Trigger Warning: This chapter mentions suicide and has a depiction of it.

N I K O L A I
Seattle, USA
P A S T

She was dead. My wife was dead. I thought if I'd repeat it enough it'd make sense, however, I still couldn't bring myself to believe it. It didn't feel like she was gone. All of her clothes were still in our shared wardrobe, her makeup still cluttered the dresser, and her shoes still took an unreasonable amount of space in the closet.

Her perfume still lingered in every room of the penthouse we lived in.

She was everywhere, and yet she wasn't anywhere.

I didn't think my refusal to believe her death was denial. It was the rather suspicious conditions of her disappearance. I'd grown up with enough bloodshed to know how a crime scene didn't just disappear unless it had someone's hands on it. And this one had personal vendetta written all over it. I'd like to think it was because of me, however, that wasn't how the Bratva's enemies operated. They wouldn't have left me alive, or free, and above everything they would have made me the prime witness of Keira's suffering, not to mention neither of them knew about me.

I reckoned a part of me recognized this wasn't an ordinary situation, and if I had any chance to figure out what the fuck happened, I'd need to go to Chicago. Back to the haunted place dedushka liked to call my birthright. I didn't hate my grandfather, the Pakhan of the Chernov Bratva, I admired the man, I always had, but my mother's hatred for this life of violence had always kept me away. I'd ignored the hymn in my veins to take a plane and go up there because I knew if I ever went back to Chicago, I wouldn't be coming back. The call of it all was too strong, and I probably wouldn't have made this decision and gotten a ticket, but I knew I was no longer a man. I couldn't stay this way. Keira was my purpose, and now that she was gone, there was nothing I could do for answers unless I did what was expected of me, and took my place, even if it would kill me and everything I'd stood for once upon a time.

As I poured another shot for myself, throwing it down my throat, barely even registering the sting, my wedding band glinted on my finger like a painful reminder of the day she'd slid it over my finger, emerald eyes locked on mine, overflowing with happiness. I'd felt like I was the luckiest bastard alive, and even if it was just the two of us, I'd never felt the need for anyone. No friends. And any family I might've had on my wedding was dead, the ones that were alive, I wanted miles away from Keira.

To torture myself further, I reached for my phone and opened up the pictures I'd managed to take of hers over the years, some with me, some when she wasn't even aware I was taking them. I was scrolling through pictures aimlessly, my eyes glassy with tears until my hands stopped moving, and I dropped my phone in horror. I'd taken this mere minutes before it happened, and she seemed so happy, however, there was also this fear. Ironic how I hadn't noticed it that day, but now that I was looking at her through a screen, her lips stretched in the most beautiful smile that never reached her eyes, I was realising that something was amiss. And Keira knew it.

I'd wanted to drown then. I want to stop my heart from beating because the pain that ricocheted through me with every beat of it killed me. It was like chaos in my blood. A mortal sickness. As if every single breath I was taking was strained, and no matter how much I tried, I couldn't seem to get the air back in my lungs.

Now that I was drunk on the alcohol in my blood, and the pain in my very being, I realized that maybe Keira was a dream. A beautiful one. But a dream, and now it was time for me to wake up, but fuck, I didn't want to. I clawed at the emptiness inside me, the darkness that seemed to be seeping through, but nothing seemed to hold, and I kept slipping farther. My fingers shook as I reached to pour myself another drink, but I didn't register the shaking of my hands, or the tremble in my spine, all I cared about was chasing the bitter heaviness in my throat away, and maybe, just maybe, if I was drunk enough, I'd feel her kiss against my lips.

Wetness trailed down my cheek, and I brought my hand up to my face, my fingers getting wet, and when I pulled away to see it was tears that were leaving my eyes like an overflowing pool, a hysterical laugh broke through my lips and echoed in the silence.

It was in the deafening silence as the coldness started sinking its claws in my soul, I realized that I didn't want to live if she wasn't with me. So with my eyes bloodshot, my balance shaken, I stumbled against the couch, using it to keep myself up as I swayed, black dots forming in my vision. I'd always kept a revolver stashed for a rainy day. As it seemed today was the day.

(TW)

Once I held the cold metal in my hand, fresh tears left my eyes like I hadn't been doing that for the past hour. My fingers stopped trembling as my eyes locked on the metal, thinking how easy would it be to just end it all. All it would take was a flick of my fingers once the barrel was against my head, and it'd be over, yet, for the life of me, I couldn't bring my hand up. It seemed like I was paralyzed, paused in time. I had no reason to stay alive anymore. No one to live for and when I'd come to get this gun, I wanted it to end. I needed peace. However, now that I was here, I couldn't do it, and I wasn't sure if it was the tiny possibility that she might actually be alive or if I was a coward.

Screaming, I took out five bullets, and they dropped to my feet with a loud clank. Once I'd made sure only one was inside, I closed the cylinder and decided to play Russian roulette with my life. Dying alone, drunk wasn't what I had in mind, but I could imagine. I could tell myself that she was here, her beautiful eyes shining with tears, her fingers interlaced with mine. So I closed my eyes, hoping for something even I didn't know. I imagined we were sitting under the night sky, watching the northern lights like she'd said she wanted to. And I'd kiss the smile on her face before making love to her. My fingers tightened on the trigger, and I pressed it, however, nothing happened.

I tried again.

Nothing, fucking, happened.

Grunting, I threw the revolver away, and it hit the ground, it went off, and a bullet embedded itself inside the door. Fucking hell, now it came out.

Maybe luck was on my side tonight, but fuck, where was it when she was taken away from me. My legs bucked under me and I dropped to the ground. Our bed was merely a step away, but I couldn't bring myself to lay on it. I couldn't be alone on the sheets we'd been on. Together. Before leaving for this shit show.

(TW Scene finished)

My tears didn't stop, and I didn't want them to because I'd already made my mind on what I was going to do. If death wouldn't come easy to me, I'd go looking for it. After all, how many times could death really elude a man with a death wish? Someday, somewhere, someone greedy enough would kill me, and when the time came, I'd be waiting. But until then, I'd go back to Chicago, and become the monster my mother never wanted me to be.

*

I'd only landed in Chicago when I saw people in suits waiting for me, and I rolled my eyes behind the shades. They were the only thing covering up my swollen, bloodshot eyes. I'd cried all week. I'd screamed, but now. Now I'd wreak havoc. They nodded at me as they led me towards the waiting SUVs, and I followed them, only taking a breath once I was inside the car, miles away from the life I'd wanted for myself, just not far enough.

Dedushka was waiting for me when we arrived, and he patted my shoulders as I got there.

"Finally. My boy is back." His voice was low, but the authority behind it unmistakable. I greeted him with a forced smile, nodding as he led me towards the dining hall.

"We should start your training soon so you can officially be inducted as soon as possible, and then I can train you for taking over after me." He told me, the wrinkles on his face, more pronounced with age.

"Of course. When can I start?" I asked, taking a bite of the food placed in front of me.

If he was surprised with my compliance, he didn't mention it. I suppose his old age made him forget his ultimatum. If I wanted his help in finding out any information about Keira, I'd need to stop running, and come back. And here I was. Killing the last remains of the man I used to be just to get rid of the sinking feeling in my chest. Dedushka had told me I wouldn't get it easy because I was his grandson, and I'd told him, I didn't want it to be because what he didn't know was dead men didn't feel pain.

There was a storm inside me, like quicksand taking me under, and I needed to hurt. I needed to silence the rage inside my head because I didn't know what I'd do if it didn't. There were many ways to kill a man. One was the direct way. To stop the heart, but often time's life wasn't kind enough to just kill you. It preferred killing you a hundred times before actually declaring you dead enough to be no fun.

I guess I wasn't dead enough yet.

The next morning, I was woken up with a fucking bucket of cold water, and the room I was in was a far cry from the room I went to sleep in. Fucking dandy. I grunted as I pushed up, fighting against the cold I was now feeling. I'd only stood up when something collided with my jaw, sending my head to the side.

"Motherfucker!" I groaned as I flexed my shoulders, finally meeting the gaze of the man standing in front of me with a cruel smile.

"Fight," he said calmly before taking a jab in my direction, this time, however, I managed to dodge him, and when he came at me again, I held his wrist, and twisted it behind his back before lunging at him.

He hit my chest. I felt nothing. All I cared about was getting the poison out of me so I kept punching back, not even stopping when my knuckled busted open. I brought my fists down on him again and again. At one point he stopped fighting, but I didn't stop. I couldn't. A pair of hands held me back, and finally, as the dust cleared from my vision, and I looked down at what I'd done. Blood coated his face, his face barely recognizable. I was almost sure I killed him, however, I couldn't bring myself to care. It was at that time, I realized that the monster in me was awake and it was out for good this time.

Another guy, almost the same age as me whistled from the corner of the room and my eyes snapped to him. His dark hair fell over his eyes, his lips turned into a smile, "No one has brought him down."

I spat out the blood in my mouth, "What do you mean?"

"Pakhan got his best fighter for your first time." He sundered to where I was before leaning down and checking the guy's pulse before announcing, "He's alive. Barely. Get him help." Then he turned to me, and offered me his hand, "I'm Ivan."

I took his hand, "Nikolai." He nodded, and when I took my sweaty hand back, dedushka was back, and this time he seemed proud.

He patted me on the back, and once the shit-show was over, I went back to my room, knowing this was merely the beginning, and soon, when I'd look in the mirror, I wouldn't recognize myself for my own reflection had started scaring me, so I brought my battered fist up and rammed it in the mirror, uncaring of the piercing pain that shot up my hand. I kept punching until the mirror cracked, and the glass embedded into my hands, and finally, I took a ragged breath as I watched my blood drop in the skin, leaving red trails behind.

After weeks of torture, I was ready to be inducted, there were new scars on my body, but none on my face, after all, that would destroy the façade that I was merely just a pretty face. Today, I'd get my tattoo, ensuring I was forever entwined with the Bratva, and when the time came, I'd let my demons rule and take over the brotherhood. Ivan was going to be my right-hand, and after everything, dedushka had agreed to let me stay in Russia for a bit. It'd be a good learning expeience he'd said, but what he didn't know was that if I was going to be a monster, I was going to do it in a cold place where the only thing of Keira I had would be her memory, and I wouldn't even be tempted to go and be with her ghost in the empty penthouse. At this point, I wasn't even sure if I loved her or if her absence had made me hate her. Maybe I hated myself more than I hated that she was gone, and no matter how much I pretended it was a nightmare, it never seemed to end. Perhaps, at a time even nightmares become reality. And this grotesque shit-show was mine.

I'd promised myself before I gave myself up to the brotherhood, and got their tattoo, I'd get one for her. Though I'd keep it in a place I couldn't see it all the time, but the first burn of ink on my skin would be for Keira because I did have a home, it didn't matter it was now destroyed and in shambles. I'd explained the broken clock I'd wanted on my back, showing the time I took my vows to the love of my life, besides that I'd let the tattoo artist get creative, and hadn't bothered seeing it.

Not even now as the mark of the Bratva was being inked onto my skin for life.

I have no family. I have no home. I have no name. I'm Bratva.

And so I went a hundred steps farther than how far I was willing to do, all for answers, but what I didn't know I was now in the hell of my making, and the devil within me was out to play. Now no matter what I did this nightmare would devour me, and I'd let it because this heavy burn was better than the empty hole inside my chest.

* * *

So... thoughts? theories?

Also about updates. I don't have a schedule, I just try to put one chapter out in a month. I know that's not very fast, believe me, I'd like to go faster but since I just started uni, it's a little hard for me to update faster. I hope you understand and stick by me in Nikolai and Keira's twisted ride! To make it up to you, I'll tell you anything you'd like to ask me here. It could be about this book, and I'll answer as honestly as I can without giving away spoilers.

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