[ Words in italics are in Russian]
Nikolai Trân Mikhailovich and Dmitri Trân Mikhailovich were only twenty years old , but in the shadowed world they inhabited, age was merely a number. Born into the ruthless
Volch'chya Ten' (The Wolf's shadow) they were groomed from childhood to take the reins of a legacy soaked in power and blood, one they inherited far earlier than anyone expected.
In underground circles, whispers still called them syny Mikhailova ( Sons Of Mikhail).
Their Russian father, Mikhail Mikhailovich was a forced pakhan -- the merciless godfather of one of Moscow's most powerful Mafia syndicate. Their late Vietnamese mother, Linh Mai was once a cartel princess -born into a world of power and danger,yet she carried herself with a quiet grace and gentle heart, a rare softness amid the harsh shadows of her dynasty.
Nikolai's calm, cold and calculating gaze was the master mind behind their every move. His twin - a fiery head and impulsive force was the perfect balance.
Unpredictable, yet fiercely loyal. Together they ruled their empire.
[Inside The Twins Mansion]
The golden dusk bled through the tall window of the mansion, casting long shadows across the marble floors. Inside the grand living room, the air was quite - save for the soft hum of a tablet screen.
Nikolai, the white- haired twin , sat alone in a high-backed leather chair. His emerald eyes scanned through recent shipment updates from their pharmaceutical front company. The evening light caught the sharp edges of his face, pale and unreadable. A glass of untouched whiskey sat on the table beside him, catching the last glimmer of daylight.
A knock, then a quiet creak.
One of the men stationed at the door stepped inside.
" Boss, Viktor just showed up"
Nikolai didn't look up, only gave a small nod. It was all the permission needed.
A tall, dark-suited man entered — Viktor, their most trusted enforcer. He said nothing at first, but his presence was heavy, respectful. Nikolai finally looked up, eyes narrowing slightly.
"You have it?" he asked simply.
Viktor stepped forward and handed over a black folder.
Before Nikolai could open it, footsteps echoed down the marble stairs.
Dmitri , freshly out of the bath, strolled in while lazily towel-drying his damp red hair. Dressed only in black lounge pants and a silk robe slung open at the chest, his emerald eyes sparkled with mischief and heat.
The moment he noticed the folder in Nikolai's hands, Dmitri leaned over his shoulder, water still glistening on the ends of his damp red hair as he casually scanned the open folder in his brother's hands.
Nikolai's gloved his fingers held the crisp paper steady. Without so much as glancing up, his cold voice cut through the quiet;
" Ashley Cooper. Age twenty-three."
Dmitri 's eyes narrowed slightly, lingering on the photograph clipped to the report. The faintest curve of a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.
"Hmmm....." He murmured " Not bad"
Nikolai's gaze shifted to the untouched glass of whiskey on the low table, fingers still scrolling the report with quite precision. His voice was clipped as ever when he added
"Don't get distracted"
Dmitri droopy onto the nearby sofa lounging back with a lazy stretch " you're no fun Nik".
His voice carried a mocking lilt.
Nikolai stayed silent then told Viktor" let kelly handle the next phase"
Viktor gave a firm nod and exited with a silent precision.
The room fell quiet again.
Dmitri slouched deeper into the sofa one leg flung over the arm rest.
Nikolai's gaze drifted to the glass of untouched whiskey.
He picked it up, let the amber liquid roll gently in the glass.
Without looking at his brother, his voice sliced the quiet like cold steel
" Forget whatever you'd thinking about him"
A pause
" We don't engage with captives"
And with that, he walked away his footsteps a soft echo against the marble floor.
Dmitri watched him go, amused as always.
Down the long corridor, the shadows of evening lengthened. Nikolai made a call "Send someone." with that , it ended . His figure disappeared into his wing of the mansion, the heavy door of his room closing behind him with a soft click silenced settled once more.
***********
[Nikolai's Bedroom]
The heavy door of Nikolai's room closed with a soft click behind him.
Without a word, he headed straight to the bathroom. Steam soon filled the marble-tiled space as he stood beneath the running water, letting it glide over his skin like silk.
After the bath, he stepped out, towel-drying only his hair before slipping into a black robe, letting it hang loosely from his shoulders.
Just then, his phone buzzed on the counter.
One message.
" 5 minutes."
He didn't reply. Instead, he opened the drawer beneath the mirror.He slid it aside to reveal a concealed kit.
He retrieved a vial and syringe from within. No hesitation. He injected the serum into his arm.
Then, he reached for the black blindfold on the edge of the bed. He tied it around his eyes, breathing in once, slowly.
A knock.
"Enter," he said — quiet, but firm.
Footsteps. Slow. Confident.
The man who entered was tall, dressed in black with silver rings on his fingers, tattoos curling up his forearm. His smile curved with amusement as he shut the door behind him, eyes scanning the room... and the man on the bed.
Nikolai didn't look his way, didn't move.
"You know the rules," he said coldly, voice low. "Don't touch the blindfold. Don't kiss me."
The man chuckled — a lazy, dark sound. "No kissing? Such a shame..." He sauntered closer, eyes raking over Nikolai's body where the robe had slipped, revealing firm shoulders, a pale chest, thighs just visible beneath the folds. "Your lips look pretty, though. A shame to waste them."
Nikolai didn't answer — his breathing measured, his muscles taut beneath his control.
The man crouched by the bed, a finger grazing Nikolai's thigh. A smirk played at his lips as he leaned in close to whisper, voice dripping with playfulness.
"I'm just setting the mood. You look too tense, even for someone like you."
Nikolai's voice cut like glass. "For someone in your profession," he hissed, "you talk too much."
A low chuckle. "You say that... but you're already trembling."
Nikolai's hands gripped the edge of the sheets, his jaw clenched. He tried to remain calm. Even now despite the time tremors running through his body-the side effects of the injection beginning to take hold.
The sounds that followed were low, restrained... but intimate. Soft gasps. The creak of the bed. The rustle of sheets twisted tight in someone's grip.
As the man moved with Nik, his eyes caught the harsh, nasty bruises sprawly across Nik's back. Before he could ask or say something, Nik's low voice cut through firm and sharp " keep going"
Faster, Deeper, Harder — until everything was breath and sound and friction and restraint.
And then... stillness.
************
Later, Nikolai lay alone, a sheen of sweat across his chest. His robe tossed carelessly on the floor. He sat at the edge of the bed, silent, the blindfold crumpled beside him. The man was gone.
He stared out the open window, letting the cool breeze touch his skin as night whispered against the glass. His fingers ran absentmindedly across the inside of his wrist — the faint sting of the earlier injection still lingering.
A whisper of a smirk tugged at his lips.
But his eyes…
…his eyes never softened.
***********
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