Chapter 313 Alexander

I’m still floating on the memory of Lori’s warmth when my driver turns onto a quiet, tree-lined street leading to my townhouse. The city’s pulse fades behind us, replaced by the hush of upscale brownstones and dim streetlamps. The blissful feeling from earlier starts to ebb away, though, because the moment we approach the front gate, I notice something’s off.

There’s a dark sedan idling at the curb—a car I recognize from the old days, tinted windows that hide men who carry messages I rarely want to hear. My chest tightens. So much for a peaceful night.

The driver stops. Before I can even open my door, one of my men, Yuri, steps out of that sedan. He’s broad, in a dark coat, every inch the enforcer. His face is grim, eyes flicking to me as I exit. I’d hoped to savor the afterglow of my time with Lori a bit longer, but it seems my responsibilities have found me first.

“Boss,” Yuri says, inclining his head. “We have a situation.”

I clench my jaw, mentally bracing for trouble. “What kind of situation?”

He gestures for me to come closer, lowering his voice. “It’s about Ivan. He… tried to kill himself.”

A spike of disbelief and anger flares in me. “Tried?” I echo. “Is he—?”

“He’s alive,” Yuri clarifies quickly. “But it was close. The old guard insisted he not be turned over to the hospital. We took him to a private facility. The Solokov med team is handling it.” He glances toward the townhouse door. “They want you there now. Some of the old members are raising questions about how to deal with him.”

I exhale slowly, fists clenching. Ivan. Just his name conjures a tumult of conflicting emotions. He was once a figurehead, a legend in the organization, but I wrested control from him not so long ago. I set out to reshape the business into something new—less blood, more legitimacy. But some of the old loyalists still revere him. If he’s tried to kill himself, that complicates everything.

“Fine,” I say curtly, ignoring the ache of exhaustion creeping through my limbs. “Take me there.”

Fifteen minutes later, we’re gliding through a discreet entrance to a lavish estate repurposed as a clandestine medical center. Officially, it doesn’t exist. Unofficially, it’s where the Solokov organization handles its most sensitive health matters—where certain people are nursed back to life or quietly disposed of, depending on the decision from the top.

I climb out of the car. The crisp night air has turned colder, sending a faint chill across my skin. My footsteps echo on the gravel path leading to an imposing set of double doors. Armed men stand guard. They nod at me, deference in their eyes, though I sense tension roiling beneath the surface. They’re uneasy. This is Ivan, after all.

Inside, the corridors are lined with expensive art and the sterile hush of a high-end hospital. No fluorescent harshness here—soft recessed lights give everything a subdued glow. I pass a guard station. One of the older men, Oleg, lifts his head in greeting. He’s part of that old circle who was loyal to Ivan for years. He doesn’t smile.

“In there,” he mutters, gesturing toward a thick wooden door at the end of the hall. “We have him under sedation, but… watch yourself.”

Watch myself? I bite back a retort. I’m in charge now, so they say. But the old guard doesn’t fully accept me. Not yet.

I push open the door. The room is large, more like a lavish suite than a hospital room. A wide bed with crisp white sheets dominates the center, monitors quietly beeping. The private medical team stands to one side: a doctor in a tailored suit, a nurse flipping through a chart. At the foot of the bed are two more men, part of the Solokov detail, stony-faced. Then there’s Ivan.

He lies propped against pillows, an IV running into his arm. His eyes are half-lidded, but when he hears me enter, they snap open with startling clarity. The lines of his face are more pronounced than I remember. He looks older, worn down by captivity. But a spark of that old cunning glimmers behind the sedation.

“Alexander,” he says, voice raspy. “Come to gloat?”

I fold my arms over my chest, stepping closer. “Hardly. Word is you tried to end it all. Are we supposed to throw you a pity party?”

He gives a short, rasping laugh that makes the monitors beep in protest. One of the nurses scolds him to keep calm, but he ignores her. “They said I can’t talk to anyone,” Ivan continues, “yet here you are.”

I glance at the nurse, who lowers her gaze. Probably none of them dared bar me from seeing him. “I’m here to figure out what the hell you pulled,” I say, voice tight. “We have enough problems without you staging a suicide attempt. Or was it real?”

He shrugs, wincing. “Does it matter? They can sedate me all they want, keep me under guard so I don’t talk. They want me quiet—don’t want to risk law enforcement involvement. The old ways. But you… you fancy yourself new.”

My jaw tenses. “They wanted to keep it in-house, yes. Handing you over to the police would be messy. So they’re handling you with their own approach.”

He smirks, though it’s a shadow of his old arrogance. “And you’re letting them do it. Because you think that seat you occupy is secure?”

I step closer to the bed. “It is secure. I’m in control now, in case you forgot.”

He studies me with narrowed eyes, then coughs a raspy chuckle. “You think wearing the crown means you’re all-powerful?”

I scan the monitors, noticing his vitals are stable. He looks more lucid than a near-suicide patient has any right to be. “What’s your angle, Ivan? If you truly tried to kill yourself, you must have lost all hope. But it sounds like you’re playing some game.”

He shifts, wincing as if in pain. “Let me guess: They told you I almost managed it. Maybe a slit wrist or a drug overdose. Doesn’t matter which. They don’t want you to know the details, do they?”

I grit my teeth. He’s right—I have no specifics. Just that I got a summons to come here. “Stop talking in riddles,” I mutter.

His gaze turns icy. “You’re naive, Alexander. You may have dethroned me, but I’ve still got cards to play.” He takes a labored breath. “You think you’re powerful because you sit at my old desk? Because a handful of captains swear loyalty to you?”

My blood boils. “I think I’ve stabilized what you almost destroyed with your old vendettas. I’m forging a new path—”

He scoffs, a scornful sound. “New path? You’re standing on centuries of tradition. The old guard doesn’t just vanish because you want them to. People followed me because I commanded loyalty. You? You have no idea the extent of what they’ll do when they sense weakness.”

I tighten my fists, forcing my voice to stay calm. “I’m not weak. And you can’t manipulate me with empty threats. If you’re hoping to stage a power comeback, you’ll remain locked down. This entire facility answers to me now.”

He inclines his head, mockingly. “So the nurse. The sedation. The guards. That’s all you? Sure.” He flashes a grim smile, revealing yellowed teeth. “But it won’t last.”

One of the med-team doctors clears his throat. “Sir, we should let him rest. He’s still recovering from—”

Ivan waves a hand dismissively. “Don’t coddle me, doctor. Or is that what the new boss wants?” His eyes shift back to me. “If you’re wise, you’ll kill me quickly. Because the secrets I hold? They can bury you.”

The frustration in me spikes. I glance around, noticing the tension in the guards’ postures. None of them want me to lose my cool. I address Ivan in a low hiss. “I’m not a murderer. That’s your style. I won’t stoop to it just because you run your mouth.”

He gives me a pitying look. “And that is why you’ll fail. You can’t be half in, half out. If you want to lead the Solokovs, you must own the blood on your hands. Or it’ll catch up to you.”

Before I can retort, the door opens and two older men step in: Mikhail and Leonid, both with stern faces etched by decades of loyalty to Ivan’s reign. They cast a glance at me, then at Ivan in the bed.

“Alexander,” Mikhail says, voice clipped. “We appreciate you coming so late.”

Leonid nods, ignoring me for a second to check Ivan’s IV drip. “We heard you spoke with him,” he tells me quietly.

I shift my stance. “Yes, though there’s not much to glean. He’s spouting nonsense about how I’ll fail and how he’s still powerful.”

Ivan barks a raspy laugh. “Nonsense? If only you knew how many are waiting for you to slip.” He coughs, wincing as the monitors beep. “I see you brought your loyal hounds. Or are you the hound, Alex?”

Leonid shoots Ivan a warning glare but says nothing. Mikhail turns to me, speaking in a hushed tone, “He tried to overdose on certain pills we’d let him have for pain. Must have saved up enough to do real damage. By the time we found him, he was barely breathing. The doc pumped his stomach and stabilized him.”

I cast a sidelong glance at the doctor, who nods in confirmation. So it was real. Ivan truly tried to die. A swirl of confusion grips me. Did he lose hope, or is it a ploy to evoke sympathy or chaos?

Leonid exhales. “Look, this is complicated. We can’t hand him over to the cops, not with everything he knows. And we can’t release him either, for obvious reasons. So we keep him under guard, medically stable until we decide until we stabilize everything. The old ways, you see?”

“Fine,” I say, crossing my arms. “Do what you must. But we can’t have him attempting suicide every other day. Or worse, staging escapes. Secure him properly.”

Ivan’s laugh, harsh and low, echoes again. “I won’t attempt anything else, not for the moment. The bigger question is, how long can you keep me locked away? The old members want me alive, ironically. They fear letting our secrets leak. But that’s your problem.”

I shoot him a glare. “You’re not part of the solution, so yes, it’s my problem. And I’ll solve it without your help.”

He smirks. “You think I have no more power simply because I’m in a bed? People still pledge loyalty to me. They’re just biding their time, waiting to see if you slip. If I call, they might come scrambling to break me out or orchestrate your downfall. Then you’ll see how fragile your hold is.”

Anger flares in me, but Mikhail places a hand on my shoulder. “Alexander, we can handle his security. If you’d like, we can triple the guard. Keep him sedated. The old guard just wants to ensure you’re not going to do anything rash.”

My jaw clenches. “Rash? Like have him assassinated?” My voice is thick with frustration. “No, I told you. I’m not stooping to that. But if he tries again, or if an escape attempt emerges, I want to be informed immediately.”

Mikhail nods. “Understood.” He glances at Ivan, who’s breathing heavily, eyes half-lidded. The sedation is likely pulling him under. “He’s stable for now. We’ll keep an eye on him.”

Ivan’s gaze lifts for one final barb, though his voice is weaker. “Enjoy your seat… while you can. This isn’t the end of everything.” Then his eyes flutter closed. The nurse checks his vitals, ensuring he’s drifting into sedation, not another suicide attempt.

I stand there, a sour taste in my mouth. The hush in the room is oppressive. Finally, I turn on my heel and head for the door. Mikhail and Leonid follow me out, the corridor’s overhead lights feeling painfully bright after the gloom of that suite.

As soon as the door shuts behind us, I whirl on them. “You realize the risk in keeping him alive? He’s stirring dissent. Some of the men still see him as the real authority.”

Leonid crosses his arms. “We know. But the old circle insisted we not harm him. They want to keep him quiet in our own way.”

I let out a sharp breath. “He might not remain quiet for long. If he finds a way to communicate with the outside—”

Mikhail lifts a hand. “We’ve confiscated all means. No phones, no visitors without clearance. It’s nearly solitary confinement, but with medical care. The guards outside are loyal to the new regime. He can’t talk to them; we rotate shifts so no one grows sympathetic.”

I nod curtly. “Fine. Then ensure no more slip-ups. If he’s stockpiling pills, that indicates sloppy oversight.” My voice tightens. “I don’t want a second attempt. Or an actual success next time. He needs to pay for what he did.”

Leonid’s expression is uneasy. “I’ve already replaced the nurse who gave him the pain meds. We’re restricting his prescriptions to daily supervised doses.”

“Good,” I say. The tension in my shoulders throbs. “He threatened to reveal secrets, to rally supporters. I assume you two have the old guard under watch?”

They exchange glances. “Yes,” Mikhail says. “But, Alexander… some of them resent that you want to pivot the Solokov organization away from the old ways. They might see Ivan as a martyr now.”

A flicker of worry gnaws at me. But I clamp it down. “I can handle them. Let me know if you hear any murmurs of rebellion or planned rescue.”

They both incline their heads. “Of course.”

I stride back through the corridor, passing more guards. They avoid my gaze, or they watch me with guarded expressions. I can’t tell if they’re loyal or biding their time, just as Ivan claimed. He might be right—some of them are waiting to see me slip.

Yuri catches up to me near the exit. “Boss,” he says quietly, “we secured the entire wing. No unauthorized personnel can get close. You want me to stay here overnight?”

I consider it. “Yes, do that. Keep an eye on the guard rotations. If there’s any sign of suspicion, clamp down. I don’t care if you have to question them or swap them out entirely. We can’t risk any infiltration from those who’d free him.”

Yuri nods firmly. “Understood.” He hesitates, then lowers his voice further. “Are you… okay? This must be a shock.”

I manage a tight nod. “I’m fine, Yuri. Just pissed. If he’s faking half of this, it’s more manipulation. If he’s genuine, then we have a bigger mess. Either way, I’m not letting him disrupt everything we’ve built.”

Yuri’s eyes hold respect. “Got it. Let me walk you out.”

We step outside into the cold night. The car awaits. I slip into the back seat alone, exhaustion pounding at my skull now. The adrenaline from dealing with Ivan drains away, leaving me with a dull ache behind my eyes. As the driver steers toward my townhouse, I try to gather my thoughts.

Ivan’s words echo in my mind: “You think you’re powerful just because you sit on my seat?” I hate how they strike a chord. Because a part of me still wonders if I truly have what it takes to lead this empire without turning into a monster.

I recall the expression on Lori’s face tonight—full of trust, love. She sees me as a man forging a better path, not strangled by these old mafia codes. But can I maintain that ideal while men like Ivan lurk in the shadows, eager to rip me down?

I rub my temples. One step at a time, I remind myself. I’ll keep Ivan contained, keep the old guard from revolting. Meanwhile, I’ll push forward with the more legitimate expansions. I won’t become the butcher he once was. If that’s considered weakness, so be it. I’ll prove them wrong.

The car stops at my townhouse. I exit, letting the driver go for the night. The building’s exterior lamps cast a warm glow on the steps. Normally, I’d find solace in that golden light, but tonight it feels hollow. I climb up, unlocking the door.

Inside, the hush is absolute. My footsteps echo across the marble floor of the foyer. I flick on a single lamp, half expecting the place to feel more welcoming after my night with Lori. But the air seems stale, tension from the confrontation with Ivan clinging to me like a sour cloak.

I discard my suit jacket, toss it over a chair. My phone buzzes—a text from Mikhail: Everything stable. He’s sedated. Will update if anything changes.

I type back a curt Thank you, then toss the phone onto the table. My mind flickers to the brandy in the study, but I resist. My adrenaline is still high, and alcohol might only set me further on edge. Instead, I sink onto the sofa, leaning my head back, trying to calm my racing thoughts.

This war with Ivan—did it truly start last season, or has it been brewing for years? He ran the organization with an iron fist, forging alliances through fear. I stepped in, promising a new approach. Some of his old loyalists saw me as a breath of fresh air. Others see me as an untested usurper.

Now I discover that the man himself is under sedation in a private room, spouting doomsday predictions. He says he has nothing to lose. That if he wanted, he could blow me up with secrets. Are these secrets that tie to major political figures? Or hidden caches of blackmail? Possibly. The Solokovs have centuries of cunning behind them.

I press the heels of my palms into my eyes, exhaling shakily. Stay calm. You can handle this. If worst comes to worst, do I let the old ways handle him—end him quietly? The thought chills me. I told Lori I want a better future, not one drenched in blood. Yet if Ivan truly threatens everything… No. I have to find another way.

Restless, I grab my phone, scanning contacts. My finger hovers over a number: Konstantin, an older associate who once served under Ivan but pledged loyalty to me. He might have insight into just how serious the old guard is about freeing Ivan. Or if they’re even serious about it.

I dial, half expecting him not to pick up at this hour. But after a few rings, a gruff voice answers. “Konstantin speaking.”

“It’s Alexander,” I say. “We have an incident with Ivan.”

A pause. “I heard rumors. Something about a suicide attempt?”

“Yes. He’s stable but under heavy guard. I want to know if the old supporters are stirring. Any chatter about busting him out?”

Konstantin sighs. “I’ve heard murmurs of dissatisfaction. They say you’re too soft. Some blame you for not handling Ivan more permanently. But I haven’t heard of an organized plan yet.”

I chew my lip. “Keep your ear to the ground. If you catch wind of anything, let me know. I refuse to let him cause a coup from his hospital bed.”

“Understood,” Konstantin says. There’s a rustling, as though he’s sitting up. “Alexander… be careful. If he tried to kill himself, maybe it means he’s truly lost. Or maybe it’s a ploy. Either way, some men might see him as a martyr. They hate that you’re forging alliances with outside businesses, going legit. They cling to the old methods. Ivan represents that.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose. “I see. Thanks for the warning. Let me know if anything changes.” We exchange goodnights, and I end the call.

Staring at my phone, I rub my chest where anxiety coils tight. Is it all worth it? I recall Lori’s face, the peace in her eyes earlier. Yes. I have to make it worth it. I made a promise to myself to keep her safe, to shape a new future. I can’t let Ivan’s words shake me from that path.

I stand, pacing the living room. Outside, a siren wails faintly, probably an ambulance heading down the main avenue. The irony isn’t lost on me—I just came from a hush-hush private hospital, hiding a near-fatal patient from the rest of the world’s eyes. Another day in this twisted reality.

The memory of Ivan’s parting statement gnaws at me: “This isn’t the end of everything.” He tried to kill himself—or pretended to—and yet he brims with vitriol. He’s cornered, and a cornered beast is the most dangerous. If he can muster any outside help, it might spark civil unrest among the Solokovs. I have to be ready.

Yet, I also recall the softness of Lori’s body, the moment we shared in that lounge. I close my eyes, letting that memory warm me for a second. I’m not alone, I remind myself. I have reasons to fight, to hold onto a new kind of leadership. I refuse to become like Ivan, living only for fear and control.

By the time I glance at the clock, it’s nearing 4 A.M. The horizon outside the window holds the faintest promise of dawn. I decide there’s no point trying to sleep properly. My mind whirls too frantically. I brew a pot of coffee in the sleek kitchen, the hum of the machine oddly comforting in the hush of the night.

Sipping the strong brew, I reflect on how drastically my life changed in a short span: a seat of power, old enemies subdued, forging a new path… and now, a battered old lion refusing to die. This world I inherited is complicated, brutal, but I’m determined not to let it consume me. I’ll show them a better way, I vow silently. If that means defusing Ivan’s legacy, so be it.

My phone buzzes with a text from an unknown number: He’s your problem now. No signature, but I suspect it’s from someone in the old circle, mocking me. A chill runs down my spine. Another reminder that not everyone is behind me.

I set the mug down with a clink, leaning on the kitchen island, gazing into space. My eyes burn from lack of rest. The night’s events swirl in my head: the exquisite high of being with Lori, the abrupt plunge into the underworld’s mess. This is my life now—juggling two extremes.

Ivan tried to kill himself, or so they say. He claims secrets that could topple me. The old members are refusing to let the cops handle him, forcing me to keep him under wraps. Meanwhile, everything I’m building could unravel if he stirs the pot just right.

Yet, I recall the promise I made to Lori in that lounge: to keep her smiling, no matter the cost. She has no idea the depths of all this, but I want to ensure she never has to find out. That means I have to tread carefully, forging alliances, outmaneuvering the old guard, containing Ivan. And maybe… maybe I can find a way to strip him of his leverage once and for all. Because letting him rot in sedation might not be enough if he truly has people on the outside.

A sigh escapes me. I glance at the faint lightening sky. Soon, the city will awaken. My men will expect direction. I’ll have to put on the mask of confidence again, reassure them that we’re stable, that we have a plan for Ivan, that our expansion into legitimate avenues is unstoppable.

Inside, though, I harbor the swirl of doubts, the weight of the threats. I remind myself: If I can’t handle Ivan, how can I handle bigger obstacles?

But I will handle him. No matter how.

Finishing my coffee, I decide to attempt an hour of rest before dawn truly breaks. As I climb the stairs to my bedroom, I vow that tomorrow I’ll reach out to more of the organization’s middle ranks, secure their loyalty. I’ll keep a close watch on the med team. I won’t let Ivan slip from my grasp. Because if he does, it could trigger a war that tears everything apart.

At the bedroom door, I pause, scanning the empty space. A pang of longing for Lori surfaces—her presence would chase away the gloom. But I asked her to rest at her own place. Probably best she’s spared from this tension.

I step inside, shutting the door behind me. My reflection in the mirror catches my eye: I look strung out, half a man who spent the night balancing between a moment of stolen passion and a meltdown of my empire. Get it together, I tell myself.

Lying down, I close my eyes, willing my heartbeat to slow. The hush envelops me, and in the back of my mind, I hear Ivan’s voice: “You think you’re powerful?” I clench my jaw. Maybe I’m not as powerful as he was in his heyday, but I have something he never did: a vision for a cleaner future, and people who care about me beyond fear.

With that final flicker of resolve, I let sleep edge in, though it’s a shallow rest. Outside, dawn creeps closer, ready to bring a new day of challenges. But no matter what, I’ll face them. If I can handle Ivan, I can handle anything.