"You're going to regret this," Ilya Voronin muttered, his voice barely more than a rasp. "I have backers. They won't let this slide if you kill me."
He lay sprawled across the floor of his office, one hand clutching his stomach where a throwing knife had buried itself deep. Blood pooled beneath him, soaking into the stylish rug and creeping toward the overturned desk. Each breath came shallow and uneven, his body trembling as the pain fought with shock.
Around him, his comrades lay where they had fallen. Some slumped against the walls, others sprawled across the floor, their eyes open and unseeing. There was no movement among them, no breath, no sound, only the heavy silence left behind after the violence Alexei had rained on them.
The office itself bore the marks of the struggle. Papers were scattered everywhere, drawers torn open, a chair splintered near the window where someone had tried and failed to escape. A kerosene lamp flickered weakly on the untouched desk in the corner, casting long, warped shadows across the room.
Alexei stood amid it all, blood dripping intermittently from a shallow cut on his left wrist. He had been wounded when they rushed him all at once, forcing him to fight defensively. Fortunately, the injury was minor. Otherwise, he would have had to invent an explanation for his attendants, and worse, for his mother.
He didn't answer Voronin's threats.
Instead, he continued to survey the room, his gaze moving slowly from body to body, searching for any sign of life among the fallen members of the gang's elite guards. He watched for a twitch, a breath, the slightest hint of resistance.
There was none.
Only when he was certain did Alexei turn his attention back to Voronin.
The man was still alive, of course. Alexei had been careful when he threw the knife just so the main target couldn't run while he fought his guards.
Alexei stepped closer, his boots leaving dark prints on the blood-stained rug. He stopped just short of Voronin's reach and looked down at him, his expression unreadable behind the mask.
Voronin swallowed with effort, his fingers slick with blood as they tightened weakly against his wound.
Alexei remained silent. He knew that silence, when paired with an unbroken gaze, only deepened an enemy's fear. He had learned that much already.
He had died that way in the cultivation world, lying in his own pool of blood while his killer stood over him in silence, watching, waiting, for how long, he had never known. Even now, he could still remember it clearly, the fear of dying, the fear of pain itself, and the helpless certainty that there would be no mercy.
When he finally saw that same deep fear reflected in Voronin's eyes, the fear he had been waiting for, he spoke in a low, steady voice.
"Who is your backer?" he asked. "The SRs? The Mensheviks? Or the Bolsheviks?"
Voronin's lips parted, but no words came out. His eyes darted wildly, searching for something, anything, to cling to.
Alexei crouched down, lowering himself to Voronin's level, his gaze calm and unyielding.
"Why would you care about us," Alexei continued quietly, "when you're already dead?" He tilted his head slightly. "We could just strike the same deal you have with them and call it quits."
Voronin's pupils shrank at those words. His breathing grew frantic, each gasp sharper than the last as the truth sank in.
Alexei let out a soft, almost amused chuckle.
"We're all disposable to those above us, Voronin," he said. "Don't think too highly of yourself."
He studied Voronin for a moment longer, watching the man's fear crest, his body trembling, his heart clearly racing toward collapse.
Only then did Alexei ask, his tone calm, almost courteous.
"So," he said, "how do you want to die?"
He paused, letting the words sink in.
"Painlessly," he added, "or painfully?"
Voronin's lips trembled. It took him a moment to force the words out.
"P-painlessly," he whispered. His voice cracked halfway through. "Please."
Alexei regarded him in silence for a long moment. Then he nodded once.
"Then you'll have to pay for it," he said evenly. "With your money. Or whatever valuables your gang keeps locked away."
Voronin stiffened. His breathing quickened again, panic flaring in his eyes. The thought of his hard-earned money and the valuables he had amassed over the years being taken from him only added to the pain already tearing through his body.
Even the Okhrana hadn't found it when they had ransacked his headquarters. And he and his gang had run away and hid. Now… now… was there any other choice?
Alexei reached into his coat and drew out his knife.
He didn't rush. He wiped the blade clean against a cloth, slow and deliberate, then brought out another knife and began to sharpen the first. The quiet scrape of metal against metal filled the room, steady and unhurried.
Scrape.
Scrape.
Each sound sent a visible shiver through Voronin's body. His heartbeat hammered wildly in his chest, his gaze locked onto the blade as if it were already pressed against his body, slowly and repeatedly.
Alexei didn't look at him. He continued sharpening, testing the edge with his thumb, then repeating the motion again.
Voronin swallowed hard. He closed his eyes, tears rolling down his cheeks, and when he opened them again, he had made his decision.
"I…" He stopped, breath hitching. "I don't have it on me."
Alexei kept sharpening.
"It's in the vault," Voronin said quickly. "Beneath this building. Behind the false wall in the records room. The key's in my desk, second drawer, under the ledger."
The words spilled out in a rush, desperation stripping away the last of his pride. "That's everything. Cash, valuables. All of it."
Alexei looked directly into Voronin's eyes, searching for any sign of deceit. When he found none, he straightened.
He rose to his feet, walked to the desk, and opened the drawer exactly as Voronin had said. He found the key, weighed it briefly in his palm, then slipped it into his coat.
He returned to Voronin and crouched once more.
"You chose well," Alexei said quietly.
Voronin let out a broken breath, relief flooding his face for a fleeting moment.
Alexei moved without hesitation.
The blade flashed once.
Voronin never felt it.
His eyes went unfocused almost immediately, his body slackening as the fear finally left him. The room fell silent again, broken only by the faint flicker of the kerosene lamp.
Alexei stood up, wiped the blade clean, and sheathed it.
A promise, after all, was a promise.
He hadn't needed to check the vault before killing him. He had already sent too much fear on the man and with his instinct of catching any deceit. Surely, that was enough.
And if he had been wrong?
Then it would simply be a lesson learned. Next time, he would be more thorough. He would let any man live just a little longer, long enough to confirm that their treasures were exactly where they claimed them to be.
Mistakes were costly.
But they were also instructive.
Alexei checked the room once more. He searched the bodies and gathered anything of value from their pockets, money, rings, watches, keys. He may have been the tsarevich of an empire, but wealth left behind was wealth wasted. Ideals did not fund operations and filled his minions' stomachs. Coins did.
By the time he was finished, a small sack hung heavy at his side.
He stepped out of the room and found Sergey and Stepan walking hurriedly toward him. Both bore bloodstains on their coats and sleeves, dark and drying in the cold air. When they were close enough, Sergey reported, his breath still heavy from the fighting and the sweep of the base.
"Everything inside is clear, master. No survivors, as you commanded."
Alexei didn't answer at once. Instead, he turned his gaze toward Stepan.
"It's the same outside, master," Stepan also reported, a touch sheepish.
Alexei looked at them both with mild amusement. Just three months ago, during their first kills, both of them had been sick, vomiting almost immediately. Now, he could only shake his head inwardly at how far they had come. Well, he supposed he should praise himself, they had an outstanding master, after all.
"Good," Alexei said, then handed the sack to Sergey without ceremony.
"Did you go to the records room in the basement?"
Sergey thought for a moment before he answered. "It should be a room with many shelves and papers, right? I think I have.
"Lead me there. I have to check something."
Sergey nodded again, already having an idea what this was about. After all, he had been present at the planning, and Anna had been very thorough in her instructions that every valuables was to be taken.
Sergey turned at once and led the way without another word. They moved through the quiet corridors, their footsteps echoing faintly against stone and wood. The headquarters felt hollow now, emptied of life, its silence heavier than the noise that had filled it moments before.
They descended into the basement, where the air grew colder and damper. The records room lay at the end of a narrow passage, its door already ajar. Inside, shelves lined the walls, stacked with ledgers, documents, and loose papers.
Once they arrived, Alexei didn't waste any time. He moved straight to the walls, running his hand along the cold stone as he checked every section with care. Shelves that blocked his way were pulled aside or pushed over without hesitation, ledgers and papers spilling onto the floor as they hit the ground.
He paused.
Something felt wrong, or rather, different.
Alexei pressed his palm lightly against the stone.
There was a faint shift behind him.
He turned at once, his eyes narrowing. Where there had been nothing before, a narrow keyhole now revealed itself, the outline subtle enough to vanish again if one didn't know where to look.
So that was it.
Alexei reached into his coat and took out the key he had taken from Voronin. He slid it into the keyhole and turned it slowly.
A dull click echoed through the room.
The wall beside it shuddered, then gave way with a low grinding sound. Alexei stepped forward and pushed it open fully, revealing what lay beyond.
Some gold and silver glinted in the lamplight. Coins were stacked in neat piles, alongside jewelry and paper money. Small chests filled with valuables, documents, and sealed pouches lay before them, wealth gathered over years of extortion, theft, fear, and blood.
Sergey's and Stepan's breaths hitched.
For a moment, no one spoke.
Alexei exhaled quietly, the tension finally easing from his shoulders. A faint smile crossed his face.
When he finished taking in the modest hoard of wealth, Alexei turned toward Sergey and Stepan, who were still starstruck by what lay before them.
"Hello?"
Both snapped out of their daze at once and looked at him, their faces tinged red with embarrassment.
"I know it's a lot to take in," Alexei said evenly, "but we still have work to do."
They nodded quickly.
"Both of you," Alexei continued, "start cleaning up the building. I want all the valuables stripped and gathered near the entrance. The bodies should be stacked there as well, so that when Ivan and the others arrive, we can leave immediately. Understood?"
"Understood, master," they answered at once.
Satisfied, Alexei left the room.
He walked through the quiet corridors without haste. When he reached the front door, he pushed it open and stepped outside.
Cold air rushed in to meet him. Snow continued to fall in a slow, steady drift, blanketing the small courtyard of the building and the world beyond. Alexei paused just outside the entrance and drew in a deep breath, letting the cold fill his lungs.
He then exhaled slowly.
Finally, it was done.
—--
"This is the first time I've seen you wounded, you know," Anna muttered as she carefully cleaned the cut on Alexei's wrist. After washing away the blood with hot water, she poured alcohol over it, vodka, to be precise.
Alexei frowned slightly behind his mask at the sting and replied, "I'm human, Anna. I get sick and wounded if I'm not careful."
"Then you'd better be careful next time," Anna said flatly. "Next time, it might be your whole arm that gets cut." She wrapped the bandage around his wrist and secured it firmly.
"Hm. Sure," Alexei said. Then he added lightly, "Where's Ivan? He hurt his forehead, didn't he?" He chuckled at the thought of Ivan headbutting an enemy and getting hurt himself.
"Back to work," Anna replied. "They're burying the bodies as we speak."
She stood up, closed the medical kit, and set it aside. After a moment, she added more quietly, "There were too many bodies this time."
Alexei rolled his wrist, testing the bandage. When he seemed satisfied, he rose as well and let out a slow breath.
"Believe me, Anna," he said at last. "I don't like it either, but it has to be done. This is the price of order we're going to enforce in their former territory."
Anna looked at him for a moment, as if she wanted to argue, then turned away to clean her hands. The room fell quiet again, filled only with the faint sounds of movement beyond the walls.
Alexei rubbed his hands over his face, then glanced at the clock on the wall.
Three a.m.
He needed to leave soon.
He sat down in the chair in front of Anna's desk and waited for her to come back.
More than seventy men were dead tonight. He wondered how the Okhrana or the Politsiya would see it if they ever learned the truth.
But they wouldn't.
The dead would simply become like the others, missing, unaccounted for, and never seen again.
They would form their own assumptions, but they would never find the bodies. Perhaps the Okhrana would even congratulate his men instead. The thought brought a faint smile to his face.
The Jackals needed to be ready, though. Those with ties to the ratcatchers would surely react once word spread of what had happened by sunrise, perhaps in the evening. Alexei intended to treat it as a test for the jackals and his minions. They needed an enemy, something to harden them and teach them how the world they were in truly worked. And there was no better time for it than now.
Nikolai, in particular, would need to be ready.
As for Nikolai's punishment, Alexei had already considered it. Still, it would have to be postponed. There were too many matters to handle in their newly conquered territory, assuming they could hold it.
And he was confident they could.
Alexei sighed as the fatigue from the earlier battle finally sank in. He twisted his neck from side to side, trying to keep the sleepiness at bay. Then he checked the clock on the wall again and saw that more than ten minutes had passed, yet Anna still hadn't returned.
He was about to stand up and look for her when the door opened and Anna stepped inside.
"Sorry," she said. "The last carriage carrying the loot has arrived."
Alexei settled back comfortably in the chair. "Then I won't keep you long."
When Anna sat down opposite him, he continued, "The men will be under your supervision from now on. Make sure the transition in the new territory goes smoothly, and that the residents understand who controls the area now. They say first impressions last, so tell the men to be gentle when handling these matters."
"Don't worry. We've already planned for this," Anna said. "I have experience from when we took over our current territory, so this should be a breeze. Still, I'm worried the Politsiya will start asking questions later, especially about the fire."
"I already told you how to answer," Alexei replied calmly. "'We don't know anything about it. We're just taking over the area, since it seems the ratcatchers have gone into hiding once more.' Have Nikolai face them. He'll be the public face of our organization from now on."
Anna nodded. "Hm. Okay." She flipped through her files, then continued, "What about this other instruction of yours? Building more taverns. I understand you want to move toward legitimate businesses, but this feels excessive. Five taverns at once? We don't even know if we can secure permits from the St. Petersburg tavern authorities or the excise office. I've asked around, and it seems permits have been much harder to obtain since last year's revolution, especially since taverns were gathering spots for revolutionaries."
Alexei rubbed his temples at that. "Is that so?" He thought for a moment before continuing. "Focus on the transition in our new territory for now. We'll discuss the taverns again once we have clearer answers."
He paused, then added, "Speaking of taverns, did we find the permit from the one that burned down?"
"Yes." Anna searched her desk for a moment before finding it and handing it to her master. "Ivan found it in their office at the tavern."
Alexei inspected the document briefly before muttering, "At least we still have one tavern."
Anna nodded. "The permit is valid only until 1911. After that, we'll need to apply again."
"We'll deal with that when the time comes," Alexei said calmly. "For now, rebuild the tavern that burned down once the investigation is over. This time, I want it larger and cleaner, with upper floors converted into apartments."
His organization thrived on gathering information, and taverns were among the best places to collect it. People talked when they drank, when they ate, and when their guard was down.
Aside from collecting information, taverns were also the best way to funnel their money and make it legal. He wasn't satisfied with running only underground businesses; he wanted them to own legal enterprises as well.
Anna noted the instructions down in her ledger. When she finished, she looked up and asked, "Do you have any other instructions?"
Alexei thought for a moment, then shook his head. "That's all for now. Just make sure the plan is followed and have Nikolai secure and defend the territory. Have the minions assist him as well."
He stood up, stretched, and glanced at the clock once more.
Three forty-five.
It's time to leave.
"I'll go now." He patted Anna's shoulder, a habit he couldn't quite break with his subordinates.
"Mm. Be safe," Anna said, standing as well as she walked him to the door.
Alexei nodded to her and left.