The council hall was never loud.
That was what made it terrifying.
The long table stretched across the faintly lit room, polished to a cruel shine. Heavy curtains blocked out the city beyond, as if the world outside had no right to witness what happened here. Men sat in silence along both sides, figures of power, violence, and money each one capable of ending a life with a nod.
Mikhail and Nikolai stood at the center stripped of dignity
The Don, Viktor, sat at the head of the table, his posture relaxed, fingers steepled as if this were nothing more than a casual meeting. To his right sat his consigliere, Anton and Markov, the lieutenant with unreadable expressions. To his left sat the various caporegimes, each one silent and watchful. Soldiers filled the remaining seats, their eyes fixed on the Don, waiting for the meeting to begin.
"Let's begin," Viktor said calmly.
Mikhail's jaw tightened. Nikolai kept his eyes on the floor; his fists clenched so tightly his nails dug into his palms.
"One of my sons," Viktor continued, voice smooth, "stole from a shipment under council protection. Worse, he involved my other son and nearly compromised relations with our partners."
A murmur rippled through the room.
Markov finally spoke. "The loss could have been catastrophic."
"But it wasn't," Viktor replied coolly.
Mikhail looked up sharply.
"And yet," Viktor went on, "someone must pay."
Silence fell again, it was thick, suffocating.
One of the council members leaned forward. "Death would be appropriate."
Nikolai's breath hitched.
Another shook his head. "Too easy. They're Viktor's sons. Killing them would be a waste of potential."
Potential.
Mikhail felt something cold coil in his stomach.
Viktor raised a hand, and the room stilled instantly.
"I agree," he said. "Death is not suitable."
Nikolai almost sagged with relief until Viktor continued.
"Mikhail will not be punished," Viktor said flatly.
Mikhail froze.
Nikolai's head snapped up.
"He is my heir," Viktor said, eyes locking onto Mikhail. "Every mistake he makes teaches him what leadership costs."
Mikhail swallowed hard.
Viktor turned his gaze to Nikolai.
"But Nikolai…" His lips curved into something that wasn't quite a smile. "Nikolai is expendable."
The word landed like a gunshot.
"No," Mikhail said without thinking. "This was my fault."
Viktor didn't even look at him.
"The council has decided," Markov said quietly.
Nikolai felt the room closing in. His chest burned, panic rising fast and sharp.
"What… what's my punishment?" he asked, his voice barely steady.
Viktor stood slowly and deliberate.
"You will be stripped of protection," Viktor said
Nikolai's blood ran cold.
"Tonight, you will serve on the front lines alone with no back up." Viktor continued, circling him slowly,
Mikhail stepped forward. "You'll kill him."
Viktor stopped in front of Nikolai.
"Then he should learn how not to die."
Viktor straightened and addressed the room. "Meeting adjourned."
Just like that.
As the council members rose and filtered out, Nikolai stood frozen, his fate settling into his bones.
When the room finally emptied, Viktor leaned close to him and whispered, voice low and venomous:
"Remember this, Nikolai. Every breath you take from now on is borrowed."
He walked away without another glance.
The doors slammed shut.
Nikolai's knees finally gave out.
Mikhail caught him before he hit the floor.
"I won't let this happen," Mikhail said through clenched teeth. "I swear."
Nikolai laughed weakly, a hollow sound. "It's already happening."
Somewhere deep inside him, something cracked.
And for the first time, Nikolai understood the truth
In this family, love was a liability.
And survival had a price.
Nikolai adjusted the strap of his jacket as he moved through the corridor, the weight of it pressing into his shoulders. His hands wouldn't stop shaking.
This wasn't a delivery neither was it a lookout duty.
This was the front line.
If anything went wrong tonight, no one would come for him. No extraction, cover fire or even a second chance. That was the punishment. Stand where the bullets hit first and survive- or don't.
Before, he'd been useful in small, safe ways like running packages., watching streets, sitting in cars with engines idling. He'd practiced shooting, sure, but his aim wavered under pressure. He thought too much. Hesitated.
And his fighting skills? Sloppy and Incomplete. Broken by fear and overcorrection.
Tonight, none of that would be forgiven.
They were wiping out an entire gang. Every member.
And for the first time in his life, Nikolai was being placed where mistakes were fatal.
His steps slowed as he neared the east wing, where Mikhail was most likely to be.
Just once, he thought.
Let me see him just once more, in case I don't make it.
They'd been homeschooled, isolated from the world. No friends or a normal childhood. Just tutors, weapons, and men who taught them how to survive violence without ever letting them choose otherwise.
Mikhail had not only been his brother, but his shield and his best friend. Nikolai stopped just short of the doorway, voices carried out.
Mikhail's.
"…just send him away," Mikhail said.
Nikolai's breath hitched.
Another voice - Markov, maybe- but it blurred as he couldn't make out what the person said.
"He's useless here anyway." Mikhail finished
That word no longer stung, not after a lifetime of hearing it, and with the only two voices that ever told him otherwise: one silenced by death and the other branding him useless behind his back.
Useless.
So that was it. Not just Viktor. Not just the council.
Even Mikhail thought he didn't belong.
His hand slipped from the doorframe. He turned away silently, because if he stayed one more second, he might break and breaking on the front lines meant dying faster.
Back in his room, he moved on instinct.
Checked his weapon.
Reloaded.
Secured the holster.
No one would save him if he froze. No one would drag him back if he fell. That was the rule.
Maybe Viktor was right.
Maybe this was all he was worth.
He looked at his reflection, eyes steady now, something cold settling in his chest.
"Alright," he murmured.
If this was his first real fight… and he was meant to face it alone… then he'd meet it that way.
When they came to take him, Nikolai didn't hesitate.
And when he stepped into the night, he already knew
If he died, no one would stop it.
Earlier that evening, shortly after the council dispersed, Markov's office smelled faintly of smoke and old leather.
Mikhail didn't bother knocking.
He shut the door behind him with more force than necessary, chest tight, pulse still racing from the council hall. Markov looked up from the papers on his desk, eyes sharpening instantly.
"You shouldn't be here," Markov said.
"I don't care," Mikhail snapped.
Markov leaned back slowly, studying him. "That's obvious."
Mikhail paced once, then stopped. His hands were shaking now from anger, fear, too many things tangled together.
"You have to talk to him," Mikhail said. "You're one of the higher-ups."
Markov's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.
"Mikhail—"
"He's sending Nikolai to the front lines," Mikhail cut in. "Alone. With no cover."
Markov stood.
The room felt smaller suddenly.
"He won't last one minute." Mikhail continued, voice breaking despite himself. "You've seen him shoot. His aim is barely proper. He freezes under pressure. He tries to think before he reacts."
"That's not always a weakness," Markov said quietly.
"In this life, it is," Mikhail shot back. "You know that."
Silence stretched between them.
Markov moved closer, stopping just short of him. "You're asking me to undermine the Don."
"I'm asking you to save my brother," Mikhail said. "There's a difference."
Markov exhaled slowly, rubbing a hand over his face. For the first time, the unshakeable lieutenant looked… tired.
"You think I haven't tried?" he said. "You think I don't know what Viktor is doing?"
Mikhail's eyes flickered. "Then try again. please."
Markov's gaze hardened. "If I push too hard, he'll double down and probably kill me in the process. Viktor doesn't bend; he breaks things."
"Then let him break something else," Mikhail said bitterly. "Because Nikolai will die. And when he does-"
''And when he does, what!?, what do you possibly think you can do?''
Markov stepped closer now, lowering his voice.
"You're not thinking clearly."
"I am," Mikhail said. "This is the clearest I've ever been."
Markov searched his face. the fear, the fury, the guilt written so boldly. Finally, he reached out, gripping Mikhail's wrist just hard enough to steady him.
"That attachment," Markov said quietly, "will get you killed one day."
Mikhail didn't pull away.
"Then help me," he said. "Before it kills Koyla first."
Markov released him, turning away.
"I can't talk to Viktor, but I'll try talking to Anton." he said after a long pause. "Once."
Mikhail's breath hitched.
"What if Anton doesn't agree?" Mikhail asked, voice steady but edged with challenge.
Markov's smile twisted into a dark chuckle. "Then we plan your brother's funeral."
The words hit like a hammer, but Mikhail's eyes didn't waver. Instead, a slow, cold fire kindled behind them. "And when I'm the Don," he said quietly, "the first thing I'll do is make sure you die."
Markov laughed, a sound both amused and dismissive. "That's not how it works."
Markov stepped closer, eyes cold and unforgiving.
"You're not as precious to your father as you think. He doesn't care about you; he only needs you alive because someone has to carry the Sokolov name."
He leaned in, voice low but deadly.
"So, get off your high horse, Mikhail. Screw up, and he won't hesitate to kill you."
Mikhail met his gaze steadily, the weight of truth sinking in.
"I don't think I'm precious to him."
Mikhail's voice caught as he paused, a shadow of sadness flickering across his face.
"Convince Anton to…"
Markov raised an eyebrow, leaning forward.
"To what?" he pressed.
Mikhail looked up, tired.
"To just send him away."
Markov's laugh was low, almost mocking.
"Really?"
Mikhail's tone was resigned.
"He's useless here anyway."
Markov nodded slowly.
"If that's what you want, I'll do my best to convince Anton. Hopefully, he can get the through to the Don."
Mikhail said nothing more. He simply sank into the chair, eyes fixed on the floor, silence stretching between them. After a while, he stood and left the room without another word.
The night was a symphony of chaos, echoes of gunfire, shouts, and the metallic clatter of weapons reverberating through the cold air. Nikolai moved like a shadow, sharp and lethal, weaving through the maze of crates and abandoned cars in the Ravens' territory.
His pistol barked twice in quick succession. Two men crumpled to the ground, their blood painting the concrete dark.
Every shot was a precise and calculated survival. He couldn't die without trying and if he did survive this, maybe... just maybe Mikhail wouldn't doubt him next time.
Nikolai's eyes flicked to the next threat, a bulky figure charging with a crowbar raised high. With a grunt, Nikolai dropped his pistol behind him and closed the distance, catching the man's wrist mid-swing. The crowbar crashed uselessly against a steel beam as Nikolai twisted the attacker's arm sharply, forcing a howl of pain.
He shoved the man hard into a stack of crates. The man slumped, unconscious.
Another shot rang out nearby. Nikolai dove behind a rusted shipping container just in time, the bullet tearing into the metal where his head had been moments before.
His chest heaved, adrenaline masking the sting of a graze on his cheek. He peered around the corner, spotting three enemies advancing. I can actually do this he thought to himself
Without thinking, he popped up, firing twice more. One went down clutching his thigh, another doubled over coughing blood. The third broke into a sprint, disappearing into the shadows.
Nikolai barely registered the sting in his arm until a sudden, searing pain exploded, a bullet ripping through muscle and bone. His grip faltered; the pistol slipped from his fingers.
Time slowed as he stared down at his mangled arm, crimson spreading like wildfire.
The world tilted. His vision blurred. Pain swallowed him whole.
And then darkness.