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Nikolai
The morning sunlight streams through the windows, and I wake up in my bed. The soft sheets are twisted around my legs. Glancing at the clock, I realize it's already past nine in the morning. With a burst of energy, I quickly get out of bed and make my way to the bathroom, eager to start my day. The warm water from the shower cascades over my body, soothing my muscles and clearing my mind. I run my hands across my face, shaking off the remnants of sleep.
Exiting the bathroom, I'm greeted by my spacious walk-in closet. I'm relieved to see that Osip has taken care of unpacking my bags and organizing my wardrobe. I run my fingers over the different fabrics, pausing on the black silk Brioni suit.
Brioni is a renowned designer brand known for its exquisite craftsmanship and use of the finest materials. I choose to wear these high-end luxury garments not out of vanity, but as a way to compensate for the hardships I faced during my childhood, living as a homeless boy on the streets of Russia.
The suit effortlessly fits my lean, muscular physique, accentuating my broad shoulders and trim waist. The top-notch fabric catches the light, emitting a subtle sheen that is just right. Brioni suits conform to my muscular form, becoming like a second skin that provides both style and comfort. I slip on a crisp white button-down shirt and a meticulously patterned silk tie, feeling confident in my well-coordinated ensemble.
I reach over to the nightstand with swift movements and retrieve my full-size Glock. Sliding it seamlessly into the leather shoulder holster, I ensure that it is properly concealed beneath my suit coat. In my line of work, having a reliable and efficient weapon is crucial. For me, that weapon of choice is Glock. These semi-automatic handguns with polymer frames are widely favored by law enforcement and military personnel across the globe. With their robust construction, user-friendly operation, and safety features, Glock firearms provide the assurance I need for personal protection.
Having securely stowed my Glock, I discreetly attach my knife to a concealed holster on my calf. It's always wise to err on the side of caution. I make my way to the kitchen, where I quickly prepare a cup of coffee. Nona, busy cooking, greets me with a warm smile and a nod.
I need to visit —Velvet Handcuffs, the once-glamorous strip club now reduced to ruins. However, prior to that, Tatyana has requested a meeting at an abandoned warehouse located on the outskirts of Chicago. Despite the shitty neighborhood, its proximity to the compound makes it an appealing choice for us.
Stepping out of the compound's front door, I am greeted by two black Range Rovers parked in the circular driveway. These SUVs are my preferred mode of transportation.
A black Range Rover is more than just any SUV; it is a luxury V8 SUV crafted by the esteemed British automaker, Land Rover. Its sleek and modern design is instantly recognizable, from the iconic front grille to the gracefully sloping roofline. Equipped with large alloy wheels and off-road tires, it exudes a sense of ruggedness, while its custom-built bullet-proof exterior and windows attest to its practicality in the perilous world I inhabit. Sliding into the driver's seat, I relish the smooth ride as the engine roars to life. With a top speed of approximately 130 miles per hour, this beast can transport me swiftly to any destination.
As I climb into the Land Rover, my attention shifts to the interior. The cabin exudes luxury, with high-quality leather upholstery and premium finishes adorning every surface. I sink back into the plush seats, savoring the opulent ambiance as I embark on the day ahead. However, I am not alone, Misha awaits me in the backseat of the SUV, accompanied by two Bratva soldiers in the front seat, one a bodyguard and the other a trained driver. The soldiers in front maintain a vigilant presence, prepared for any circumstance. Following us closely is another SUV, carrying four additional Bratva bodyguards. Such precautions are a necessity in my line of work.
First, we will make a stop at an empty, abandoned warehouse that Tatyana has vetted for use as a lab and storage facility for our cocaine, marijuana, and other drugs. Afterward, we will meet Tatyana at Velvet Handcuffs to assess the progress of the remodeling.
The warm Chicago summer sun shines brightly overhead, casting a golden glow upon Lake Michigan and the buildings that pass by as we drive. I briefly roll down a window to invite in the refreshing breeze. In the distance, the majestic Chicago skyline stands tall, providing a breathtaking backdrop through the front windshield.
As we turn onto Lake Shore Drive, the highway gracefully follows the shoreline of Lake Michigan. The sun-kissed water sparkles as far as the eye can see, inviting us closer. Along the way, we pass verdant parks, bustling beaches, and towering skyscrapers. The wind rushes through the open window, filling our lungs with the sweet fragrance of summer. Throughout the journey, our eyes remain fixed on the captivating scenery unfolding before us.
Our first destination is an abandoned warehouse located in a shady part of Chicago, which Tatyana has scouted and deemed suitable for our purposes. It presents an ideal setting to establish a lab and storage facility for our drugs. Interestingly, Tatyana mentioned that the warehouse was previously owned by a vanished candy heiress from the 1990s.
As I gaze before me, I view an abandoned industrial building that once buzzed with manufacturing activity. However, the passage of time and neglect have left their mark, reducing it to a dilapidated shell. Its exterior is adorned with rusty metal, peeling paint, shattered windows, and graffiti, lending it a desolate and forlorn appearance. The encroaching vegetation surrounding the premises further adds to its hauntingly forgotten aura.
Stepping inside, I am immediately struck by the expansive expanse that lies before me. It comprises a labyrinthine arrangement of interconnected rooms and corridors, featuring lofty ceilings and an open layout. However, the interior is cluttered with discarded equipment and debris, as if frozen in time and untouched for years. The musty air permeates the space, while the dim lighting seeping through the grimy windows only enhances the uncanny sensation of existing within a forgotten realm.
The abandoned warehouse boasts an immense size, already evoking visions of countless rows brimming with our illegal drugs. Tatyana's keen eye in discovering this location is commendable, and I make a mental note to express my gratitude and reward her for her resourcefulness.
"This is perfect. It's spacious enough to serve as both a storage facility and a lab. Inform Tatyana to proceed with the purchase," I announce.
"It will require a thorough cleaning and several upgrades, such as improved lighting and restroom facilities. I doubt it would pass a safety inspection in its current state," Misha advises.
"Misha, you worry too much. We are criminals, so we need not concern ourselves with OSHA regulations. However, ensure the necessary upgrades are made to meet our requirements, and have the warehouse ready within four weeks," I assert.
Misha acknowledges my instructions with a nod of his head.
After thoroughly inspecting the warehouse, we proceed to Velvet Handcuffs to assess the progress of the remodeling. The club is poised to become the central hub of our operations, symbolizing our dominance and influence in the criminal underworld. As we approach the venue, a surge of power courses through me. With my plan seamlessly falling into place, there is no stopping the Chicago Bratva now.
As the black SUVs come to a halt on the street in front of the abandoned Velvet Handcuffs, our group proceeds towards the entrance. However, a sense of unease washes over me. The usual sounds of construction that should fill the air are conspicuously absent. The silence is unnerving. I bring myself to a sudden stop and raise my hand, signaling for everyone to halt. I take a deep breath, straining my ears to catch any hint of activity, but all I hear is the distant hum of traffic outside. Every instinct in me tells me that something is amiss. With a surge of adrenaline, I abruptly retrieve my Glock from my shoulder holster, and the rest of the group follows suit. We are not taking any chances.
The bodyguards take the lead, and Misha and I trail closely behind, keeping our guns raised and scanning the area for any signs of danger. As I step into the club, it becomes evident that construction work is indeed in progress. Ladders, sheets of drywall, and various tools are strewn about haphazardly. However, my focus immediately shifts to the four individuals positioned before us. Three of them bear extensive tattoos and brandish AK47s, their menacing gaze fixed on a group of frightened construction workers who have taken refuge against the wall.
Yet, it's the fourth man who seizes my attention. He holds Tatyana captive, a switchblade pressed menacingly against her throat. Fuck! My blood runs cold at the sight, but she maintains an air of composure, unaffected by the dire circumstances. Her designer dress clings to her as if she's been through this ordeal countless times before.
The room brims with tension. The three armed men divert their attention towards us, inching closer in a threatening manner. However, I swiftly raise my hand, signaling my men to hold their ground. I thrive on violence, but in this situation, I prefer to avoid it, if possible.
The man gripping Tatyana tightly takes a step forward, his eyes ablaze with hatred.
"What do you want?" I inquire, attempting to maintain my composure despite the rage brewing within.
"Well, well, well... New Bratva, welcome to Chicago!" The man relinquishes his hold on Tatyana with a disrespectful smack on her rear. Tatyana's expression nearly morphs into a smile as she gracefully saunters across the room to stand beside me and Misha.
