The room was quieter as it always had been.
Grigori sat alone at the table. His coat hung neatly over the back of his chair. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up to his forearms, exposing pale skin marked faintly by old scars and burn spots from factory days long past. Before him lay the disassembled pieces of his revolver, arranged with careful precision across the wooden surface.
Cylinder. Frame. Barrel. Springs.
Each piece in its place.
Grigori picked up the cloth and brushed it off against his revolver. The movement was slow and deliberate. He ran the fabric along the barrel first, polishing away the thin film of residue left from its last use. The metal caught the lamplight faintly, dull at first, then gradually reflecting a cleaner sheen as he worked.
He did not rush. Cleaning a weapon required patience. And patience was something he had learned well over the years.
He rotated the cylinder, inspecting each chamber with a critical eye. Satisfied, he threaded the cloth through carefully, pushing out unseen grit. His hands were steady. Not the trembling hands of an alcoholic, nor the careless movements of a thug.
Grigori's jaw tightened slightly as he reassembled the revolver piece by piece, metal clicking softly as each part locked back into place. He checked the alignment, then spun the cylinder once. It rotated smoothly before coming to a precise stop. Satisfied, he set it back in place. He exhaled, closed his eyes briefly, and waited for the time of the meeting to arrive.
More than a week had passed and the Jackals had finally responded to his threat and ultimatum. Instead of submitting outright, they had requested a meeting to discuss terms of cooperation. The gall of the up-and-coming gang, daring to negotiate with him as though they were equals, grated on him. When he first received the message, he had been tempted to send his men immediately, to stir trouble in their newly claimed territory and remind them of their place. It would have been a simple demonstration of strength.
Fortunately, reason prevailed. He needed them on his side, for now.
The weakening of his hold on the eastern side of the city had already affected his standing among his comrades. He heard it in the way they spoke behind his back when they thought he was not listening. He saw it in the looks they cast at him, measured, speculative, as though his days were already numbered and the higher-ups would soon send someone to replace him.
He could not afford to wait any longer. He needed to restore his authority in the eastern district as quickly as possible. Otherwise…. He shook his head, cutting the thought short before it fully formed. He inhaled, exhaled and waited.
Not long after, a knock sounded at the door. He gathered his thoughts before responding. "Come in."
The door opened, and Nazar stepped inside, a bottle of vodka in one hand. He lifted it slightly in offering. "Shall we have a drink while we wait? What do you think?"
Grigori allowed himself a faint smile and nodded. "I was thinking the same just now. Get the glasses over there and pour me some."
Nazar grinned. "Gladly."
He crossed to the corner, retrieved two glasses, then returned and took a seat opposite Grigori. Setting the glasses down on the table, he twisted the cap off the bottle and poured generously for both of them. He handed one to Grigori before picking up his own and draining it in a single gulp.
"Ah!" Nazar exhaled sharply. "I don't know what I would do if I couldn't drink vodka, even for a day."
Grigori chuckled faintly. He picked up his own glass, took a measured sip, and set it back down. "Slowly, comrade. I don't want you arriving at their headquarters drunk."
Nazar poured himself another glass before replying. "Don't worry. You know how hard it is for me to get drunk. This is nothing." He lifted the glass slightly. "I just need to warm myself in this cold weather."
This time, he took only a sip before setting his glass back down.
Grigori smiled faintly at his comrade before asking, "How are the men? Are they ready?"
"They've been ready since this afternoon," Nazar replied. "Don't worry. Whatever happens, they'll respond to our orders without delay." He leaned back slightly after saying that, his posture relaxed but assured.
"Good." Grigori nodded. He slipped his hand into his pocket, took out his watch, and checked the time before returning it to its place. "One hour to go."
"Do you want to arrive early?" Nazar asked, lifting his glass slightly.
Grigori considered the question for a moment before replying. "No. That would make us appear eager for a meeting they requested." His expression hardened faintly. "We'll arrive on time, or even a little late. It doesn't matter, so long as we are not early."
"Right." Nazar took a sip before setting his glass down. "We have thirty-three men, including us. Do you think that's enough to intimidate them?"
"It is." Grigori picked up his own glass and drained it in one go before placing it back on the table. "We're all armed. Make sure the men keep their guns visible when we arrive at the Jackals' headquarters. I want them to see exactly what they're dealing with."
A faint, cold smile touched his lips. "Let's see how they intend to discuss terms after that."
Nazar chuckled and poured his comrade another drink. "I'll tell them once we finish this bottle."
Grigori shook his head. "We'll finish the bottle after we return from the meeting. For now, we'll only drink half. I want us sober."
Nazar's face fell slightly before he nodded. "Alright. I didn't realize you'd grown this cautious, comrade."
Grigori raised an eyebrow at him. "I simply don't want to miss anything when we start discussing terms with them. We can open another bottle once we're back. Don't worry."
"That's more like it." Nazar downed his glass in one gulp before adding, "You're buying the next one. I spent all my money on this bottle."
He poured himself another glass of vodka, the clear liquid catching the lamplight as it filled the glass.
"That's no problem." Grigori raised his glass in a quiet toast before taking a measured sip.
The conversation gradually shifted to the plans they had prepared for the meeting. The casual warmth brought on by vodka faded, replaced by deliberate calculation. Grigori leaned forward slightly, his posture sharpening as his thoughts settled into order. They reviewed their strategy for intimidation, carefully constructed, already rehearsed. The goal was simple: to force the Jackals into submission and make them his dogs. If intimidation failed, then an example would have to be made. Decisively.
The lamplight on the table flickered now and then as their discussion continued, shadows stretching and retreating across the walls. Time slipped by unnoticed until Grigori checked his watch for the second time and saw that only fifteen minutes remained before the meeting.
He rose at once and drained his glass in a single gulp.
"Let's go."
Nazar stood as well and drained his glass in one swift gulp. "Ah. Let's go."
Grigori strode toward the door, pulled it open, and stepped through, Nazar close behind him. They crossed the corridor, their boots echoing against the worn floorboards, and soon emerged into the open hall where his comrades had gathered for the night. Low conversation and rough laughter filled the space, until they noticed him.
The noise died almost instantly. Men straightened. Conversations cut short. Eyes turned toward him with expectation.
Grigori swept his gaze across them, slow and deliberate, measuring each face in the lamplight. Satisfied that he held their full attention, he spoke evenly.
"It's time. Let's show this upstart gang who truly leads this territory." His eyes hardened slightly. "And don't forget to wear your fiercest expressions."
A ripple of rough laughter followed. Several men nodded, others adjusted their coats and weapons, eager anticipation flashing in their eyes.
Grigori gave a single approving nod. "Come. We march together."
They moved as one toward the exit. The heavy doors of the secret hideout were pulled open, and a rush of cold air swept inside.
Snow was falling. Thick, steady flakes drifted down from the dark sky, blanketing the street in white. The night was quiet beneath it, the usual sounds of the city muffled under winter's weight. Their boots crunched against fresh snow as they stepped outside, breath rising in visible plumes.
Grigori paused just beyond the threshold, allowing the men to gather behind him. Thirty-three figures in dark coats, armed and silent, their shapes half-shadowed by the falling snow. The cold bit at his face, sharp and bracing. He welcomed it. Without another word, he stepped forward, and the line of men followed.
They marched through the narrow streets of the eastern district, boots striking in steady rhythm, weapons visible beneath parted coats as instructed. Windows remained dark as they passed. A few curtains shifted, curious eyes peering through narrow gaps before disappearing again.
When they crossed another street and turned left, Grigori slowed.
A barricade stood ahead.
It stretched across the narrow road, crates, overturned carts, and wooden beams lashed together in a crude but deliberate obstruction. Snow had already begun to gather along its edges, softening its outline but not disguising its purpose. His steps came to a complete stop. It had not been there that afternoon. He was certain of it.
The men behind him halted as well, boots crunching sharply in the snow before settling into stillness. A few exchanged brief, confused glances. Others instinctively shifted their coats, ensuring their weapons were still visible and accessible.
Grigori did not speak at once. His gaze moved slowly across the barricade, assessing rather than reacting. The wood looked recently arranged. The snow atop it was thin and uneven, disturbed. This had been erected not long ago, perhaps within the hour.
He felt a faint tightening in his chest. This was wrong. He reacted at once. "We're heading back. We'll take another route."
The men began to turn, boots grinding into the snow, then stopped. Instinct took over as hands flew to their weapons, unlatching them from their holsters and raising them toward the figures emerging behind them.
Uniformed men. Dark coats. Rifles already leveled. They appeared in groups of three, stepping forward with measured precision, forming a loose but deliberate line that sealed off the street they had just crossed. More shapes moved along the edges of the alleyways, shadows peeling away from walls, boots entering the lamplight one after another.
For a heartbeat, the only sound was the soft fall of snow and the heavy breathing of his men. Grigori could almost hear their hearts pounding in the frozen air.
He did not need to look left or right to understand. They were surrounded. The barricade blocked the street ahead. The politsiya cut off their retreat. And on the rooftops, yes, there were silhouettes, still and watchful against the pale night sky.
His jaw tightened. They had walked straight into a trap.
"What… what are we going to do, comrade?" Nazar's voice came from beside him, strained and tight. His revolver was raised, but his hand trembled slightly. His breath came fast, his chest rising and falling more rapidly than usual.
"What is this, comrade? I didn't sign up for this. Why are we surrounded? Who betrayed us?" one of his comrades demanded, the questions tumbling out in rapid succession.
For a moment, Grigori had no answer for them.
He watched as one of the politsiya officers stepped forward from the formation. The man halted a few paces ahead, boots crunching softly in the snow, and raised his voice so it carried clearly through the frozen street. "In the name of the Emperor, surrender now, or this will be the last time you see the snow. You are surrounded, as you can plainly see."
The words hung in the cold air, sharp and final.
"Comrade? What are we going to do?" one of his men asked again, his voice trembling.
From the corner of his eye, Grigori could see the man's arms shaking as he struggled to keep his weapon steady.
"We can still escape. We can try to climb the barricade ahead while our comrades buy us time," Nazar whispered beside him.
He tried to keep his voice steady, but Grigori could still hear the faint tremor beneath it.
Grigori inhaled deeply, forcing air into lungs that suddenly felt too tight. He did not understand how they had known where, and when, to strike. It should have been impossible. He knew his men well. He knew their loyalties, their habits, even their families. The idea of a spy within his ranks felt unthinkable.
And yet, Someone from the Okhrana or Politsiya had known.
His thoughts turned immediately to the Jackals. They had known he was coming. They had requested the meeting. They had chosen the time.
Had their leaders arranged this entire trap from the beginning?
The possibilities tightened around his mind like the cordon of rifles around his body. One thing, however, was undeniable. He had miscalculated. And he had miscalculated badly. He hadn't thought about them working with the Okhrana or Politsiya. Not at all.
He ignored his comrades' questions and slowly raised his hands. Then he stepped forward, moving past his men, and faced the officer who had demanded their surrender.
"Officer," Grigori began evenly, keeping his tone measured, almost polite. "Perhaps you have the wrong men surrounded. We were merely passing through on our way home to our families."
He spoke as he thought, buying time, searching desperately for a way out in their current situation.
The officer chuckled softly and shook his head. "Don't waste your words on me," he replied. "Who strolls through the streets at night armed to the teeth?" He gestured toward the men behind Grigori, their raised weapons glinting faintly under the lamplight.
"We already know who you are. Grigori, isn't it?" The officer's expression hardened. "We've been looking for you for a long time. And now we've finally found you."
He took a slow step forward, boots crunching in the snow. "Tell your men to surrender. Or we can settle this with a firefight, one none of you will survive."
Grigori's thoughts churned. They knew his name. That fact struck harder than the rifles pointed at him. He couldn't think clearly about how they had identified him, not while the weight of the present moment pressed in from all sides. He glanced back at his men. They looked to him in return.
Their expressions varied. Some wore their fear openly, eyes wide and uncertain. Others stood rigid, jaws set, fingers tight around their weapons, ready to fire the moment he gave the word.
He closed his eyes briefly, steadying himself, then turned back to the officer.
"Would you let my comrades go if I surrender?" he asked, his voice controlled despite the cold tightening in his chest.
The officer tilted his head slightly.
"You're not in a position to negotiate," he replied evenly. "All of you will be arrested. What happens afterward will depend on your records and involvement."
His gaze sharpened. "As for you… you know very well what awaits you."
Grigori looked back at his comrades once more and let out a slow breath. He surveyed their surroundings, the barricade ahead, the rifles trained on them, the shadows on the rooftops. They were heavily outnumbered. Even if they tried to break through, he knew there was no real way out. For all he knew, more politsiya waited at every corner, ready to cut them down the moment they fled.
He turned back to the officer, gave a slight nod, then faced his men. "Put down your weapons."
They stared at him. Their expressions shifted once more. Some exhaled in visible relief. Others looked stunned, disbelief flickering across their faces before hardening into grim resignation.
Nazar met his gaze, something complicated and unspoken passing between them, before slowly lowering his revolver. One by one, the others followed. Weapons dropped into the snow or were carefully set at their feet until not a single gun remained raised.
Grigori inclined his head faintly, then looked back at the officer. "We surrender."
The officer smiled, satisfied. "You've made a wise decision, Grigori."
He gestured to his men. "Arrest them."
The politsiya moved at once, boots crunching forward as they closed in.
Grigori shut his eyes briefly as cold hands seized his arms.
Jackals. If I survive this, he thought grimly, I will have my revenge.
Of that, he was certain.
—-----
Alexei held the documents in his hands and couldn't help but smile beneath his mask. He had not expected much, yet he had secured three permits to build taverns within his own territory and a company name in which he owned solely under an alias, Minions Company Limited. He was amused by the name.
The exchange had taken place not long after the meeting with the Okhrana, after Nikolai and Oskar had concluded the negotiations successfully. What had begun as a tense arrangement had turned into something far more valuable.
Now they had somewhere legitimate to funnel their money. A foundation for his men to establish lawful businesses of their own. A foothold that could not be so easily uprooted. And most importantly, his organization now had a working connection with the Okhrana. That alone was worth far more than the permits.
The Okhrana had been more than satisfied with the information he had Nikolai deliver, details of when, where, and how to strike. The operation had yielded more arrests than they had dared hope for, the most significant roundup since the revolutionary unrest two years earlier.
Now, it was the Okhrana who extended goodwill toward the gang. The irony was not lost on him. An organization meant to suppress criminal elements now treated them as useful partners, speaking cordially and hinting at future cooperation. Where they should have been enemies, they now found common ground in shared interests.
Alexei had visited the St. Petersburg division of the Okhrana himself and witnessed the aftermath. Captain Volkov had practically been skipping through the corridors, his satisfaction poorly concealed. The man was in an exceptionally good mood.
And for good reason.
This operation had restored something to him. After the stain on his career following the assassination of the St. Petersburg prefect, Volkov had been under scrutiny, his reputation dulled by failure. Now, with this sweeping success, he was steadily reclaiming his confidence, and his standing.
"Give me the documents back." Anna said as she reached out her hand.
Alexei chuckled as he passed the documents back to her.
"Where do you want to build the taverns? And please don't ask me to build them all at once. We haven't even finished rebuilding the one that was burned down." Anna set the documents aside and carefully slid them into a secure envelope to protect them from dust and stains, handling them with the care they deserved. They were important, more than important. They were the organization's lifeline toward establishing legitimate businesses of their own.
Alexei stood and walked toward the updated map mounted on the wall. It depicted their territory, now expanded, its borders marked in darker ink. He raised a hand and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. With his other hand, he touched the location of the tavern that had been burned down, gauging its distance from several corners and intersections he had already considered.
Anna rose after securing the documents and joined him by the map, her gaze scanning the marked streets and symbols.
After a moment, Alexei pointed to three separate locations.
"Here, here, and here," he said. "I think these spots are ideal. They cover all the corners of our territory and are close to our nearby hideouts. That gives us both reach and security." He glanced at her. "What do you think?"
Anna studied the three locations he had indicated, examining them with careful scrutiny. After a moment, she nodded.
"I think they're good," she said. "Are we going to build these taverns with multiple floors and apartments on the upper levels, like the one we're constructing now?"
As she spoke, she stepped toward the corner, picked up a marker, and neatly marked the three chosen locations on the map.
He nodded. "Of course. We need to maximize what we can get from each location. Start with this one immediately. I'm sure you can handle beginning with one out of the three."
He pointed to the corner he considered most important, the one closest to the market and, in his estimation, the most profitable.
"As you can see, it's near the market. This one should bring in the highest returns."
Anna smiled slightly as she thought the same. She walked towards her desk and recorded the instruction on a paper, after finishing, she looked up and asked. "Anything else?"
Alexei shook his head. "That's all for now. We need to consolidate our hold before expanding our gambling dens and other illegal businesses into the newly acquired territory."
He glanced at her. "I heard from Ivan that the gambling den owners have been asking you almost every day when they'll be allowed to expand there. Is that true?"
Anna sighed, then nodded. "They've been relentless when it comes to money. They simply can't wait."
"Have Nikolai speak with them," Alexei replied calmly. "You don't need to concern yourself with it. And if they still refuse to be patient, remind them that we can always give the opportunity to someone else if they don't stop pressing the issue."
He folded his hands behind his back, gaze steady on the map. "Tell them we'll make an announcement a month from now. That should give us enough time to secure the area properly."
"Okay."
He stepped away from the map and looked at Anna, who was seated at her desk, writing.
"I think that's everything. Is there anything else you want to discuss?"
Anna paused, her pen hovering over the paper as she considered the question. After a moment, she shook her head.
"No. You're coming again tomorrow, right? I'll speak to you then if I have any questions, or if I realize I've forgotten something."
Alexei smiled behind his mask and nodded. "Alright. I'll be going now."
He walked toward the door, and Anna rose from her chair to see him out.
"Sleep early tonight, Anna," he said as he stepped into the corridor.
"You too, Master," Anna replied.
The door closed softly behind him. He stepped out of the headquarters with a faint smile beneath his mask. There was no need for him to remain until late into the evening anymore. His minions had matters well under control, and the major planning and conquests had already been accomplished.
At last, he had reclaimed something far more valuable than territory. Time. And with it, more hours to cultivate.