Chapter 9 Enemies Don't Knock

Enemies didn't announce themselves in Nikolai Volkov's world.

They didn't knock politely. They didn't wait for invitations. They arrived like storms-fast, violent, and designed to remind everyone exactly who held the power to destroy.

The first sign came at dawn.

Elara woke to silence so complete it felt wrong.

No footsteps in the corridor. No murmured voices from guards changing shifts. Even the distant hum of the city outside seemed muted, as if the world itself was holding its breath.

She sat up slowly, instinct screaming.

The door opened before she could reach it.

Nikolai stepped inside, already dressed, his expression carved from stone.

"Get up," he said. "Now."

Her pulse spiked. "What's happened?"

"We're moving you."

"Where?"

"Somewhere they won't expect."

She swung her legs off the bed. "Who's 'they'?"

"Everyone," he replied.

That answer chilled her more than any explanation could have.

Within minutes, the mansion was alive-boots pounding, doors slamming, weapons being distributed with sharp efficiency. Elara was escorted through back corridors she'd never seen, her senses overloaded by urgency.

She glanced at Nikolai as they walked. "This is because of last night."

"Yes."

"Because I overheard-"

"No," he cut in. "Because they know you matter."

Her breath caught. "To you."

He didn't deny it.

They reached an underground garage where a black armored vehicle waited, engine already running. Nikolai opened the door himself and motioned her inside.

As the vehicle pulled away, Elara watched the mansion disappear behind reinforced steel doors.

"Are we running?" she asked.

"No," Nikolai said calmly. "We're narrowing the field."

The safehouse wasn't what she expected.

No lavish furniture. No obvious guards. Just a quiet, unassuming building tucked between closed businesses on the edge of the city.

It felt...normal.

That scared her more.

Inside, Nikolai locked the door himself.

"You're not leaving this place," he said. "Not without me."

Elara crossed her arms. "You can't imprison me every time things get dangerous."

"I can," he replied. "And I will."

She stared at him. "You're afraid."

His eyes flickered. "Of what?"

"Of losing me."

Silence stretched between them.

Finally, he said, "Yes."

The single word landed heavily.

"You don't get to say that and still treat me like a liability," she said quietly.

"I get to say it because you are one," he countered. "To them."

"To you?"

He stepped closer. "To me, you're leverage they didn't know existed."

Her voice softened. "And what does that make me now?"

"Untouchable," he said. "By anyone but me."

The possessiveness in his tone sent a shiver down her spine-not fear, but awareness.

Before she could respond, Nikolai's phone buzzed.

He checked it, expression darkening.

"They've made their move," he said.

She straightened. "What kind of move?"

"Public."

The video spread within an hour.

Elara saw it on a tablet one of Nikolai's men handed her, his jaw tight as stone.

A man sat bound to a chair in a warehouse she didn't recognize. His face was bloodied but conscious, eyes wide with terror.

"Elara," Nikolai said quietly, "this man worked for your father."

Her stomach dropped.

The man on screen swallowed hard. "If you're watching this," he said shakily, "they told me to say-"

A gun cocked behind him.

"They want proof," the voice off-camera said. "Proof you're worth the trouble."

The feed cut to black.

Elara's hands trembled. "They're using him because of me."

"They're using him to provoke me," Nikolai corrected. "And to draw you into the narrative."

She looked up at him. "What are you going to do?"

He met her gaze steadily. "End it."

"How?"

"Decisively."

Something in his tone made her chest tighten. "You mean kill them."

"Yes."

"And him?" she asked. "The man in the video?"

Nikolai was silent.

She understood immediately.

Her voice broke. "He doesn't deserve to die for this."

"No," Nikolai agreed. "But if I intervene publicly to save him, they'll know exactly how to control me."

"So you'll let him die," she whispered.

"I'll make his death mean something," he said grimly.

Elara shook her head. "You're choosing power over humanity."

"I'm choosing survival," he replied. "Yours."

She stepped back as if struck. "I never asked you to do this."

"And I never asked you to matter," he shot back. "But here we are."

The words echoed painfully between them.

"You said you weren't afraid," she said. "This is fear."

"Yes," he admitted. "And fear makes me ruthless."

She looked at him through burning eyes. "Then don't ask me to trust you."

"I don't need your trust," he said. "I need you alive."

The execution happened that night.

Elara didn't see it-but she felt it.

The mansion's silence had nothing on the void that settled in her chest when Nikolai returned hours later, blood on his cuffs, eyes colder than she'd ever seen them.

"It's done," he said.

She didn't ask for details.

Instead, she said, "You crossed a line tonight."

"So did they."

"And so did I," she whispered.

He frowned. "How?"

"I let myself believe you could be different."

His expression softened, just slightly. "I warned you."

"You warned me about monsters," she said. "Not about men who convince themselves they have no choice."

He turned away. "You're safer now."

"At what cost?" she asked.

He didn't answer.

Elara went to the window, staring out at the sleeping city.

Somewhere out there, a message had been sent-loud and unmistakable.

Nikolai Volkov would burn the world to protect what was his.

And now everyone knew exactly what-and who-that was.

She pressed a hand to the glass, her reflection staring back at her like a stranger.

She wasn't just a captive anymore.

She was a declaration of war.