible. Only improbable. The one thing he could do now was to put faith on the odds being at their side at the end of the day.
          He flicked his lighter open and closed again before checking his watch. The bright numbers glared back at him like a countdown of a time bomb nearing its detonation. 17:48. Twelve minutes. 
          If his estimate was right, Zoya and her men would have arrived by now and started their raid. But knowing the Lantsov Underboss to be careful and precise, they would need a bit more time. It only meant Nikolai had to continue making small talks with the man to try and see if he could settle a score with the Don without the use of violence. Talking proved to be a bit difficult, though, as the head of the Family was being attentive to focusing on his paperworks rather than Nikolai’s presence.
          "The numbers are really unstable in the past two weeks and it's mostly plummeting," said Jarl as his eyes scanned the paper he was holding for the last time. Then with a dramatic sigh, he opened the drawer to his right and put the file inside, plastering a rather fake smile on his lips afterwards. "There's been a lot of visitors."
          Nikolai could see right through the man's displeasure. He almost laughed. At least the feeling is mutual. "Tell me about it," he said with a light laugh. "Having your business overrun without any reason sure does something to you." 
          A shadow crossed the Don's face, but Nikolai only smiled innocently and held his gloved hand out for a handshake, a sort of formal gesture between a Don and a Consigliere before and after every meeting. Anyone lower than the Underboss aren't allowed to touch the head of a Family, and they could only do as much as bow in respect for the Don. 
          Jarl accepted it reluctantly, his grip firm as if he were contemplating breaking Nikolai’s hand. Nikolai was grateful when the man didn't. Maybe because it wasn't a good sight to have and talk business to a Consigliere with a broken hand. 
          "A pleasant afternoon, isn't it?" mused Nikolai as he took a sip of the coffee. It tasted good, but not nearly as good as Genya's brew. No poison. Or maybe there was and the effects just weren't kicking in yet. He suddenly wished for the woman's knack on any poison. "The perfect chance to kill time.”
          The Brum Don laughed lightly, the sound mildly threatening as if he had just thought of something vile. “Indeed, Consigliere,” he said, leaning back more comfortably in his chair. “Is the coffee good? I apologize if it isn’t, but I do hope the atmosphere is comfortable.”
          Nikolai fought a wince. He had been here a few times before. Jarl’s office was ice white—ranging from the walls, floorings, and the ceiling. Even the chair he was sitting on had been white. The only thing that gave another color to the pasty room were the furniture and a few appliances. At least his couches were blood red, and the view of the huge window behind his desk was different in shade. Nikolai was thankful for the change of scenery. 
          “No, no. Everything is good.” It sounded fake, considering how he despised the man's office. But he shook it off. He tipped the mug up in a toast. “I appreciate it, and thank you for accepting my appointment.” He found it funny and silly, when Jarl’s caporegimes used the term “appointment”. It was as if Nikolai wanted to get his teeth checked by a dentist, and considering how the man’s office looked, maybe it really was one. “I thought it would take me another week to wait for the confirmation.”
          “You’re a Lantsov, from the first pioneers of the Families.” Jarl paused, a hint of a sneer appearing on his face. “You needn’t to be delayed.”
          There was something the way Jarl spoke that didn’t sit well with Nikolai, like the man knew something he didn’t. A thought crossed his mind, but he shook it off. There was no way Jarl knew about that. Or was it? It was not impossible—the Brum Don had a wide network of informants. Rumor had it that there were a few in Os Alta, the city that the Lantsovs had control over. 
          Him knowing about Nikolai’s real father would only give him power against them. But then Nikolai still decided to brush it off, though its dangerous possibility still lingered at the back of his mind. It wasn’t the time to think of it. They had to take back the territories that were once theirs, even if they had to do it by brute force. It’s what Zoya would have preferred, anyway.
          “That’s good to hear,” said Nikolai with a tight smile.
          The man crossed his hands over the table, a glint evident in his eyes. Nikolai didn’t know what to make out of it. “So let’s hear it, Consigliere,” said Jarl. “What brings the Lantsovs here?”
          Straight to the point. Nikolai put his mug back to the desk and removed his gloves, exposing his scarred hands. Jarl’s eyes flitted to Nikolai's hands for a moment before looking away, an uncomfortable expression on his face. Nikolai felt a sneer twitch on his lips. Scars weren’t new to people like them—they had new ones very often, depending on the work they were doing that time. It was their brand, and they wear it with pride.
          But if people knew the history of the scars you bore, especially when you had gotten it from being the vicious Enforcer who once intimidated the streets of Halmhend, you would have an ace against your enemies. And for Nikolai, he exactly just had that. 
          “We’re eyeing the areas in Halmhend and Ulensk for expansion,” he said, and he noticed the Brum Don perk up a little from his chair. Now Nikolai had his attention. “I heard that the two properties in those locations require some...changes. Big changes, if I may add. So I would like to propose an offer to buy the property for double its actual value.” He stopped to consider, putting a finger to his chin. "No, wait. Make it triple." 
          Jarl didn't answer for a while, and his expression was in between being offended and amused. Nikolai wondered if the man thought that his offer was a bluff. 
          "I think you're quite mistaken, Consigliere," he said mildly, his tone having an underlying disbelief. "We do not place our properties up for purchase or any sort of deal." 
          The properties you had taken from Families by force, Nikolai wanted to say, but he bit back his tongue. The feel of the lighter in his other hand was enough to ease the sudden flare of anger in his chest. He put on his signature grin to cover it up. "Ah, but I thought your numbers were plummeting for the past two weeks? I think my offer would help the numbers to be friendly and rise up nicely again." 
          "Is that what your father told you to do?" Jarl asked as he leaned back further into his chair. The look on his face had gone from slightly friendly to threatening. "To try and sway me with money?" 
          "Don't we all want to be swayed and pampered by money?" countered Nikolai, the grin never leaving his lips. Jarl’s expression only became darker, and it made Nikolai want to goad him more. "Think of the numbers finally rising, Jarl. I know you want that." 
          "It’s foolish to think that I’d willingly sell properties that we have the ability to look after just quite well, Consigliere.” The Brum Don shook his head with a disappointed expression. “I never thought you would be this desperate.”
          This ticked something inside Nikolai, and he found himself suddenly saying, “Is that why you worked with the Radimovs to overthrow our territories?”
          There was a tense silence, and the expression on Jarl’s face turned from angry to mildly surprised, like he hadn't expected Nikolai to know about the Brums involvement with the assault. They weren't the only Family with spies stationed in different cities; the Lantsovs had just as much informants as the Brums have, if not a bit less.
          Nikolai took the silence as his chance to continue. "Ah, let me make that clear. The Radimovs doing the dirty work and the Brums happening to ‘buy’ the two properties the following day from them. That's pretty much all of it, right? And it's not different from what you did with the Tabans and the Demidovs. And somehow the Morozovas too." He chuckled darkly. "Though it's probably pretty much the Morozovas' payment to your Family for protecting their ass, so I wouldn't really take that into account. Doesn't take a genius to figure that out."
          Jarl’s jaw was set, as if determined not to admit to the accusation. His eyes were hard, but Nikolai could notice the man's hand suddenly fiddling the pen within his reach in tense movements. He has such an obvious tell. "I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about." 
          "Oh, I'm merely joking, sir. I mean, I am indeed a genius in certain aspects, but I didn’t learn about that information by connecting the dots. I knew about your tactics from an informant," said Nikolai with a kind smile. "We may have been spiraling a bit out of control since the attempted murder of my father, but we're not as stupid as you think."
          The Brums had used the Lantsovs’ distraction in prioritizing the Don’s security to their advantage, going as far as making frequent appearances in their properties, and even in Os Alta. One of the instances he couldn’t forget were the three Brum soldiers who had caused disturbance in their bar in Kribirsk, and it stirred up the brewing dispute between their Families. 
          Nikolai wouldn't even be surprised if the Brums had something to do with the assassination. And if he were to really think of it now, it was most likely possible. The Demidovs weren't that powerful enough to do something as bold as trying to take down one of the most powerful Dons in the country, unless there was a much bigger hand controlling them. 
          The only Family who had the ability to pull off a stunt like that was the Brums. But knowing them, they always used someone else to do their dirty work for them as they wanted to maintain the 'clean slate' of their name. 
          They could always put out the fire, but they can never cover up the smoke. 
          Jarl considered Nikolai for another moment, and then he let out a loud laugh. “I get why Alexander appointed you as Consigliere and not your older brother. A clever boy, you are,” he said. "Can't be fooled easily." 
          "I'd take that as a compliment, sir," said Nikolai. 
          He reached over to the mug of coffee again, but his hand suddenly felt stiff and rigid as if something was keeping it from being able to move. Then his vision blurred slightly for a moment before it sharpened again, making him blink. 
          It took him a second, and a quiet laugh bubbled from his chest. His suspicions were right, then. He gripped the lighter tightly in his hand like it was the only source of his strength. Coffee was the last thing he had expected to have poison in it, and disbelief muddled his mind. 
          Cheeky bastard, should have put it in brandy or whiskey instead of slandering coffee this way.
          Nikolai held the mug with a bit of effort in his outstretched hand, trying not to let his strain show. But when he looked up back to the Don again, there was no denying that he had already noticed Nikolai’s difficulty in moving, and the beginning of a smirk was evident on Jarl’s expression. The knife hidden under the lapel of Nikolai’s coat suddenly felt heavy.
          This was going to be a pain to get through again. 
          "How's your father, Nikolai?" the man asked. Even his voice sounded faraway now. "Is he recovering well?" 
          "He is. Quite well, I'll say. He might get discharged next week," Nikolai replied before raising the mug to his lips again. It was only when he took another sip of the coffee did he finally recognize the slightest difference in the taste of a purely black coffee. Genya would have scolded him for not recognizing it right away. Cyanide. Cheap. "He sends his regards, by the way." 
          Jarl smiled. "I appreciate it." He paused, his eyebrows furrowing in mock concern. Nikolai wanted to laugh. "Are you alright? You seem to be looking quite unwell."
          Nikolai shrugged, the movement requiring much more effort as he was still adjusting to the toxins in his body. "I'm fine, just a bit stiff. The coffee had a bit of a kick in it."
          "Ah, but you did like your coffee without sugar, right?" 
          "Yeah, makes it more bracing." He gestured to the mug with a nod before placing it back to the desk. A dull tremor shot through him, and he fiddled with the lighter in his hand to keep it from going completely numb. "So, is your answer really a no?" 
          "You make me laugh, Consigliere. Here you are, alone, wanting to have an appointment to meet with me just to offer some nonsense." 
          “I wouldn’t actually call it nonsense I would say ultimatum, but that sounds too threatening so I think I’d tone it down for a bit,” said Nikolai, his tone light. He checked his watch. 17:58. Almost there. But then another tremor shot through him, and this time, he wasn’t able to stop a pained groan from tearing in his throat. He raised a finger. “Wait, give me a second.”
          Nikolai closed his eyes and breathed deeply, flexing his fingers open and close. This was becoming rather embarrassing for him, to give threats to someone of a much higher rank than him while looking he was about to throw up, but he took his time. After a few more moments, he finally regained his composure. When he looked back up to the Don, Jarl had an amused expression on his face as if he were thinking of Nikolai as a big joke. 
          "Consider it a friendly warning," Nikolai said with a grin. “I wouldn’t want to spew threats yet when I still haven’t tried to convince you to change your mind.”
          Jarl’s expression darkened. "This is a three-hectare property. No one would notice the Lantsov Consigliere not coming out of here." 
          "Oh, dear me. Are we doing threats now?" Nikolai laughed, or more like wheezed, and shook his head. "Three hectares, you say? So if I burned down this side of the compound, firefighters won't arrive in time, no? Or even just shooting you, I'm pretty sure no one else would hear." 
          "You're in my compound, Nikolai. My territory." 
          Nikolai shrugged. "Hasn't stopped me before." 
          "There are guards patrolling around right outside the hall. They will immediately barge in the moment I hit the alarm." 
          "Ah, let them. I like that kind of attention. Boosts my ego exponentially." The watch around Nikolai’s wrist beeped softly, and he glanced down at it to confirm that the numbers had already turned to 18:00. "I also did like my coffee without poison, actually. But I appreciate the improvised addition. Cyanide as an alternative to sugar? Genius. Gave a rush of thrill in my blood." 
          If Nikolai could frame the look of the evident shock on Jarl’s face, he would have made a whole exhibit just for it. People needed to see such a rare sighting of the Brum Don getting caught off guard. The man blinked repeatedly, as if he didn't believe what he was seeing in front of him. 
          Trust me, this will get useful at some point, Genya's voice echoed in his head. Nikolai silently thanked their caporegime's insistence for him to develop poison immunity. All those days of handling mild paralysis and unconsciousness was worth it. 
          "Oh, pardon me. Was I being too straightforward with that?" He chuckled lightly. "I can repeat it though. You got me good there, I can already feel it kicking in. But if you wanted to kill me, I think I would prefer a bullet to the brain just to be sure. That's a hundred percent chance I wouldn't walk out of here alive, or just mix in as much cyanide as you have. A sprinkle won’t be enough."
          Jarl let out a laugh of his own, but the sound came out nervous instead of threatening. The man was evidently pale and he was now holding the pen so tightly in his fist he could have snapped it in half. "But that would be messy now, wouldn't it?" he said with a grin. Even his smile looked forced. "As you've told me, we don't do the dirty work.
          "Hmm, fair. But there would be no thrill at all, would it? Having to hide behind your coffers and let others do the labor? That's icky." Nikolai shook his head. There was another tremor that shot throughout his body, but it was much weaker than the ones before it, and he almost smiled. At least that was over. Bless you, Genya. He leaned forward for a bit, his eyes narrowing curiously. "Do tell me, Jarl. How would it feel when someone else takes over your business by force, and brutally kills your men and innocent workers in the process? They’re not a threat, Jarl. Much less an enemy. Why involve them in the mess? We don’t do that. That is against our principles. But I guess that's never in your book, was it? You just do things that would satisfy your greed and thirst for blood."
          “Getting bolder now, aren't we, Consigliere? I would watch that mouth of yours if I were you. Do you think the Lantsovs could handle another loss, especially their Consigliere?” The Brum Don shook his head, a look of disappointment on his face. “Who would try to handle things diplomatically?”
          It was threat after threat. “That is a good question, sir,” said Nikolai. He flexed his fingers on both hands and put them on his knees. “I know Nazyalensky can be diplomatic if need be. But I also know she prefers to use rather drastic measures than talking. ‘It’s the easier way’, she always says. I would have to agree with her at certain times.”
          “Are you implying something?”
          Nikolai plastered a grin on his face. “Only the fact that you’d be facing lesser diplomatic meetings with the Lantsovs if I ever not make it out of here alive,” he said. A soft ping resounded, and he took out his phone from his coat pocket. He checked the alert, his grin turning smug and menacing, the kind that people rarely see the Lantsov Consigliere ever did. “And that you’d probably be dealing with it sooner than you thought.”
          A look of confusion bloomed on the Don’s face, and then, as if on cue, the telephone on the side of his desk blared, the sound startling Jarl and making him jump slightly on his seat. He looked at it with suspicion. Nikolai wanted to laugh, but he figured that it would be rude. Besides, the whole ordeal wasn’t done yet—a lot could still happen, and he was still reeling from the effects of the poison. But he could already see the odds on their side.
          “I would answer that if I were you,” Nikolai said calmly, his fingers finding the lid of his lighter again. He flicked it open and back close. He could still feel the strain in his hand, but at least it he could move it properly again. “It’s probably important.”
          Jarl narrowed his eyes at him. “What’s your deal, Consigliere? Why are you really here?”
          “Just answer the telephone, sir. Maybe it will give you the answer.”
          There was another tense silence. The Brum Don suddenly didn’t look like he was having fun trying to get him cornered. This was the best part for Nikolai, the thrill he always got whenever the upper hand his enemies had against him was suddenly taken away from them and he would watch them crumble slowly and back away until they were the ones cornered instead of him. It was such a satisfying view to watch. 
          And Nikolai were to look at it now, it was exactly how he wanted it. One didn’t just easily get Jarl Brum on the edge of his seat. 
          “Well?” Nikolai mused.
          The frown on Brum Don’s face only deepened, and then reluctantly, he reached for the telephone and slowly raised the receiver near his ear. A few beats, and then, “Yes?”
          Nikolai watched the man’s face pale, his eyes shifting everywhere with the look of evident panic in them. His hand tightened around the receiver until his knuckles were almost white from gripping it too much. There was just so much anger radiating off of him that Nikolai was surprised the Don hadn’t even pointed a gun at him yet. 
          Then Jarl’s attention snapped to him after a moment, his eyes murderous with every intent to kill. Nikolai returned his look with an innocent grin, and the Don’s jaw was set in complete rage. If were some other person, he knew he would have cowered back in fear. But years trying to prove himself he was worthy to be an official member of the Lantsov family despite his bloodline contributed a lot to the name he had built for himself. 
          The Demon Prince of Halmhend—the people had whispered his name in both awe and fear. And with each dark and nasty scar and blood he got on his hands, the stronger his reputation grew. He would get the job done, and he would use whatever method he had to, even if it meant having to have a staredown with death himself.
          It would take much more than some Don’s murderous look to derail Nikolai from his goal. 
          He watched patiently as the Don put back the receiver to the cradle, his dark gaze turning from enraged to cold fury, like he had finally accepted whatever was said to him in the call. Jarl stared down at him for another long moment, and Nikolai could practically see the gears in the man’s head working. 
          “Alright, Consigliere. You made your point.” The Don kept his face expressionless, but his eyes told Nikolai otherwise. “What do you really want?”
          Finally. “Stop the unnecessary attacks and killings,” Nikolai said. “You can’t keep that act up and expect the others not to turn against you.”
          “No one would dare go against us. We both know that.”
          “It’s because we’re still holding back.”
          A shadow passed over Jarl’s face, and his expression darkened even more. “Is that a challenge?”
          “Maybe,” replied Nikolai. He reached up to fix his tie. “If I were to be honest, the Tabans could take you any day. They just don’t choose to. Waste of resources, they say. But really, I understand. It would be too easy for them.”
          “The Tabans don’t choose to fight because they’re cowards,” Jarl said with a huff. “Not because they don’t choose to do so.”
          Nikolai wrinkled his nose. “Tell that to Madam Makhi’s face, and you’ll see your throat by the end of her sword,” he said. He leaned forward as if to tell a secret. “She keeps a very sharp sword in her office, by the way. And she knows how to use it, so I don’t really suggest going against her.”
          Jarl shook his head, the smirk still evident on his lips. “And if I don’t agree to your motion? What can you possibly do with—”
          “You would find my family retaliating,” Nikolai cut him off, and the Don reared back in mild surprise. “The attacks would continue, and I will let it go on. Don’t try fighting in a war where you’re going to lose.” 
          The Don didn’t say anything after that. Nikolai gave him a smile, feeling a bit more confident than before that maybe they had driven Jarl Brum into a corner. Then, to his astonishment, Jarl did something entirely beyond his expectation.
          He laughed.
          And it wasn’t the desperate type but rather a genuinely amused one, like he had just heard the funniest joke that Nikolai could have ever done. Instantly, his grin faded. Jarl Brum was actually laughing. Nikolai could only look back at the Brum Don with utter confusion as uneasiness settled in his gut. The man acted as if he was one step ahead of them, and whatever confidence Nikolai had in himself the moment he stepped inside the man’s office was gone. 
          “The White Island, huh?” Jarl said through his laughs. He shook his head, dramatically reaching up to wipe the nonexistent tears from his eyes. "That hotel is quite a sight, but its location in Ulensk is utter shit. You can burn it down all you want, I wouldn't mind. You didn't have to hide the fact you would raid it just to make a point."
          Dread washed over Nikolai. It felt like this was the real poison taking effect in his system and halted his thoughts completely. How in the saints' name did Jarl know about the raid? Were Tolya and Tamar safe? Which part of the Don's terrified look had been real? 
          He watched the Brum Don stand from his seat and walked to the drawers behind his desk. He bent down to pull a bottle of wine out along with two glasses, humming happily as he went along. It was a baffling sight to see Jarl’s shift in his demeanor, especially from the perspective of a person who knew their way around manipulating their own emotions. 
          Was this how he looked like to other people? Awful and terrifying? 
          "You're a lot silent now, Consigliere," mused Jarl as he poured wine onto the two glasses. He didn't even need to turn around for Nikolai to know that the man was having fun having the upper hand once again. "Did I surprise you?" 
          Nikolai's hand clenched into a fist to keep it from trembling badly with suppressed fury. It wasn't the right time to act yet. He glared at the Brum Don's back, and with slow, silent movements, he carefully reached for the knife under his lapel and slipped it in the edge of his sleeve. The distress and fear clouding his mind may have been overwhelming enough to make him unable to answer, but he wasn't going to let any chances slide. The Brum Don took his silence as a cue to continue. 
          "Ah, don't worry. Your guys leading the raid in White Island Hotel is fine," said Jarl with a light laugh. "I didn't put extra security there tonight on purpose. So your guys are probably done turning the place upside down by now." Then he paused, lifting his head up to stare out the glass window in front of him. "It's actually your people who went to the arms factory I'm worried about." 
          Whatever composure Nikolai had in himself crumbled to nothing. No—
          "You're probably wondering how I knew about it. Well, like you, I have my informants too. And that huge shipment of firepower last week? What other reasons did the Lantsovs have to have that kind of shipment aside from going to war? Doesn't need to take a genius to figure that out." Jarl walked back to his desk and placed the other glass of wine he was holding in front of Nikolai. "And what's the most convenient thing to hit during a war? The arms factory and its warehouse. It's only our luck that you sent Nazyalensky to her own demise. I did put more security in that place." 
          For once, Nikolai didn't have anything to say back. He usually prided himself of being able to make people bow down to his wishes, even if it meant threatening them to the extremes or just simply having a conversation with them. 
          And yet the mere thought of Zoya in danger was enough to spiral him out of his thoughts.
          "I did surprise you now, didn't I?" Jarl chuckled, taking another sip from his glass. "You see, this is what I meant when I said no one dares to go against us. I'm always a step ahead."
          Nikolai gritted his teeth, clenching his hands into fists to keep himself from lunging at the Don. "What did you do to her?" 
          "Do settle down, Consigliere. She's not in danger. Oh, at least not yet. I haven't given them any orders." He paused, frowning as if he had said something wrong. "But that may change in a moment. Unless you do something for me." 
          "What do you want?" 
          Jarl raised an eyebrow. "That was fast, I haven't even blinked," he said. "It's quite a sight to see the great Lantsov Consigliere quickly bow down just because his woman is in danger." 
          "Just say your conditions, Jarl." 
          "You will agree to sign a contract that would legally make the Lantsovs as the Brums' subsidiary." 
          Nikolai looked at the Don with utter disbelief like he had just grown another head on his shoulder. Jarl must have been joking. Maybe Zoya was alright and had already handled the situation at Halmhend. Nikolai's irritation suddenly flared. His thinking was becoming too unstable—which wasn't ideal for his current situation. And if he continued to let Jarl’s words get to him, he would certainly lose this fight. 
          "In fact, it's still quite a generous offer." Jarl tipped his head in respect. "It's for seeing through that coffee I gave you. And even surviving it." 
          "And what if I don't?" Nikolai asked, voice nearly a hiss. 
          Jarl smiled. “Then Nazyalensky dies. Very simple.” 
          “How do I know you’re not bluffing?”
          Then as if on cue, Nikolai’s phone rang again, tearing his attention away from wanting to lunge at the Don. He looked at the screen, and it showed a restricted number was trying to make a call. And even though it didn't exactly show who was calling, Nikolai already knew who was on the other line. 
          "I would answer that if I were you," said Jarl, his tone smug as he repeated Nikolai’s line from earlier. With a confident smile that almost ticked off the last Nikolai’s patience, Jarl added, "It's probably important." 
          Nikolai looked down at his phone again, thinking that maybe if he stared hard enough at the bright numbers glaring back at him, the call would stop and prove that the Brum Don was just bluffing. 
          But when it continued to ring, it stabbed fear into his heart. Zoya never called him during an operation, only quick signals and messages. 
          "Well?" Jarl mused. He took a sip from his own glass and raised an eyebrow. "Nazyalensky won't wait all night." 
          The urge to act upon his anger was now stronger than his will to keep on a neutral face, and yet Nikolai still held back. He wouldn't do anything unless he was sure he had every reason to. 
          But the mention of Zoya's name from this despicable man's lips was making it hard to keep himself from killing the Don. 
          "If you lay even one finger on her," Nikolai said, voice low with threat, "I will burn every single place you have until the flames reach you and you will be burning down with them." 
          A shadow passed on Jarl’s face, but it was gone as soon as Nikolai could blink, and there was the sneer on his face again. "Just answer the call, Consigliere." 
          Nikolai did what he was told and he swiped the icon to the right. He slowly put the phone to his ear, his gaze never wavering from Jarl. 
          The other line was quiet, except for the occasional strained breathing in the background. He fought the urge to call out for her name—it wasn't the time to give the Brum Don more leverage against him. So he waited. 
          Zoya, he pleaded in his mind. Please be alright. 
          It was a desperate thought, one he hoped that would be true, because he would have to settle for the last resort and the Don wouldn't see another sunrise after tonight. 
          There was another silence, more ragged breathing. Nikolai's vision was starting to tunnel as he fought for composure, and Don's smirk was only adding fuel to the fire in him that was waiting to be ignited. 
          A beat, and there was a pained voice that said, "Nikolai—" 
          Something in Nikolai snapped, and he was suddenly flicking the knife out from his sleeve and then hauled it at Jarl Brum. 
          It hit the man on his shoulder hard enough for his chair to tip back, and he fell over with a shout. Nikolai shot up from his own chair and slid over the Don's desk, landing on the ground next to the man and kicking the man's arm even before he could reach for the alarm button under the edge of the table. He kept Jarl's arm pinned to the floor with his foot, and when the Don tried to reach for Nikolai's ankle with his other free arm, he pressed his foot harder against the man's arm he was sure he heard a soft crack.
          Dizziness hit nim like a tidal wave that almost threw him off balance. His vision swayed. Waiting for his body to adapt to the toxins would still take a bit of time, but he was being driven by his rage that he almost forgot he wasn’t here to kill the Don.
          "Did I catch you off guard?" Jarl asked with a strained laugh. "She really is your soft spot, eh? If I had known earlier I would have—" 
          Nikolai didn’t let him finish and brought his foot down with force, completely breaking the man's wrist. Jarl opened his mouth to let out a scream of pain, but Nikolai's other foot had already hit the Don across face before he could make a sound. Blood dripped from the side of the man's lips, and he spit it out to the side. 
          “I would watch that mouth of yours if I were you,” Nikolai said. With casual ease, he nudged the handle of the knife with his toe, and it earned another shout from the man. A smirk twitched on his lips at the sound of the Don's agony. There was always something satisfying in hearing your enemies scream in pain. "Not looking so tough now, aren't you, sir? But do scream all you want. Your office is soundproof, isn’t it?" 
          Despite himself, Jarl still hadn't cowered back in fear. If possible, he only became much angrier than when Nikolai was goading him before. "The Families would know about this assault," he said through gritted teeth. "You're making a big mistake by attacking the Brum Don." 
          "Am I now?" Nikolai leaned closer, resting his elbow on his bent knee. He reached out his other hand and patted Jarl on the cheek. The man flinched under his touch. "And 'Brum Don'? All I see is a dead man."
          Jarl’s eyes widened in fear. "You won't kill me." 
          Nikolai huffed lightly. "That's what our enemies in Halmhend used to say." He shrugged, and then reached for the Don’s uninjured arm. "Look where it got them." 
          With a hard tug on the man’s wrist, Nikolai kicked the desk until it was farther away from Jarl’s reach. He wasn’t taking any chances of the Don trying to sneak and alarm his men to his office. At least not just yet. They had the time for games later. Nikolai dragged Jarl to the wine drawer, throwing him off to the small wooden doors with a resounding thump. 
          Jarl groaned in pain, and yet it still sounded restrained as if he were keeping himself from making another shout. He was cradling his broken wrist on his lap, shoulder hunched forward enough for him to not show his face. 
          Nikolai raised an eyebrow. "Don't be shy now, I know you want to shout," he said as he grabbed the Don's fallen chair, standing it upright again and pulling it in front of Jarl before sitting down. He pulled out the lighter from his pocket. "I don't like it when they don't scream in pain."
          There was no answer for a long moment, with the Don still in his hunched position. Nikolai eyed him sideways. The man's shoulders were shaking with every breath he drew, and the spot where the knife was lodged continued to leak of blood. 
          It was new to him to see Jarl Brum in such a vulnerable state. But he was still trying to put up the tough persona a Don should have, and Nikolai was determined to break him slowly. Inflicting immense pain was one of the strengths Nikolai learned in the streets that gave birth to his name.
          “Still good, sir?” he asked in mock wonder. “You’re not as strong as I thought.”
          The man shot up from his place on the floor, his other arm stretched out as if to reach for Nikolai’s neck, but the Consigliere had already anticipated it. He simply leaned back and grabbed the man by both of his arms. His movements stopped. 
          Nikolai gave him a sneer. "Courageous," he said with genuine respect. "But still slow."
          He kicked the man on the chest, sending him crashing back to the drawers in a heap. Then Nikolai brought his foot down to Jarl’s ankle this time. There was another resounding crack, followed by a howl of pain. He almost smiled. 
          "Now that's the shout," Nikolai said. He stared down at the Don with pity. Jarl looked incredibly smaller for the Brum Don that terrorized everyone else. It was amusing to see how pain made anyone kneel to its extremities. "I thought your pride would still forbid you to scream. Make it louder for me, yeah? It sounds better." 
          "What do you want, Lantsov?" Jarl spat as if the name were some poison that stung his mouth. “Or should I say Opjer?”
          Nikolai’s jaw ticked in annoyance. He knows too much. "Not 'Consigliere' anymore? I feel sad about that, sir." He bent down and reached for the man's arm, bringing his hand close to him. He opened the lid of his lighter and put one of the Don's fingers in between the edge of the lid and the case. "I'll be brief, which I rarely do as I prefer talking more." He paused. "Call off your men."
          Jarl let out a laugh. "Too late for that, Nikolai. But I can almost assume that they're already leaving now that the threat was handled in the—" 
          Nikolai forced the lid of his lighter close, and the Don screamed in pain. The tip of his finger was set in an odd angle, with blood leaking from the damaged nail. It dripped onto Nikolai’s hand and his wrist, and then to the cuff of his sleeve. He inwardly winced in displeasure. It could be taken care of later. 
          He kept his expression impassive and moved to another finger. "Call off your men," he repeated. 
          Jarl’s face was twisted in cold rage, but there was no denying the agony he was under that he was still trying to put up with. When he didn’t answer, Nikolai closed the lighter onto the man’s next finger. Another howl of agony. He moved to another finger. 
          “Eight remaining fingers, eight remaining chances,” he said. “I will say it again. Call off your men, Jarl. I’m still being generous with giving you chances.”
          The man only smirked, and just as Nikolai was about to break off another finger, a loud thump resounded somewhere behind him. He glanced over his shoulder. The doors to Jarl’s office were rattling, almost threatening to come off its hinges. The Don's men had a good way of knocking.
          "As I've said," Jarl wheezed, making Nikolai turn back to him, "too late to do that." 
          Nikolai tsked. "Very well," he said, and then clamped the lid to the man's third finger. He let go of his arm, and Jarl crumpled down to the ground. "A reward for being able to sneak past me." 
          His men were still trying to barge the doors down, but they were almost succeeding in doing so when Nikolai caught a glimpse of the light outside the hall through the small space by the door that was beginning to grow wider. He turned back to the Don. 
          "Let's make you a bit more presentable, shall we?" said Nikolai. 
          He grabbed the man by the collar and forced him to stand before dragging him to the chair. Jarl wheezed in pain as he tried to fight back, but both of his hands were so badly damaged he couldn't make use of them. The Don could only give Nikolai as much as a glare. 
          He forced the man back down to the chair. "No need to look so angry, sir." 
          "You won't get out of here alive, Lantsov," growled Jarl. "You are totally outnumbered. My men would—" 
          "Ah" —Nikolai patted the man on the cheek— "let's not get ahead of our predictions. Let me borrow this for a second." He swiftly pulled out the knife from Jarl’s shoulder. "I'll be right back." 
          "You and Nazyalensky are goners, Consigliere. Both of you are not going to make it through the night." 
          "We'll see about that." 
          Nikolai eyed the still rattling doors, and glanced at the bloodied knife in his hand. He would be at a total disadvantage, he knew, but it was better than having nothing. Besides, he'd had far much worse situations that he got out of, some that involved using bare hands and teeth just to survive. 
          Tonight wasn't any different either. 
          He approached the doors just as there was finally the sound of a wood splintering, and he pressed himself against the wall beside the entryway. With a twist of his knife in his hand, he reached up to remove the tie around his neck with his other, letting the ends fall loose onto his shirt. It would only be a hindrance to his movements. 
          The doors barged open and men in gray overcoats came rushing in. Nikolai tightened his grip around the knife and counted heads. Seven. Jarl should have invited more.
          The man nearest to him hadn't noticed him yet, and he took his chance. 
          Nikolai stepped forward and pushed his knife behind the man's throat. 
          One. 
          He immediately pulled the knife out, letting it fly towards the other Soldier to his right. Blood spurted from the man's neck. He crumpled to the ground with a gurgling sound. 
          A sneer twitched on his lips. 
          Two. 
          He started humming. The remaining men finally turned to him with their guns raised, but Nikolai was already on the move. He collided with the third one. His hand closed around the gun barrel and the other to the man's hand, pointing the gun to the other Soldiers. 
          Nikolai pulled the trigger. It hit the other Soldier on the head. 
          Three. 
          He turned a bit to the left and fired twice on the fourth Soldier's chest. 
          Four. 
          Nikolai twisted, using the third Soldier as a shield just as the shots erupted. The body convulsed as it took the barrage of bullets. Then the shots stopped, and he pressed the barrel under the man's chin before pulling the trigger. 
          Five. 
          He grabbed the gun, aimed over the dead man's shoulder, and fired at the other Soldier. He immediately crumpled on the ground after the bullet went straight through his skull. 
          Six. 
          With a push, Nikolai finally let the body fall to the ground. He turned to find the last Soldier, but he wasn't fast enough.
          A shot rang out, and pain burst on his ear. He stopped humming and blinked. The remaining Soldier looked at him with a terrified expression, his hand trembling so badly as if he was out enduring the cold winter night. Then he dropped the gun completely and he fell to the ground. 
          Nikolai approached him slowly, like a predator cornering his prey. The Soldier started to back away. But the tremors quaking his body were too much that he couldn't even move fast enough. 
          A moment later, Nikolai was hovering above him, with the barrel of the gun pointed at his face, and he immediately raised a hand to protect himself. 
          "No—" 
          But Nikolai already pulled the trigger before the Soldier could even plead, and he crumpled to the ground on the pool of blood from the hole in his head. 
          Seven. 
          The room went silent again. Nikolai reached a hand up to his ear, feeling the sticky wetness around it along with the sting of pain. When he looked at his hand, his fingers were drenched in blood. He huffed. At least they were able to nick him. 
          He turned back to Jarl, who was still sitting idly on his office chair, the expression on his face was a mix of horror and bewilderment.
          "There'd be more of them in a few moments, right?" Nikolai asked mildly as he went and got his knife from the Soldier's neck. He wiped it at the edge of the Soldier's gray coat, staining it red. Then he put it back behind the lapel of his coat. “How many are there left?”
          At the Don’s silence, he scoffed. He walked back to Jarl by the desk, grabbing the man by his collar and forcing him up to his remaining good foot. It’d have to do. An audience was still an audience no matter how few they were, and he wanted Jarl to see every drop of blood shed by his men for everything they had done, and for every life they had ruined. 
          For hurting Zoya.
          Because in the end, he would rather let himself be the one to end all this rather than branding himself as a traitor for selling his own Family out and risking any chances of putting Zoya's life on the line even more. He could only hope Tamar would be able to reach her on time. 
          There was no turning back from this. 
          This tyranny had to end tonight, as it would only continue until the point of time where no one could stop them. 
          It was time to be the monster that he had been once more. 
          Nikolai dragged Jarl outside the doors of the office. “Let the hunting party start, then.”
---
Zoya struggled against the restraints bounding her hands behind her. But then pain shot up to her side from where a bullet had grazed her during the shootout earlier. She grit her teeth, glaring at the man in front of her. She would definitely break his neck the moment she got free. 
          The storage room where they had been holding her was guarded with three other men in gray overcoats. They looked stiff and alert, their guns poised readily to aim at her the moment she tried to do something funny. Zoya wanted to laugh. She understood the hostility around her, especially when there's only several of them left in the warehouse. 
          It was supposed to be much lesser than Zoya had expected—the arms warehouse should have been empty except for a few guards on patrol and a Brum Soldier staying in the upstairs office. 
          But instead of that, Zoya had walked straight up into a trap instead, with the number of Jarl’s men tripling and they were being led by Ivor Kravchenko, the notorious Brum caporegime known for his brutal tendencies when it came to taking down his enemies. 
          She had come to think that there might have been a leak of their own plans to orchestrate the simultaneous attacks against the Brums. They had been able to reduce a great number from Jarl’s men, but it cost all the lives of Zoya's men that were with her during the attack. Their blood would forever be on her hands. 
          The other thing she could hope for now was that Nikolai and the twins were alright on their sides of this predicament. 
          “You shouldn’t have left your Don’s compound,” she said. It was taking a lot of her remaining strength to speak. "You all left your boss' to the wolf's mercy." 
          The man, whom Zoya remembered as Ivor and Jarl's notorious caporegime, gave a dark laugh. "A wolf, you say? It doesn't matter, a lone wolf is no match for a whole pack," said the caporegime. "Your Consigliere might even be dead by now. Just like the rest of your men here. Don't get too cheeky now." 
          Zoya's rage flared, the urge to make the man suffer stronger than before. "You seem to be forgetting that I killed half of your men alone," she said. "You better make sure I don't get out of these bounds because it will be your blood spilled on the ground next." 
          This seemed to annoy Ivor, making him step forward in haste with a murderous expression on his face. But then he stopped abruptly as if he had just remembered something, and he straightened back up. "I could kill you right now and be done with it, Nazyalensky," he said in a low voice. "But I still just choose not to. It's fun to see the great Lantsov Underboss tied down at the Brums mercy." 
          "Chose not to, or you're still waiting for your Don to give the order like a good puppy you are?" Zoya said back, savoring the look of new rage on the caporegime's face. She gave him a sharp smile. "It's been an hour since you called my Consigliere and tried to rattle him down. You haven't even heard from Jarl ever since then." 
          Ivor snarled, and then he was grabbing at Zoya's hair and pulling her head back, his knife suddenly pressed to her cheek. Zoya smirked triumphantly. It was so easy to derail him—the whole Brum Family if possible. They were all bombs that were ready to detonate at any time. 
          This would be fun when she finally had him under her mercy later. But having to reach that point seemed very difficult and almost next to impossible, especially when there were ropes bounding her hands. 
          An realization dawned in her head when her eyes trailed down the knife near her face. She just had to make the man drop it somehow. 
          "Do not test me, Nazyalensky," Ivor growled as he pressed the knife harder to her skin. Zoya felt a trickle of blood run down her face. He traced the blood with the knife point lightly before hovering it to her skin again. "I can be merciless at certain times." 
          As can I, Ivor. "Suits you, then," said Zoya simply. "I have the freedom to choose when to be merciless. Unlike you, who still has to wait for a go signal from his person before he can bite."
          With a growl, Ivor tugged at her hair harder. "Did you know what Jarl told me before I left to go handle the mess you will try to stage here?" he hissed. "He said that the Lantsov Consigliere and Underboss are the ones keeping their Family upright. If they were the ones to go first, they would all crumble, and he planned to do just that." Ivor smiled wickedly, the kind that spoke of a triumph gotten from a dirty play. "Starting with your Consigliere. I wonder how things would be if the Don suddenly decides to get rid of him."
          She clenched her fists behind her, her fury burning cold in her blood. Nikolai was a lot smarter than the others give him credit for. There was never a dire situation that he hadn't gone through before—he could always find a way out of anything.
          But their current standpoint only struck fear and doubt to Zoya. He was in their enemy's nest, the place where they had the absolute authority on everything. She had been reluctant for him to go alone, and yet he had insisted, saying that he had a plan just in case something went wrong. 
          And now that there had been a hole in their planned attack, Zoya could only hope that his plan didn't involve him risking his life more than he already did. 
          She would come and drag him out of hell if needed to. 
          "I'm pretty sure your Consigliere would run out of ideas at some point," added Ivor thoughtfully. "Tonight might be the time."
          You can all dream. 
          Zoya gave a short laugh, and then she tipped her head back and struck Ivor's nose with her forehead. 
          The man shouted as he pushed back from her, dropping his knife and putting a hand up to his face. She quickly took the advantage and tipped the chair down sideways. Pain shot up to her side when she hit the floor, and her vision blacked out for a few moments. The blow to her head earlier only added to the dizziness that made her vision spin. But she shook the ache away and her hands felt around for the knife from the floor as the three men were still occupied with coddling their boss. 
          When she finally grasped the knife handle, she immediately tucked it to the insides of her sleeve before looking back up to Ivor. 
          Blood seeped through his fingers that were tightly holding his now broken nose, and his face was scrunched up in pain. Zoya felt a laugh bubble from her chest. 
          "Can't even take a hit, eh?" she called to Ivor, who only glared at her with a murderous glint in his eyes. "Come and train with our men, you'll learn how to brush off a punch to your jaw like it's merely dust." 
          Ivor let out an angry growl and started to walk his way to her again, but one of his Soldiers stopped him. 
          "There aren't any orders for us to kill her yet, sir," the Soldier said with finality. He looked a bit younger than the other men, but he  had a sway on them that even Ivor stopped to consider his actions. "We should be patient." 
          Zoya huffed silently. Another well-trained pup, then. 
          The door to the room suddenly opened, and another one of Jarl’s men appeared by the threshold. "Sir," he said, gesturing outside, "it's urgent." 
          Ivor sighed in frustration. He gave Zoya another pointed look before turning to one of his men again. "Get her up and keep a close eye on her," he said stiffly, still holding a hand to his nose. "I might finally be allowed to kill her after." 
          With one last low gaze to Zoya, he stomped off the storage room. She huffed in amusement as she watched the Caporegime's retreating form disappear by the doorway. 
          "Petty ass," she muttered. But when Ivor's footsteps finally receded, she slid out the knife from her sleeve and started to cut through the ropes.
          It was the younger Soldier that moved to lift her chair upright, his movements brusque and rough it made the pain on Zoya's side shoot up again.  
          "Easy with the moving, will you?" she hissed at the Soldier. 
          He sneered at her, pushing the chair roughly back down to its feet instead. "Witch," he hissed back, and Zoya had to laugh. The Soldier pointed the gun under her chin. "The only thing keeping me from firing is that the Don didn't want you dead just yet, and we're just waiting for the go signal." He pressed the barrel to her chin harder for emphasis. "Don't get too smug." 
          Men and their egos. "Sure thing, hon," said Zoya mildly with a shrug. 
          It seemed to be enough for the Soldier as he put down the gun and started to back off. But then ropes finally cut loose, and a smirk twitched at her lips. She kept her arms behind her and flipped the knife in her hand so that it pointed forward. 
          "Lapdog," she muttered, making sure the Soldier heard her. 
          And he did, because he suddenly stopped walking and turned to her again, a look of rage evident on his face. His jaw was set when he reached her again in a few quick strides. 
          He bent down and grabbed at her face. "What did you say, you—" 
          His next words came out in a gurgling mess when Zoya's hand shot up and pushed the knife into the man's throat. 
          She reached for the man's gun with her other hand just as the two other men noticed what was happening. She aimed and fired at the two of them before they could even raise their guns to shoot, and they crumpled to the ground with a thud. 
          The Soldier clawed at his neck desperately, his movements panicked. Zoya looked at him pitifully before yanking the knife out. The man fell to the ground. 
          She wiped her bloodied hand and knife to the squirming man's coat for a moment, staining the fabric blood red. His other hand still tried to reach for her ankle, but Zoya merely stepped away. 
          Then she pointed the gun to the Soldier's face. "For gunning down my men," she said before shooting him in the head. 
          He slumped to the ground, lifeless. Zoya winced at the sudden sting that pierced her side, and she almost doubled over. She checked her wound. The long line of the bullet graze was still oozing with blood, but much lesser than before. She would have to put up with it for now; she needed to have a talk with Ivor first. 
          Rushed footsteps echoed outside just as she neared the door. She immediately pressed herself against the wall beside the doorway and waited. A few moments later, the door barged open, and Ivor and another man came rushing in. 
          They hadn't noticed her yet, and Zoya sprang. 
          She raised her gun and shot the Soldier in the head. Ivor turned just as she aimed the gun to his thigh and pulled the trigger. He reared back with a shout, and Zoya swiped the gun up and whacked him across the face with the stock. Ivor crashed to the floor. 
          But when she finally got a closer look at the man's face, she realized it wasn't Ivor at all. The Soldier was only wearing the Caporegime's coat. 
          Zoya gritted her teeth as she pointed her gun to the man. "Where's Ivor?" she hissed. 
          He didn’t answer, and it made her anger flare even more. She put her finger closer to the trigger. 
          "Where—" 
          A crack of gunshot, and then a flash of excruciating pain on her other side just below her ribs. Zoya backed a few steps, dropping her gun and putting a hand to her side. When she checked on it after a moment, her palm was already covered in red. 
          "Miss me?" Ivor called out from the door. 
          Zoya didn’t have the strength to turn completely, and she crashed to the floor. The surroundings blurred into a mess of colors, the sudden flash of lights adding to the swaying of her vision. She put a hand to her wound, and she stifled a groan when another wave pain shot up to her body. 
          Ivor's figure appeared in her line of vision, his steps slow and deliberate as if he had all the time in the world. Zoya could only do as much as glare at the Caporegime, at the broken nose that had the faint traces of dried blood around it, and hoped for the Saints to give her enough strength to kill the guy right then. But her wishes were ignored and the pain only became worse. 
          "You think you could get out of my watch that easily?" He shook his head in disappointment. "I thought you were better than this."
          "Come closer and I'll show you," Zoya snarled. 
          "A real tough one, aren't you? Even as you lay dying, you can still make someone cower in fear." Ivor laughed loudly, and it was like the sound of a chair being scraped off a tiled floor. "I had to admit I was impressed on how you got that knife. That was neat."
          Zoya blinked. He had known? 
          As if he had heard her thoughts, Ivor chuckled darkly. "Oh, I did notice. That's why I staged a little dress up with one of my Soldiers here after the phone call. Always did the trick." 
          "Staged?" Zoya laughed, but it came out as a wheeze instead. "Did you really just use your men as bait just to kill me dramatically?" 
          "Ten points for Nazyalensky!" Ivor announced before raising his gun and pointing it at the Soldier he had made to wear his coat. "We're busted, unfortunately. Thank you for your service." Then he pulled the trigger. 
          Zoya winced at the sound of the dead body falling to the ground. She shook her head. "You're mad, Kravchenko." 
          "That, I am. But you know who's worse?" He bent down a little as if to tell some secret. Then he pointed two fingers at her. "You two." He paused to laugh again, and then he started pacing back and forth. 
          She took the small distraction to pull the handgun closer to her and hide it under her back. And when he stopped and stared back down at her, she noticed something strange. There was a wild look in his eyes, the deranged kind of glint of a paranoid man. 
          Ivor waved his gun carelessly in the air. "Oh, don't worry I finally have the order to kill you." 
          Zoya turned to her bad side slightly, bearing the pain that washed over her again and reaching for the gun she had hidden behind her. 
          "Worry not, Nazyalensky. You're going to meet your Consigliere soon," said Ivor. "The Don never planned to let your Consigliere get out of there alive, you know. The chance was too good to let it pass. He was a dead man the moment the Don accepted the meeting." 
          She knew Ivor was trying to get to her head, and she knew better that she shouldn't let it, but it was proving to be difficult when it was Nikolai’s safety being used against her. It was then she remembered this was what Ivor was known for—tormenting his enemies rights before he killed them. But Zoya knew to herself that she would have preferred physical torment than this. She wouldn't even have the chance to know if Nikolai was safe from any danger. 
          A bittersweet laugh bubbled from her chest. Even in near death circumstances, Nikolai was still her headache. She could only hope he would be able to get through tonight.
          Zoya gripped the gun tightly. She wouldn't this man torment her until her last breath. Not without bringing him down with me. 
          Ivor was seething when he was checking his gun chamber. Something was definitely wrong with him. Had something come up after that phone call? 
          "This is a payback to your Consigliere for acting stupidly. And for what he's done," he said and he shook his head, fury and annoyance evident on his face. "He's so going to pay for that. I can't wait to kill him myself—" He stopped abruptly and turned back to Zoya. "You'll meet him soon, Nazyalensky. Don't worry, I'll make it—" 
          With what's left of her strength, Zoya lifted her arm and fired at the Caporegime, emptying the whole gun's whole clip at him. Ivor convulsed with every bullet he took, his eyes wide in shock as if he couldn't believe what had just happened. 
          When the gun only gave a click, Zoya let her arm fall. A triumphant smirk twitched at her lips as she watched Ivor's bewildered expression. His hand fell limp at his side, and he looked down at the holes on his chest. 
          A scoff tore from his throat, and along with it came blood that leaked from his lips. His expression turned from shocked to angry in a blink. With a shaking hand, he pointed his gun back at her. "You witch—" 
          There was a crack of gunshot. Zoya closed her eyes and waited for the momentary pain before the end. 
          But it didn't come. 
          There was a loud thud, like the sound of a body falling to the floor, and she opened her eyes again. 
          Ivor lay on the floor, lifeless, his wide, empty eyes still open. Blood started to pool around his body all too quickly.
          "Zoya," a familiar voice said. 
          Through her blurry vision, Zoya could make out a figure of a woman approaching her in rush. Tamar. 
          She immediately held out her hand, and felt Tamar take it right away. The woman's other hand came to put pressure on her wound. "You're okay," Zoya said. Her breaths were starting to come out in short bursts. "Is Tolya—" 
          "He's fine, General, you should think of yourself first. Save your breath. You'll be fine." Tamar let go of her hand to pull out her phone. She dialled a number and started speaking to someone, but the words faded into echoes of distorted sounds. 
          A moment later Zoya heard Tamar's voice again. "Stay with me, Nazyalensky." She clasped at her hand, gripping it tightly as if it would give Zoya enough life again if she held on tighter. 
          Nikolai, Zoya wanted to ask her. Is he safe? 
          But the pain and exhaustion were too overwhelming for her to stay awake, and she found her grip on Tamar's hand loosening with every ragged breath she drew. 
        Have I done enough? 
        She didn't know. 
        Be safe, idiot. 
        She took another breath. 
        Then everything went dark. 
***
Zoya opened her eyes. 
        Immediately, a dull throb washed over her body that almost made her pass out again, but the gentle touches she felt on her hand kept her anchored down to consciousness. She drew in a shaky breath. 
        She was still alive. She has survived the ordeal. Tamar and Tolya were safe too and—
        Nikolai. 
        Where was he? Was he alive? 
        Zoya turned to her right in haste, but she stopped when she spotted a mess of blond hair on her bedside. The grip on her hand tightened, and she felt her eyes sting. 
        He's okay. 
        "Hey," she said, voice still rough from sleep. 
        Nikolai instantly bolted upright. He looked like a mess, with his hair ruffled and the bruises and cuts on his face. There were traces of dried blood on the side of face down to his collar, his coat, and even on the edge of his sleeves. His hands were no different; the skin around his knuckles were torn open and red. But the worse one he got was his left ear—or what was left of it. He was tired and in pain, and yet he only had the look of utter relief and warmth in his eyes when he looked at her and smiled.
        There was an unexpected prick in her heart. Zoya wanted to reach out and hold him to her, to tell him that she was glad he was alive, but she couldn’t do anything of those as her body still felt heavy like lead due to the exhaustion and medication. 
        A tear fell down from his eye, and Nikolai quickly wiped it away with a tired laugh. Then he shifted closer, his hand reaching out to smooth the hair away from her forehead. She closed her eyes and leaned against his touch almost immediately. 
        “You’re a mess, dear,” he said, his tone light with amusement. 
        Zoya huffed weakly. “You should see yourself.” She nodded at his state of dress. "It's not you to have your suit ruined like that." 
        “There’s always a first one, you know.” Nikolai gave her a wink. “Just not the thing I prefered. I can always throw it in the laundry, though.”
        “You, doing the laundry? I know you’ll break the washing machine first before you can get anything done,” she said, and Nikolai laughed lightly. A small smile appeared on her lips, and she laced their fingers together. What she expected to be a gentle touch was a trembling grip instead. His hand was badly shaking. Concern washed over her as she looked at him in worry. “Nikolai?”
        “I’m fine. I just—” Nikolai stopped. He laughed again, but it sounded more like a sob of relief instead. He shook his head. “You scared the hell out of me,” he whispered. He still looked like he was about to break any moment, but it was gone in a blink and he put on his signature grin that brightened up his features. “But I guess I didn’t have to worry that much now, yeah?”
        Tears stung Zoya’s eyes again, and she smiled ruefully. I almost lost you too. But she covered it up with a smirk.  “They can’t get rid of me that easily.”
        "I know." 
        Silence fell around them. It was unusual for her to have a quiet as she was used to hearing all types of noises, whether it be the angry and rising tones during meetings or the gunfire that followed after when the negotiations went wrong. Even at nights, which was supposed to be when everything was in peace, were still haunted by the voices of the people who had died under her jurisdiction, and their blood was on her hands. 
        Having this moment struck dread to her, because good things, even the smallest ones, always came with a price. And she wasn't entirely sure if she was willing to give up anything. 
        "Do tell me your thoughts, dearest Zoya," Nikolai said, breaking the silence. He smiled as he continued his ministrations on her hair. "When you're quiet like that, I'm worried that you might be planning someone's death." 
        Zoya huffed. "How can you be sure that it wasn't your death I was planning?"
        Nikolai chuckled. "Please, you can't plan something that's already done," he said in amusement, and then his face fell after a second as if he realized what he just said. He smiled but it was half-hearted than his usual ones. "I like being one step ahead, you know." 
        "What happened, Nikolai?" she asked softly, not wanting to risk him shying away. Her hand tightened its hold on his. "What did you do?" 
        "I did what I had to do," he said simply. There was a faraway look in his eyes as he stared down at their joined hands. He rubbed circles around her skin, his touch feather light. "There was no other way."
        "Did you—" Zoya stopped. She didn't want to say it. She wanted to believe that if she didn't, it could change the truth. But the defeated look in his eyes only solidified the truth. 
        “Jarl Brum is dead," Nikolai said. A sad smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, and he looked back up at her. “He died when his compound had caught on fire due to faulty gas pipes. And the Lantsov Consigliere died with him in the fire. It’s what the people would hear by morning.” He paused, and breathed in deep. Then he smiled his usual grin again. “He put up quite a fight, though. It ruined my suit doing it. What a sad mess.”
        Zoya could only stare at him in melancholy. She didn’t even have the heart to answer his joke back. That was their last resort. They both agreed that if things had turned out the worst, he would have to settle with killing the Don. But that was before, when they thought that their plans were foolproof.
        I should have known and done better.
        Nikolai must have seen the look on her face, because he shook his head gently and his grin turned into a rueful one. “I know what you’re thinking. Don’t do that to yourself. I don't regret doing anything,” he said. He took her hand in both of his. “He was going to force me to hand over the Lantsovs to them, saying he’ll have you killed if I don’t. It was a deadend. There was no guarantee they won’t hurt you even if I agree. And I was never going to sell us over, anyway.” He paused, drawing in a shaky breath. "I'd rather get hurt a thousand times more than lose you." 
        A tear finally fell from the side of her eye. If this was the price she had to pay for having this moment with him, she did not want it. She would give up anything else to pay the price. Just not this. Not him. 
        “So, I guess this is our last night together,” Zoya said, her voice breaking slightly. 
        His hand reached up to her face and wiped the tear with his thumb. There were also tears clouding his eyes. He nodded gently, the sad smile still on his lips. Zoya leaned in his hand. “Don’t worry,” he said, “I promise to annoy you to death so you would have enough spite for me to last in a long while.”
        Zoya huffed in amusement. She had never hated him so much than she did now. How could he make it sound so easy when he was going to leave? “I already have enough spite to last for the rest of my life.”
        Nikolai laughed back. “That’s good to hear.” 
        Another short silence filled the air, and Zoya looked him over. If it was the last time she would see him, she wanted to bask in the warmth radiating in his eyes and remember all the quirks he had, as if she hadn’t memorized everything about him before. 
        She lifted her hand slightly, and Nikolai went to hold it back in his. He turned his attention to her forearm, tracing the dark lines of the tattooed dragon on her skin. It felt like he was doing the same, memorizing a distinct feature of her that he would carry with him.
        “I’ve always thought this one’s cooler than my wolf one,” he said softly, running his fingers on her skin. “You always get cooler ones than me.”
        “Where would you go?” Zoya asked instead.
        Nikolai stopped his ministrations, his fingers coming back to lace with hers. “It would be better if no one knew,” he replied solemnly. “Besides, I wouldn’t stay in one place for long.” 
        Zoya took a deep breath. This was their reality, and she should know better than lament over it. She wasn’t the type to let emotions take over her. But for Nikolai Lantsov, she would always be willing to make an exception.
        “Maybe I can mail something from time to time,” he said. “Postcards and pictures, how do you feel about that?”
        “Are you trying to make me feel better?” 
        Her Consigliere chuckled lightly. “No, I am entirely serious.” He shrugged. “Mail is the safest thing to get something across without the risk of being traced.”
        Zoya shook her head with a light laugh. I’d take anything. “Whatever you say, corn salad,” she said, and Nikolai laughed. A wave of dizziness suddenly washed over through her. The medicine must be taking its effects now. No, not yet. A few more minutes. “When do you leave?” 
        A beat, and then Nikolai said, “Soon.” An amused smile tugged at the corners of his lips. “You don’t have to be so excited.”
        “Idiot,” she mumbled. There was a twinge in her chest with the nickname she had of him, knowing that it would be the last time she could tell it to him in person. 
        Nikolai tightened his hold on her hand, and she felt it trembling again. His eyes were bright with tears when he said, “I’ll miss that nickname.” I’ll miss you, was what never said aloud, but Zoya heard it all the same.  
        I’ll miss you too. Zoya gave him a small smile. “Just look at the engraving in your lighter, it will remind you.” Another wave of dizziness hit her, and she found her eyes drooping slightly. 
        Zoya heard him laugh softly, making her blink to shake the drowsiness away. Nikolai reached up to brush at the hair on her forehead again. 
        “Go get some more rest,” he said. His hand came down to her cheek, and he gently caressed her skin with his thumb. “Don’t fight it, I know you’re still tired.”
        "I'm not tired," she grumbled back. 
        "Whatever you say, dear."
        Her eyes were starting to feel too heavy for her to stay awake, but she still fought the drowsiness from taking over so she could still see him for a little more time. 
        "Go rest," he said again. 
        Zoya squeezed his hand. She was never the first one to ask. To their world, everything was a trade—you give and take. A request meant a desperate wish, and you should always be willing to pay the price. 
        But she had already paid for it, and it was only fair if she wished for one final request. Be it a selfish, impossible kind. 
        "Stay?" she asked. Even just for a moment longer. "You've always made a good bodyguard." 
        Nikolai smiled softly. I can't, was what his eyes said, and yet, aloud, he still said, "Of course." He tucked the blankets higher to her shoulders, his movements gentle and careful. "Now go back to sleep. I'll be here."
        They both knew it was a lie. 
        Zoya closed her eyes, knowing she couldn't bear seeing him leave, and she'd rather have him do it while she was asleep. 
        Then he started humming. His shitty, off-tune humming. Her shoulders shook as her body racked with silent sobs, her eyebrows drawn tight together to keep her tears from falling. But they still did, anyway. 
        She felt him press his lips to her knuckles, and small droplets fall against her skin. She didn't even have to open her eyes to know that it was his tears. 
        "Good night, Nikolai," Zoya whispered in a shaky tone. Farewell. Be safe. 
        A short, heavy silence, and she heard him draw a ragged breath. "Good night, Zoya." Goodbye, Zoya. 
        His voice and the feel of his hand tight in hers were the last things she knew before sleep took over her. 
        And when Zoya finally slept, she dreamed that she would never have to let him go. 
***
News about the death of the Brum Don because of the fire that caught his compound was heard early on the next morning. Television news, radio, newspapers, and even the social media boomed with the word, and it spread like wildfire. 
        It went even bigger when the Lantsov Consigliere was also reported to have died along the fire, with all the current evidence proving that the fire had been intentional. But none of them pointed to Nikolai. The investigation was still open, and it will probably go on for quite a while. The only thing that lightened the burden on Zoya’s chest was knowing that he was alive. He had known how things would go beforehand, and made sure that none of them ended up implicating the Lantsovs.
        Always the well-prepared one.
        The chair where Nikolai had sat last night was empty, as if he wasn’t there at all. The only traces left of him was the lingering scent of his perfume and the dip on her bedside where he had laid his arms on as he watched her with all the warmth in his eyes, the same warmth he took with him when he left.
        Zoya felt her eyes sting with unwanted tears again as she looked out the window, but this time she didn’t try to keep them from falling. She smiled ruefully, a bittersweet feeling left in her heart. It was probably bad fate that had them cross paths, and it was also what separated them. But either way, it was still what had brought them together. She was thankful for that somehow, even if they only had limited time.
        But then it struck her, that it didn’t always have to be fate that should handle things. She was the Lantsov Underboss, the one who drove the saintsforsaken Family out of the mud with the Consigliere. If there was something they were good at, it was handling things their own way and bending the odds to their will.
        A near death experience had her questioning herself if she had done enough. She didn’t know the answer by then, but she did now.
        I am not done yet.
        She wouldn’t give up on Nikolai that easily. Even if it took her years to do it. She would bring him back. 
        Because she knew he would do the same for her. 
        I’ll see you again, Nikolai, she vowed. And it wouldn’t be the last. 
        Zoya would make sure of it.
***
A/N: if you’ve reached this far, please know i appreciate you ;-;
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r6shippingdelivery · 3 years
Text
A small one-shot I wrote for @ojiisan01! The Spetsnaz are on vacation from Rainbow and go back to their families. Kapkan is helping his cousin with his flower shop and Tachanka keeps coming to spend time with him. 
As always, you can read it on AO3 too!
Free time, Maxim mused, was both a blessing and a curse. After being in the military for so many years, he was more than used to the unpredictable flow of work and down time that lifestyle entailed. What he wasn’t used to was having nothing to do.
When Harry informed the Spetsnaz of their impending month-long vacation, Maxim immediately booked a ticket back to Russia. It had been so long since the last time he went home for a visit, and he missed seeing his family. However, just because he was on vacation didn’t mean the rest of the family was too. His brothers had work, his niece and nephew had to go to school, and Maxim remained alone in the old apartment for most of the day. Boredom was inevitable, and after a few days Maxim was already sick of spending his days doing nothing.
He was antsy and missed his homely little cabin in the woods, or at least the freedom that living in the middle of nowhere afforded. Maxim was already thinking of how to leave a few days early without upsetting the kids too much, when the message arrived: cousin Boris broke his knee.
Apparently a bicycle accident smashed his knee badly enough to need surgery, and he was looking for someone to baby-sit his dog and take care of his business while he was in the hospital. It was all they talked about during dinner: poor cousin Boris, all alone in St. Petersburg. And then Maxim’s sister-in-law suggested that he could go help Boris, and everyone agreed it was a fantastic idea and started acting like it was already decided.
While Maxim was a little irritated they all just assumed he would do it, he knew it was a good idea. After all, hadn’t he been complaining about having nothing to do? And it would be nice to see his cousin again, they used to be really close as kids before Boris’ family moved out. But it still stung that nobody asked his opinion before giving him the task.
_ _
St. Petersburg was exactly like any other big city Maxim had seen: noisy, full of people, and severely lacking fresh air. It was a curious sensation of never being truly alone, yet feeling strangely isolated.
Maxim enjoyed the opportunity to catch up with his cousin, even though it was awkward at first, but soon they found common ground in their love of the outdoors. It certainly explained why his cousin’s apartment was full of plants, to the point it resembled an interior garden, almost. Or his choice of business that Maxim was supposed to oversee for a few days: a flower shop.
Despite his vast experience fending off for himself in the wilderness, Maxim didn’t know the first thing about flowers. Perhaps growing plants wouldn’t have been so daunting, Maxim was used to hard physical work and getting dirty. However, arranging flowers in bouquets, or worse, giving advice on which paired best together? He was utterly lost.
Cousin Boris didn’t seem too concerned, though, assuring Maxim that most customers already knew what they wanted or chose arrangements from a catalogue. In fact, he joked that the hardest part of Maxim’s new duties would be keeping Zoya, his little dog, out of the couch and bed. Still, he took time to show Maxim around the flower shop and how things worked, the basics, so he wouldn’t be completely clueless. And the next day he bid them goodbye, both to Maxim and Zoya, before heading to the hospital and leaving Maxim in charge of the shop.
It was strange, as if he was playing a role in an elaborate play, wholly unlike Maxim’s life. But it was bearable. For the most part, clients were sparse, allowing him time to get familiar with the new environment. And yet through the whole first day he was nervous, needing to remind himself why he was here: because his brother’s wife thought it was a grand idea. And because family helped each other, and Maxim literally had all the time in the world for the next few weeks.
That night, lying on an unfamiliar bed, he realised how accurate Boris was when he said keeping the dog out of the bed would be the hardest job. She was relentless, jumping on his legs despite Maxim’s scoldings, yipping piteously at him. He was almost asleep when he felt the mattress dip again and a small weight settled next to his feet. Sighing, Maxim decided he was tired of kicking her out uselessly, and what Boris didn’t see would hurt no one.
_
The people seeking the services of the flower shop were more varied than Maxim first imagined. Lovers wanting to impress their sweethearts, gifts for mothers, presents for bosses about to retire, funerals, brides-to-be seeking their favorite blossoms… And even his comrade, Sasha. Alexsandr fucking Senaviev.
Maxim knew that Sasha’s family -ex wife and kids, as well as his sister- lived here, and that he used every chance he had to visit his children. With the city being as big as it was, the chance of stumbling into each other like this was astronomically slim, yet here they were.
At first Maxim didn’t realise who the customer was. He heard the door and barely directed a quick glance at it, knowing that people liked to look around the shop before coming to the counter. It was only when he heard a loud “Maxim, is that you?” that he looked at the person in question. Sasha looked different in civilian clothes. Maxim had almost expected him to wear a balaclava here too, and he couldn’t help but stare in disbelief at him.
“What are you doing here?” It sounded vaguely accusing and suspicious, yet Alexsandr laughed at Maxim’s borderline rude attitude and came to lean against the counter, as if he was in the bar rather than a flower shop.
“Is this your retirement plan, a secret life outside of Rainbow?” Alexsandr was grinning at him in that way that made Maxim feel like he was important and noticed. It was an absurd notion, and he hated feeling foolish. “Maxim the flower boy, who would have thought.”
“Are you going to buy something or not?” Maxim crossed his arms, annoyed.
“I saw you have this small potted cactus, and I think my little girl will love it.”
That was… reasonable. It could even be called cute, he supposed. Maxim nodded briskly and went to fetch a handful of the cacti. In the end Sasha picked the one with the shortest and softest spikes. So his ex wouldn’t yell at him for giving something that could hurt their daughter, he said.
“This is not my shop,” Maxim confessed while Sasha paid. “I’m helping my cousin for a few days, that’s it.”
He didn’t want any stupid rumours to spread, or worse, Alexsandr calling him flower boy again.
_
Maxim thought it was a one off thing. A coincidence, an isolated curiosity. He should have known better.
Alexsandr became a regular visitor at the shop, but not a customer. No, he was there to drive Maxim up the walls with his closeness and easy banter and acting like Maxim was an integral part of his life even now. Every day, he would invite Maxim out for lunch, or if he declined, to a few drinks after the flower shop closed. He stayed by Maxim’s side for the greater part of the day, and it was both familiar and comforting as it was exasperating. That mix of emotions was normal when it came to Sasha. He was an expert on eliciting fondness and irritation in Maxim’s heart, as well as something more dangerous that he avoided thinking about.
At his temporary home, when Zoya was the only witness to his wistful thoughts, Maxim allowed himself the truth of why Sasha’s presence during the day made him feel so lonely at night. He hated how he started to anticipate Sasha’s visits to the shop, how his heart would skip a beat when his comrade smiled at him in greeting. Maxim refused to set himself up for heartbreak, it was a stupid thing to do.
Thankfully, his interactions with Sasha didn’t carry any awkwardness despite Maxim’s private moments of weakness. Still, some conversations were harder to go through than others.
“What flowers would you use to tell someone you like them?”
He regarded Sasha as if he’d grown a second head, but the man was busy inspecting the daisies and didn’t notice.
“The flowers alone are usually clue enough,” Maxim deadpanned, because really, people didn’t go around giving flowers to others regularly, did they?
“Yes, but in the movies they use this or that flower because it means ‘I love you’, or some other contrived message. Has nobody asked you about that before?”
“What movies do you watch?” Maxim chuckled, because that sounded like old-fashioned romance movies, and picturing Sasha watching those was hilarious. Alexsandr remained serious, discounting the amused glint in his eyes, so Maxim shrugged. “No fucking idea. Red roses are always popular. But I would get a bouquet of whatever is your girl’s favorite flower.”
“And if I don’t know that?” Sasha appeared pensive, and Maxim swallowed the bitterness he felt when considering who might be the person motivating these questions. Lera deserved the best, and he had no right to feel jealous.
“Then picking flowers in her favorite color might be a good idea? I don’t know! I know shit about romantic advice, maybe the roses are popular for a reason.” Maxim shrugged, uncomfortable with the direction the conversation had taken.
To his relief, Sasha nodded as he got closer to the counter. “I like red. Red is a good, strong color.”
“Of course you think that, Mr. Red Army family.” Maxim couldn’t help teasing him, because Sasha did it to him all the time and payback was only fair.
“Red is a color suited for hunters too! Or do you prefer green?” Sasha literally poked him, and Maxim swatted his hand away, fighting to hide a smile.
“I don’t care about colors.” His declaration was met with a scoff of incredulity, and Maxim suddenly felt the urge to defend his position. “Colors are all a distraction, a way to either blend in the surroundings or give yourself away. Especially when it snows. When white covers everything you can see, colors are either meaningless or your death sentence.”
Alexsandr grunted. “I think red would make a nice contrast on white, like blood on the snow.”
He didn’t disagree. It was a vivid image, one that was alluring not despite its sense of danger, but because of it.
_
A couple of days later, cousin Boris was back home, and Maxim knew his time as a florist was ending. It wasn’t the worst experience ever, but it was also something he couldn’t see himself doing regularly.
He notified Sasha of the impending end to their new routine, and how he wasn’t sure what he would do now. They still had another week of free time, and Maxim didn’t think he would go back to Kovrov, but he wasn’t sure if he’d stay in the city either, or if Boris would even welcome him for a longer stay. Maxim wanted to say Sasha looked disappointed at the news, but it was a momentary thing.
Alexsandr promised him that tomorrow, his last day as a flower boy, they’d celebrate by going drinking. Getting properly wasted as a way of celebrating was a time honored tradition between them, something they used to do after every successful mission.
There was a strange energy between them for the entire day, which Maxim blamed on Sasha, who was acting weird. The man was usually calm and at ease, but today he kept glancing at his phone, checking the time, and Maxim didn’t believe for a second he was that eager to go drinking. He even disappeared for a time while Maxim closed the shop, and Maxim started considering that maybe something happened and they should postpone their little outing.
However, before he was even done locking the front door, Sasha was back, acting all suspicious and holding something behind his back. Maxim frowned at him. “What are you doing?”
As all answer, Alexsandr smirked and revealed what he’d been hiding. A bouquet where most of the flowers were white, except for a few striking touches of red. Maxim stared at it, stunned, and not realising it was meant for him until Sasha gestured at him twice to grab it. Up close, he could identify white camellias and red chrysanthemums, along with the sweet fragrance of jasmine. The yellow ones he thought were irises, but he wasn’t sure. It was lovely, and Maxim still couldn’t believe that Sasha actually meant this gesture. Surely not in the same way Maxim wanted to interpret it.
“What’s the meaning of this?” He scowled, eyeing the bouquet with unveiled suspicion.
“I thought the flowers alone would be clue enough,” Sasha said, and he could hit him for using Maxim’s own words against him in such a way.
He wondered if there was any meaning to the flowers, if there was a subtle message he was missing. After the conversation from a few days ago, he wouldn’t put it past Sasha to do something like that just to mess with him. “If this is a joke, it’s not a funny one.”
“A joke? I don’t joke about things that matter.” Sasha seemed a bit offended, and Maxim wanted to believe him. He really did. But he still doubted. Sensing his hesitation, Sasha sighed. “I know I said we’d go drinking, but I thought we could go to my apartment, have dinner and drinks there.”
The way he said it made it sound like a dare, and Maxim couldn’t resist a challenge. “I never say no to food.”
Alexsandr’s answering grin was so radiant that it could have melted Antarctica, and Maxim suddenly realised he’d agreed to what sounded like a home date. The revelation made him nervous in an exciting way, similar to what he felt during hunts. Except he was pretty sure he was the one who had fallen into a trap this time. It was fine. Maxim loved the allure of danger, after all, and this particular danger was one he’d wanted to explore for so long.
This would be one of the worst mistakes of his life, or the best decision Maxim ever made. There was only one way to find out, and judging by Sasha’s pleased expression and the warmth in his chest as they walked side by side, Maxim was content with his decision.
_________________________
About the bouquet Sasha gives Maxim, I like to imagine he went to another florist who wasn't phased by the request, they made Sasha talk about what he wanted to say and then put a bouquet together. According to my quick research, the flowers used there mean:
White camellia: You are adorable Red chrysanthemum: I love you (Spanish) jasmine: Sensualtiy Yellow iris: Passion
So what do you think Sasha was trying to say with that? 😉
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wafflesandkruge · 3 years
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when you love someone
The Grand Palace was quiet at this hour with nearly everyone asleep, save for the two royals themselves. Although he’d gone to bed at his usual time, sleep had eluded him and he’d tossed and turned until he simply gave up. He’d slipped into the kitchens the same way he had when he was a boy, but instead of desserts, he found himself looking for something a bit stronger. But to his surprise, he’d found his soon-to-be wife already there, her personality more bracing than any liquor he’d ever tasted.
for @trackermal​​: “ehri and nik and ‘how come she loves you?’”
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Ehri looked at Nikolai over her glass of brandy with obvious distaste. He couldn’t help but think she had spent a little too much time with Zoya- they had the same unimpressed expression seemingly reserved just for him, like he was a cheap street magician who kept bumbling his tricks. Which was rude, because he was perfectly capable of juggling.
“Should a wife really be looking at her husband like that?” He attempted to reach for his glass, then remembered Ehri had stolen it. She’d developed a taste for his favorite drink in her few weeks in Os Alta. With a sigh, he fetched another glass from the cabinet and poured another one for himself.
The Grand Palace was quiet at this hour with nearly everyone asleep, save for the two royals themselves. Although he’d gone to bed at his usual time, sleep had eluded him and he’d tossed and turned until he simply gave up. He’d slipped into the kitchens the same way he had when he was a boy, but instead of desserts, he found himself looking for something a bit stronger. But to his surprise, he’d found his soon-to-be wife already there, her personality more bracing than any liquor he’d ever tasted.
Ehri scowled. “Like what?”
“Like I just killed your childhood pet in front of you.”
“My sister did that once,” she mused.
“Makhi?”
“Correct.”
“Hmm. Elder siblings really are the worst, aren’t they?”
“I’ll drink to that,” she muttered as she clinked her glass to his. A bit of amber liquid sloshed over the side and onto the table, but she didn’t seem to notice as she brought the glass to her lips again. Nikolai wondered just how much she’d had before he’d walked in. When he’d entered the room, he’d found her sitting at a table under a window, the moonlight bathing her in a silver glow as she’d sipped at rice wine and stared out at the city with a melancholic expression. In her pale dress, she might as well have been a statue carved by a skillful hand.
He often wondered if he’d ever be able to love her the way a husband loved a wife. Attempted murder aside, he found he was quite fond of her; her sharp wit and sharper tongue were always worthwhile sparring partners and she was undeniably pretty in the unassuming manner of a spring blossom. But the fondness he had for Ehri never grew into anything more than the affection he'd feel for a close friend, not in the way it did with...her.
He cleared his throat loudly, suddenly not wanting to dwell on those thoughts. Ehri cut him a baleful glance.
“Yes, dearest husband?”
“I was wondering, sweetest wife, the reason for your late night visit. I’m assuming you weren’t here for the excellent view?”
Ehri scoffed and reached for the bottle again. “The view here is nothing in comparison to Ahmrat Jen. I am marrying into a backwater village.”
Nikolai clutched at his chest in mock hurt. “You wound me.”
“And I’ll do it again.”
He let her threat of regicide slide and sipped at his glass. As he’d hoped, she sighed and began to speak to fill the silence.
“I talked to Mayu today.”
Nikolai raised an eyebrow. The Tavgharad girl had been confined to a separate wing of the palace ever since she’d recovered from her self-inflicted wound. To his knowledge, there had been no attempt at contact from either of them. His puzzled thoughts must have shown on his face, because Ehri snorted and shook her head.
“It was that Shu guard of yours. Tolya. He snuck me into the east wing for half an hour.”
A bolt of panic went through him. Tolya? If his most trusted guard was helping plot against him, why would she reveal that? His grip on his glass tightened until his knuckles were white. But before his thoughts could spiral further, she rolled her eyes.
“Don’t look like that, you’ll get wrinkles. And what would you be without your good looks? He was within earshot the entire time to make sure we weren’t plotting anything. Ask him yourself.”
“But...” he started, his mind still struggling to grasp the magnitude of his friend’s betrayal. “Why would he help you?”
“Because he’s an incurable romantic,” she replied, her gaze shifting away from his face. Her hands shook as she raised her glass again and downed it in one go. He waited for her to say more, to finish her thought, but her lips were pressed into a thin line as she looked at anything but him.
It hit him a moment later.
“Oh.” He suddenly felt like the world’s biggest fool.
“Took you long enough. And I thought they said you were clever.” Her words were sharp, but there was visible relief on her face as she finally set her glass aside. He supposed he ought to have been touched she trusted him enough to let him in on so big of a secret. Though he supposed he didn’t have much to gain from it, not when he was the one who needed the wedding to happen.
“So how long...” his voice trailed off.
“Since we were seventeen. She’d just been assigned to my guard, and she was the only girl my age in the palace who wasn’t scared to talk to me.” She traced the grain of the wooden table with a finger, seemingly lost in her memories. “She kissed me first, actually. Stupid on her part, when she knew I could have had her executed for even touching me. But it all worked out. Until it fell apart again, I suppose.”
“What happened?”
“She said she wouldn’t be staying. That she’d go back to Shu Han the first chance she got because she couldn’t see me wed to another.” Ehri gave a brittle laugh. “Her jealousy is stronger than her oath of loyalty, I suppose.”
Nikolai averted his gaze. He had the distinct feeling Ehri wouldn’t appreciate it if he saw her cry. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. It’s not your fault. Well, actually,” she conceded, sniffling a little, “it is. But it’s not your fault we were born as two people who couldn’t be together in this life.”
He suddenly found his glass terribly interesting. He wasn’t sure if she’d meant to hint at his own personal dilemmas, but their conversation was getting uncomfortably close to turning on him. And of course, she decided to pounce on that.
“You and the general.” It wasn’t a question, or even speculation, but a statement. Nikolai tried not to wince.
“What about General Nazyalensky and I?”
“You care for each other.” Her golden eyes were bright with unshed tears, but they were still narrowed in triumph. Saints, did everything have to be a fight with her? Nikolai ran a hand through his hair and tried to keep his knee from bouncing.
“Of course we care for each other,” he said with a forced laugh, “As I’m sure you know, four years ago-”
“That’s not what I mean,” she interrupted. She leaned in closer until he could smell her floral perfume. He tried not to lean back. That would have been a loss for him. “The two of you are like Mayu and I. Zhiji. When they know you better than you know yourself.”
He thought about denying it, as he’d always done. But perhaps it was the drink, or the lack of sleep, or the company, that he gave a tired nod. It wasn’t his best decision, but it felt fair. Surprisingly, Ehri didn’t gloat. Instead, she looked even gloomier if possible. She slumped back into her chair.
“Why hasn’t she left, then? Will she still be seeing you behind closed doors even after we are wed? How can she still love you?”
How indeed. Nikolai reached for the bottle again, only to find it empty. They were both going to regret this the next morning. He sighed and folded his hands together so they would stop trembling.
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I don’t deserve it. I don’t deserve her. If she tells me she wants to leave tomorrow, I wouldn’t stop her.”
Ehri’s brows furrowed. “You wouldn’t fight to keep her here?”
“No. Sometimes, love is about letting go.” And that was what all love was in the end, wasn’t it? The loss of it. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Saints, he needed another drink. He pushed himself up from the table and started digging through the cabinets again.
She was silent as she turned that over in her head. Nikolai found a half-full bottle of kvas, probably hidden away by a kitchen boy to show off to his friends later. Not his favorite, but it’d have to do. He’d replace it with a nicer bottle the next day. He brought it back to the table and filled both their glasses.
“I don’t think I like that very much,” Ehri said, staring into her drink as if she could scry secrets from its surface. “Love should be something you fight to keep, no matter what.”
He offered her a tired smile. “Then you’re the braver one of us, Princess. Personally, I’m a bit tired of fighting at the moment.”
“You give shitty advice,” she accused.
“I’m drunk.”
“It’s an improvement.”
He decided to let her have the last word. They sat in silence as the moon climbed higher in the sky, the last bottle quickly polished off between them. There was a certain comfort in the quiet, an understanding that he only found with Ehri. It was rather nice. But if he ever told her that, she’d probably laugh in his face. Saints, he wished he’d meet a decent royal at least once in his life.
Ehri was the first to push away from the table first some hours later, the legs of her chair scraping against the stone floor with an ear splitting screech. Nikolai winced.
“Have a good night, o’ honorable husband,” she said as she brushed some dust off her sleeve. Her entire body swayed with the motion. “Don’t get assassinated. I don’t think I could manage to look mournful at your funeral.”
“Sweet dreams, darling wife,” he said with some amusement as he watched her stumble out of the kitchen. If he’d been feeling kinder, he might have offered to walk her to her room. But when he already knew what the answer was going to be, he didn’t have the strength to waste his breath.
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nazyalenskyism · 3 years
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How You Get The Girl (Part 2)
Summary: Part 2 of a Zoyalai AU  based on ‘How You Get the Girl.’ |  Nikolai tries to win Zoya back, but she’s not going to forgive him so easily.
A/N:  Zoya's reminded of all the good times she had with Nikolai, but is it enough? Thanks for reading, feedback is always really appreciated. 
How You Get The Girl (Part 1)        “Zoya, there’s someone here for you.”
        “I’m busy,” Zoya replied distractedly, her eyes fixed on the monitor before her, “tell them I’m not here.”
        “Zoya,” her new receptionist hesitated, “I tried, but he said, ‘tell Nazyalensky I know she can spare five minutes out of her busy schedule to meet with the CEO of Ravkan Industries,’ is he delusional, should I call security?” Zoya paused. Sending security to haul Nikolai out of the firm would be funny, but it would never happen. Unfortunately he probably knew the names of all of the security guards in her high rise office and sent them Christmas cards every year. Her fingers twitched around the pen she gripped in her hand, she only had another hour before she went home, and she’d taken the day off tomorrow so that she could spend it with Genya. Undoubtedly, Nikolai was here to try to weasel his way into her evening plans.
           Well, Zoya mused, if I accept whatever outrageous proposal he has for tonight, at least I won’t have to pay for it. And, if Nikolai was serious about wanting to win her back he would try as hard as he could to do so (like he did with everything), so it would be safe to assume he would splurge on her. You don’t have to take him back, you can just make fun of him the whole night and get a free dinner out of it too. She sighed, knowing this night was already doomed to be a disaster. Whatever, disasters were always more fun to deal with when Nikolai was involved. She pressed the comms button on her desk, “send him in. Tell him he has five minutes before I call security on him. But first, put him on the DNA list.”
                                                          ***
          Nikolai grinned at Zoya’s new assistant who was clearly flustered by the situation, though she did an excellent job in appearing unphased. Zoya’s old assistant must have left while they were still in the ‘try-to-contact-me-and-I’ll-run-you-over' stage of the last few months, seeing how her new assistant, Leoni, didn't know who he was. “What’s the DNA list?” he asked, blinking confusedly when she whipped out her phone, clearly snapping a picture of him. “Are you going to pull out a few of my hairs? What would Nazyalensky even want them for?”
          Leoni looked up, “ Miss Nazyalensky said that it’s classified information, sorry.”
          Nikolai peered at her screen, she was making a poster with the image she’d just taken of him, captioned with, ‘CEO of Ravkan Industries.’ “My name is Nikolai, if that helps. Nikolai Lantsov.”
          She waved him away, “you’re free to go in now. Have a nice day. Also, watch out, she’s very good at tearing men to shreds.”
          Nikolai let out a laugh, “thank you, Miss Hilli, I’ll keep that in mind. I also happen to have it on good authority that she won’t tear me to shreds tonight.”
          “Why not?”
          “Because I think she’s been expecting me for a while.”
          “You’ll need a better line than that to win her over.”
          Nikolai pressed his knuckles to the door, “it’s me.” He heard faint grumbling he assumed was Zoya cursing him out before the door opened automatically and he sauntered into the room. “I can’t believe you forgot to tell Leoni who I was, Nazyalensky. Can you imagine the blow to my ego when she didn’t recognize me?” He slipped into the chair across from her, attempting to snatch a piece of candy from the golden bowl on her desk.
          “Hey!” she snapped, swatting his hand away without even looking up at him, “I’m sure your gigantic ego can handle it.” she continued flipping through the papers on her desk, highlighting things before turning back to her computer, never once looking at him. After 10 minutes, he couldn’t take it anymore.
          “Aren’t you going to ask me why I’m here?”
          “You know that I know why you’re here. You just want a chance to say it out loud.”
          “Right you are, Zoya dear! Tonight, you and I are spending the night out on the town.”
          She looked at him pointedly, “and why would I agree to that?”
          “Because we’re taking my car, and I’m paying for dinner.”
          She arched a brow, “you’re driving? What, no chauffeur today?”
          Grinning, Nikolai leaned back in his chair. “Well, I’m certainly not getting into a car with you behind the wheel.”
          “I’m a good driver!” she hissed, jabbing her pen in his direction.
          “Mailboxes and terrified pedestrians beg to differ, dear.”
          “Whatever,” she huffed, “you’re not much better.”
          “You’re right about that, I’m infinitely better.”
          “Aren’t you trying to get me to agree to go out with you? Insulting me isn’t the way to do it.”
          “Come on Nazyalensky,” he smiled, “it can’t be more insufferable than going out with -- what’s his name, the guy who works across the hall -- the one I saw trying to get himself together enough to ask you out tonight? Mel? Mervin? Martin? Marcus?”
          She made a face, “I think it’s Merle?”
          “Exactly my point.”
          Zoya twisted a tendril of hair around her finger, which she usually did when thinking. “Don’t mistake my amusement for something else. I haven’t forgiven you.”
          “I didn't ask you to,” Nikolai replied softly, “I just asked for a chance. Please just let me take you out tonight Zoya. Please.” He never begged, it wasn’t in his nature, but he was willing to do whatever it took to make her look at him like she did before, like he hadn’t hurt her.
          She exhaled, “fine, but this doesn’t mean I forgive you.”
          “I know.”
          “You’ll have to wait a while, I can’t leave until I finish going through this case, it’ll take me at least another hour, maybe two.”
          “Take your time,” Nikolai said, taking out his laptop from his bag, pulling up his own work, “I can wait.”
                                                          ***
          Three hours later, it was 7 PM and Zoya had collapsed on the ground, now staring up at the ceiling from her plush rug, her case files a mess around her. Nikolai sat by the window, the light of the setting sun illuminating his features. He looks like a prince in an oil painting, she thought, and then figured that her lack of sleep plus her hunger must be making her delirious.
          “Let’s get some dinner,” Nikolai announced, suddenly standing up.
          “Lantsov, I’m too tired to go out.”
          “Fantastic, we’ll order in then.”
          “Fine, but only because I’m too tired to storm out of here and go home right now,” she grumbled, trying to blink the sleep from her eyes.
          He let out a chuckle, picking up his phone, stopping in his tracks when Zoya’s fingers shot out, wrapping around his wrist. “Wait, where are you ordering from?”
          “Tolya’s, of course,” Nikolai replied, his eyes trained on Zoya’s fingers still clutched at his wrist. She moved to pull her hand back, but he was quicker, resting his on top of hers for an extended moment, his eyes lingering on her face. She fought to keep any hint of feeling out of her features, but she knew the tops of her cheeks were pinking. How dare he affect her this way. It was the first time they’d touched this way in months and Zoya hated how her chest constricted the longer he looked at her, the longer that his fingers brought warmth to her. She pulled out of his grasp, trying to clear her mind, deciding to settle on scooping up case files from the ground so that she could free herself from his piercing gaze. Nikolai turned towards the window, the city lights masking his face from her as he ordered from their friend’s restaurant.
          She had missed this, just a bit, she could admit that much to herself. She had missed Nikolai’s ability to make others feel at ease, to make them laugh, and trust him. To want to lay their faith in them. She had missed the press of his fingers and those intelligent hazel eyes that never missed a thing, that could read her like an open book. Those eyes that were now back on her, Nikolai’s hand warm in hers as she took his offering hand to pull her up.
          “Tolya said he’d personally deliver the order to the lobby, is that okay?” She nodded dazedly in response, picking up her bag and heading following him out the door, halting by her receptionist’s desk.           “Leoni,” Zoya said, feeling breathless as she ran a hand through her hair, “why are you still here? You know you don’t have to stay a minute past 6.”
          “Oh,” Leoni said carefully, “I know, I was busy and forgot the time.”
          Zoya frowned, moving around to Leoni’s side of the desk, “what were you working on? Everything but the Brekker case is closed and I just started it.”
          “These biscuits are so tasty, Leoni. Are you sure it’s okay if I take the whole box?” the man who was mumbling through a cookie halted in his tracks as Zoya whirled on him incredulously.
          “Adrik Zhabin, what the hell are you doing here?”
          “I--”
          “You know Zoya?” Leoni interjected.
          “Well, funny story--”
          “Does he know me? He’s my friend’s little brother! Are you,” she jabbed an accusatory finger at Adrik, “flirting with my receptionist?”
          Adrik flushed as Leoni smiled at him affectionately, “no, I’m just driving her home.”
          Zoya raised an eyebrow, “I have my eye on you Zhabin. You better just be ‘driving her home.’ Does your sister know about this?” She yanked her cellphone out of her purse, nearly dropping it when Nikolai placed his hand on top of hers.
          “Nazyalensky, leave him alone.”
          “But--”
          “Zoya”
          “Fine,” she huffed, putting her phone away, “Adrik, I’ve already lost one receptionist thanks to Mal Oretsev, you better watch yourself.”
          “Yes ma’am,” Adrik said grumpily, avoiding eye contact with Nikolai as Leoni led him out the door, his hand tight in hers.
          Nikolai waited until they were out of sight before turning to Zoya, “Can I walk you home, Nazyalensky?”
          He got an eye roll in return, “if you want to waste your night, go ahead, but I’m planning on taking my share of dinner and going back to my place.”
          “Fantastic .”
          “Fantastic,” she muttered.
                                                            ***
          “I forgot how short you are without heels,” Nikolai teased as Zoya collapsed next to him on the picnic blanket, her glare bleary but cutting all the same. The sun was slowly setting, and the riverside was quiet, the only noise being the occasional conversations from those on the pathways. Dinner had been fairly quiet, they were too hungry to talk and Tolya’s food was far too good to not eat it quickly. Or at least that’s what she assumed Nikolai’s logic was, she knew her own reasons for refraining from chatting away with Nikolai, as easy as she knew the old habit would be to fall into.
          “I’m six inches shorter than you, Nikolai, you’re not as tall as you think you are.”
          “Anything shorter than me is short.”
          “Ugh, I don’t care. I’m too tired and stuffed to deal with you,” she pushed his cheek away with her hand, closing her eyes as he laid down next to her, their hands nearly touching but not quite.
          There was a long silence and for a moment Zoya thought Nikolai had fallen asleep, but then he spoke up, “do you remember how we used to come down here on the weekends?”
          Zoya pushed down the urge to look over at him, “yes.”
          “When you used to sit up here with your giant textbooks and chunky glasses.”
          “My glasses were sleek and fashionable.”
          “You remember 6 A.M. on Saturday mornings very differently than I do.”
          She jammed her elbow into his side, his wheezing laugh making her shake her head. “With your back to back rowing and sailing practice, I had a lot of time to study.”
          “Yeah, but you always found the time to cheer me on. Every time I looked up, you would be waving back. In the team rooms on campus, half of my pictures on the wall were ones you took after practice.” The pictures in frames, she knew were all the ones he had said he loved, where her bright lipstick stained his cheeks. It had been so easy to forget her hurt this afternoon as they worked quietly, side by side, when they joked as if nothing had happened, but this reminiscing was too much, it brought back all the wrong memories.
          “Young Zoya had a habit of getting herself caught up in things that wasted her time when she shouldn’t have.” The words were harsh, they left a bitter taste in her mouth but she couldn’t hold them in. How many nights had she spent, curled up in bed, simply wanting answers as to why Nikolai had walked out of her life with no explanation. She hated to admit that she had been searching for love her whole life, love from a mother and mentor who saw her as nothing more than a means to their own ends. Love from a father who was too afraid to stand up for himself, for her. She had found it once, and she thought that with Nikolai she had found it again. How wrong she was.
          “I know you don’t believe me, Zoya, but I never meant to hurt you.”
          “You don’t know what I believe,” she whispered, horrified at how her eyes burned. She shut them tighter still, “I know that you left because you were trying to protect me. Because you thought it was your fault and you wanted to fix things, because you always want to fix things.” Nikolai was quiet and so she continued, six months of pent up words tumbling out. “You made me feel safe, you made me believe that you wouldn’t leave. I let myself fall for your charms again and again, I won’t let myself be fooled so easily again.” She felt tears leak from the corners of her eyes, even in this moment where all she wanted to do was yell at him, she felt safe enough to tell him the truth of how she felt. Damn him.
          “I wasn’t trying to trick you, not you, never you.” Nikolai’s voice was thick and she knew that if she looked over at him, she would see tears in his eyes too.
          “I tried so hard to hate you. I really did. But then you called every day, you sent me those letters, all the flowers, why couldn’t you just tell me the truth from the start? You know I would’ve understood. I would’ve helped.”
          “I’ve told you how bad my family is, but they’re truly horrible. I couldn’t think of a way to fix the situation without ruining your life, if they knew you existed, they would’ve made it hell. I should’ve told you before I did any of it, but I was a coward. It was easier to leave first and explain later. I didn’t want to watch your heart break,” his voice broke on the last word and Zoya pressed her palm to her mouth, trying to push back a sob.
          Nikolai’s hand brushed against hers on the picnic blanket and she grasped it tightly, needing something to hold onto as silent sobs racked her body. He didn’t try to reach out or comfort her, he knew she didn’t want that, that she didn’t need it. Despite all that, she let herself break in that moment, surrendering to an all too familiar comfort, the press of his hand against hers. Zoya took one deep breath, then another, until she felt grounded, swiping at the tears that still lingered on her cheeks. She stood up abruptly, gathering her things as quickly as she could, without looking back at him. Zoya needed to get out of here, her head was still swimming with a thousand emotions she couldn’t try to detangle, and she refused to fall into Nikolai’s arms again because she let her emotions get the best of her. He didn’t try to stop her.
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rcseandherthcrns · 4 years
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╰ ♡  MUSE 25, AMY ADAMS, CIS FEMALE ┊ have you seen ELIZABETH “LIZA” CALLOWAY around hillston? the 41 year old is said to be an EVENT PLANNER. the neighbours would say that they’re MANIPULATIVE and DECEITFUL, but they’re actually CHARISMATIC and PRAGMATIC. SHE often reminds people of a soft lilting accent, a flashy diamond necklace, a lipsticked smile like a fox. watch out, though. you wouldn’t believe that SHE’S A CON ARTIST. ( ally, 22, est, she/her )
me: don’t let me take a muse too early lmao!!!!!  also me: applies for liza literally on day two. ... we irritatin’. 
fr though i have never come up with a bg and personality faster for a character. this is liza, my neutral evil mother, and i love her so much. i don’t really have any wcs in particular for this character, but i def wanna plot and see what tomfoolery we can come up with. as usual, deets below the cut, and like for me to hyu for plotting ! 
pinterest | tl;dr at the bottom bc i wrote a novel | (tw for abuse and alcoholism, all mentioned briefly)
history. 
in another life, elizabeth would be an actress. her rags to riches story would enthrall millions, she’d bring audiences to tears and the academy to their knees, and her name would be remembered for generations to come. but fate had other plans for a woman so talented and hungry for fame, for elizabeth was born lyudmila fyodorovna, the fifth child of a pair of factory workers in leningrad.
her father was an alcoholic, and terrorized the household, and lyudmila finally ran away at age nine, all on her own. from there, she quickly learned how to survive. when she couldn’t get enough money begging in the streets, she stole a school uniform and pretended to be a student who’d gotten lost on a school trip and needed money to get back home. she quickly learned the fastest way to make money: lie. 
her favorite way to con, once she became a teenager, was to seduce and then vanish with whatever she could grab. as she grew older, she went for bigger and bigger fish; party men, mobsters, oligarchs, you name it. she could read them, devise what kind of girl they wanted; sometimes she was a university student, other times a ballerina, other times a simple farm girl. 
at age twenty, however, she was caught rifling through the drawer of one of her marks. the mobster threatened to have her killed. she barely got out alive, and she fled the city. at that point, she figured it was time for a new con. 
it was not long after that she found little zoya, then just a baby, left at a government building in a nearby village. admittedly, her first thought wasn’t to take the child in out of the goodness of her heart; it was that, if she pinched this thing, it would be an incredibly useful prop for cons.
it was a successful con, and she ran it for a while. long enough that she became attached to the baby. she realized, when she started calling her myushka even when they were alone, that she’d actually come to love the little girl. 
as soon as she had the opportunity, she moved herself and zoya to the us, not necessarily for the glitz and glamor associated with america, but for another reason: america was the mecca of the con artist. where russians are pessimistic, americans are optimistic, and lyudmila played them all for fools. she’s gone by countless names by now, and is an old pro at countless types of scams. 
calloway was a miracle she stumbled across while running insurance schemes out of a hospital. a man with amnesia who also had a billion dollar inheritance? she nearly tripped running out of the place to get everything in order. all the forgeries she could think necessary, a small shoplifted closet of designer clothes, and, of course, a wedding band and matching engagement ring from a pawn shop. 
after that, all she had to do was fling herself at calloway and apologize profusely for getting stuck in russia visiting family, and how much her poor husband must have missed her. 
tl;dr - soviet woman runs away from abusive family, cons to survive, finds a baby, grows to love her, moves to america, cons some more, until she trips into the job of a lifetime. 
personality.
of course, she’s actually a fucking snake in all meanings of the word. cunning, conniving, constantly looking for her next payday. she, of course, considers herself a survivor. 
naturally charismatic and charming. 
as liza, however, she is incredibly gregarious and bubbly. she loves to talk to people, and is actively trying to make friends in hillston. probably trying to host parties and stuff, especially to advertise her event planning business. 
will liza figure out who has beef with each other and then invite them to the same brunch to watch them fight, pretending she’s too sweet and clueless to notice that these people wouldn’t get along until it’s too late? yes she will. 
she honestly picked the event planner career out of the blue; she pretends to not be very good at it, but she finds herself enjoying it. when she gets work, that is. 
has kept a slight russian accent for this con, so she has a sweet purring lilt when she speaks. (she’s incredibly talented with her voice; she can do any number of accents, from italian to brooklyn italian. her natural voice is a much deeper russian accent, though.) says her russian name is yelizaveta, but goes by elizabeth or liza because it’s easier for americans to pronounce. 
she’s also incredibly protective and somewhat controlling over zara. she’s still liza’s baby girl, after all. 
uuuuuh tries her ding darn best to be perfect. always wearing a beautiful outfit, with perfect makeup and hair. always willing to lend a hand, do a favor. basically so nobody kicks up a fuss about her being here. 
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rebelart · 4 years
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@cutxthroat​ said  : 
🍸 : your muse offering mine an alcoholic drink      ────────   *   /   symbol reaction meme .     ( open . )
it was a quiet night  ,       not unusual in a city with a curfew  ────────        of the streets by nine     &&.     lights out by ten  ────────       but tonight was different  .       the quiet tonight was hollow  ,       solemn  ,       as though every citizen of this city  ,       every animal both wild     &&.     domestic  ,       knew what had happened  ;       they knew it was a night for silence  .       a night for grieving  ,       for the lives they failed to save  .
zoya hated silence  .       silence spoke too loudly  ,       it spoke too many things     &&.     asked all the questions she so desperately wished to ignore  .       zoya wasn’t one to dwell on her thoughts  ,       she didn’t like sitting with her feelings  ────────       especially feels of guilt     &&.     grief  ────────       but the silence made her face those things  ,       they made her sit with them     &&.     nurse them like she would her favourite drink  .       in the silent hours they were her unwanted companions     &&.     she could do nothing to turn them away  .
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she’s been sat like this for hours now  ,       lost within her feelings     &&.     held captive within her mind  ,       staring out across the darkened city     &&.     out towards the barren lands beyond its walls  .       the wind blows  ,       so frigid in the early hours of the night  ,       so bitter     &&.     yet she barely feels its bite  ────────       she barely feels anything at all  ,       so numb with her grief  .       she does not hear the footsteps behind her  ,       the crunch of gravel that coats the rooftop  ,       so when the bottle comes into view     &&.     cuts off her view of the barren lands  ,       zoya all but jumps out of her skin  .
“     shit  ────────       don’t scare me like that  !!     ”          her voice sounds so loud after hours of nothing but silence  ,       yet still so quiet  ,       so different to her usual commanding sound  .      she glances up to find her newest companion     &&.     frowns at the male stood beside her  ,       but she accepts the drink without taking a sip from its spout  ,     merely cradles it within her lap  .        
she falls silent again but it’s more pronounced now that she was no longer alone  ,       like someone has thrown a blanket over her senses in an attempt to suffocate her  .       but zoya is no longer content to let it drown her  ,       no longer wishes to wallow in her thoughts for a second longer  ,       but after sitting so long without speech she struggles to find the words to wash away the lingering silence  .       words that don’t sound so bitter in their delivery but she fails  ,       just as she failed to save those lives tonight  .  
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“     if you were going to bring me a drink  ,       you could at least bring me one i like  .       i don’t drink alcohol  .     ”          
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“There were times like this, when they worked side by side, when the rhythm between them was so easy that her mind would turn traitor. She would look at the tousle of Nikolai’s golden head bent over some correspondence or his long fingers tearing into a roll and she would wonder what it would be like when he finally married, when he belonged to someone else, and she lost these moments of peace
Zoya would still be Nikolai’s general, but she knew it would be different. He would have someone else to tease and lean on and argue over the herring with. She’d made men fall in love with her before, when she was young and cruel and liked to test her power. Zoya did not desire; she was desired. And that was the way she liked it. It was galling to admit that she wasn’t at all sure she could make Nikolai want her, and more galling to think that a part of her longed to try, to know if he was as impervious to her beauty as he seemed, to know if someone like him, full of hope and light and optimistic endeavor, could love someone like her.”
Leigh Bardugo, King of Scars
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“After all this time, she still had not found an end to her grief. It was a dark well, an echoing place into which she’d once cast a stone, sure that it would strike bottom and she would stop hurting. Instead, it just kept falling. She forgot about the stone, forgot about the well, sometimes for days or even weeks at a time. Then she would think Liliyana’s name, or her eye would pause on the little boat painted on her bedroom wall, it’s two-starred flag frozen in the wind. She’d sit down to write a letter and realize she had no one to write to, and the quiet that surrounded her became the silence of the well, of the stone still falling.” 
- Leigh Bardugo, King of Scars
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tag drop one
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