Alexei Nikolaevich Romanov

[ImperatorXCV]

December 27, 1906

Snow fell steadily as the night wore on toward midnight, thick flakes drifting down from a dull gray sky. The snow quieted the streets and softened everything it touched, turning the eastern district into a stretch of white and dark shadows. Footprints and carriage marks vanished almost as soon as they were made, as if the city itself were trying to erase what had passed through it.

Nikolai walked beside the carriage at an unhurried pace, his boots crunching softly against the snow-packed road. His breath came out in slow, even clouds, his coat pulled tight against the cold. He looked like any other man escorting a delivery through the district, nothing about him drew attention.

Still, they couldn't avoid the ratcatchers on duty that night.

"Halt. What's inside the carriage?"

The voice came from the side of the road. A man stepped forward, with two others lingering a few steps behind him. Nikolai stopped at once and signaled for Oskar to do the same. The carriage rolled to a halt as the horses snorted softly.

"Good evening, my good man," Nikolai said evenly. "We're delivering barrels of vodka to the Bolkagov tavern."

He reached into his coat and produced a cigarette, offering it without hesitation. The man took it immediately and placed it between his lips, then jerked his chin toward Nikolai in silent command.

Nikolai clenched his jaw. He reached into his coat again and took out a match. For a brief moment, he imagined driving the matchstick into the man's eye, but he forced the thought down. He struck the match and lit the cigarette without a word.

The man took a long drag, exhaled slowly, and spoke. "Open the back. Let me see what you're hauling. Who knows what you people are up to."

Nikolai nodded once, already expecting the order, and moved to the rear of the carriage. He unlatched the door and pulled it open, revealing the neatly stacked wooden barrels inside.

The man stepped closer, peering in, while his companions flanked him, one on either side, their hands resting near their belts.

"Hm," the man muttered. "Vodka, you say?"

"Yes," Nikolai replied calmly. "Fresh delivery."

The man's eyes narrowed. "We'll see about that." He pointed at one of the barrels. "Open one of the barrels. Your destination requires us to check everything before arriving there."

Nikolai acted as if he hesitated. When he saw the man about to spit something unpleasant from his mouth, he turned to Oskar, who had been watching from the front. "Open it."

The man smiled widely at that.

Oskar only nodded wordlessly. He climbed down from the driver's seat, grabbed a small tool from beneath the bench, and pried open the lid of the nearest barrel. The sharp scent of alcohol spilled into the cold air almost immediately.

The man leaned forward, dipped his hand into the liquid, scooped up a handful, and tasted it.

After a strong, "Ah…" he whistled.

"It's got a kick," he said with a grin. "Strong stuff you've got there."

He straightened and waved a hand dismissively. "Leave this one here. Just call it a toll for passing through."

Nikolai frowned, acting like a merchant about to bargain for his goods. But before he could say anything, the man stepped closer and spoke again.

"Think before you speak, boy. Don't you know we're already being lenient with you? If it were someone else, I'd have asked for half of what you're carrying. Now, what is it?"

As he finished speaking, he flexed his arms threateningly. His companions behind him did the same.

Seeing this, Nikolai deflated at once. "Of course, of course, sir. Please wait a moment while we get the barrel out of the carriage."

The man laughed and patted Nikolai on the shoulder. "Hahaha. That's more like it. Now move."

Together, he and Oskar lifted the opened barrel down and set it beside the street. The man's companions laughed quietly, already eyeing it with interest.

"Go on, boy," the man said, nodding at them approvingly as he stepped back. "You're clear."

Nikolai gave a brief nod, walked beside the carriage, and signaled for Oskar to move on.

As the wheels began to turn and the carriage pulled away, Nikolai didn't look back. He walked in silence beside it as they continued toward their destination. After they turned onto another street, Oskar finally spoke.

"I'm surprised," he said. "You managed to control yourself back there. I thought you were going to kill those men on the spot. I was waiting for an appetizer before the big event, you know."

Nikolai shook his head, "It's not worth it. I'm not a worthy leader if I busted the plan before we even started. Still, I hope our men will leave those three for me to finish before the poison kicks in."

Oskar smiled at his friend, then turned his attention back to the road as he spoke. "I doubt that. We won't even know what will happen in the streets once the time to strike comes. We just have to focus on the tavern. The rest will be up to your Jackals. And don't forget to report what happened here when we arrived."

Nikolai nodded. "You're right."

After checking their surroundings, he added, "Ivan and the rest should be there by now. We have to make haste."

"Got it." Oskar urged the horses to pick up the pace while Nikolai matched the carriage's speed. He would have preferred to ride inside and rest before the fight, but he needed the warmth that came from walking in this cold weather.

They arrived at the back of the tavern not long after. Voices and singing spilled out as the back door opened. Oskar climbed down from the carriage while Nikolai approached the men guarding the door.

"Good evening, gentlemen. As ordered, fourteen barrels of vodka from Mr. Belov."

The two guards stared at him as if he were an insect, and Nikolai played the part, shifting uneasily under their gaze.

The one who spoke was a member of the kitchen staff who had opened the door.

"Why only fourteen?" he demanded. "We ordered fifteen barrels of vodka!"

Nikolai bowed his head slightly. "I'm sorry, sir. We were stopped not far from here, and one barrel was taken as a toll for letting us through."

The kitchen staff ground his teeth. "Tsk… tsk… Those men are really asking for trouble once I report this. Come on, bring half of the barrels into the counter and the rest into the storage room. Faster. We're already running out of drinks inside."

"Yes, yes. Don't worry, sir. It won't take long."

Nikolai and Oskar each lifted a barrel onto their shoulders. As they carried them into the tavern and unloaded them at the counter, they made a point of watching the faces around them. They quietly noted those they recognized, those marked as priorities, before returning for the remaining barrels.

They repeated the process until half of the barrels were delivered to the counter and the rest stacked neatly in the storage room.

Once the delivery was complete and they were paid, they wasted no time. Nikolai thanked the kitchen staff repeatedly, flashed a polite smile at the guards by the back door, and left with Oskar at once.

Once the heavily guarded tavern was out of sight, the carriage made a slow turn into a narrow alley and came to a stop, blocking the entrance completely. Nikolai climbed down from the carriage to check if anyone had noticed them. He glanced left and right repeatedly, staying alert. Only after nearly five minutes passed without anyone approaching did he finally relax.

He nodded toward Oskar, who was crouched atop the carriage with a knife in hand, ready to strike anyone who came too close.

They moved deeper into the alley and stopped before a rusted door. Nikolai knocked in a coded rhythm. A moment later, someone peered through a small hole, then opened the door just enough for them to slip inside. They entered quickly, and the door was shut behind them.

—-

"How was it?" Alexei asked the moment the two of them entered.

Nikolai stepped forward. "Everyone is present at the tavern, Master," he reported quietly. "All except the leader, Ilya Voronin, and his right-hand man, Kirill Frolov."

Alexei drew out his pocket watch. The faint click sounded loud in the room. "Time?"

"Fifteen minutes ago," Nikolai answered after checking his own.

"Then we have forty five minutes left before the poison takes effect," Alexei said. His voice was calm, but the room seemed to tighten around the words. "Coordinate the attack with the Jackals. I want the streets cleared before the Politsiya arrives. No mistakes. Understood?"

"Understood, Master," they replied in unison, their voices low and restrained.

"I won't be leading the assault on the tavern," Alexei continued. "Ivan has already tracked Voronin and Frolov to their headquarters. I'll move on that location at the same time you strike the tavern. I'll take only two men with me for support."

Every back straightened. Eyes lifted. A silent expectation passed through the group before Alexei spoke again.

"Sergey. Stepan. You're coming with me."

The two nodded immediately, expressions hard and focused, though they couldn't completely hide the excitement in their body.

Alexei then turned his attention back to the others. "Ivan will command the tavern assault while I'm away. His word is final. Follow it without hesitation. Understood?"

"Understood."

Nikolai had no problem with that. As it was Ivan who mostly planned this attack. Heck, he didn't even know where Ivan got the poison from.

"Just follow the plan. Timing is everything here. Make sure you all remember that."

Alexei waved his hand to dismiss them. "Disperse."

Chairs scraped softly as the men rose. Masks were pulled on in silence. One by one, they moved toward their positions without another word.

Nikolai caught Oskar's eye.

Oskar gave him a pointed look, and that was when Nikolai realized he had forgotten something. He quickly approached Alexei and Ivan.

"Master, Ivan, I forgot to report that one of the barrels was taken by a patrol during the delivery."

Alexei and Ivan frowned at that.

And Nikolai broke into a cold sweat in this already cold weather. He really forgot about it as he was hyped up by the atmosphere in the room.

After a moment. Alexei asked. "How long ago was it?"

Nikolai checked his watch, calculated the time. "About thirty minutes."

Alexei decided. "You leave first and deal with them. Make sure to do it silently. Then you should come back fast as Ivan might need you for something. Go!"

Nikolai smiled apologetically at his master and then at Ivan before he left.

Alexei let out a slow breath. Nikolai would be punished later for the oversight, but now was not the time.

He turned to Ivan, who still lingered nearby. "You remember your training?"

Ivan nodded, confidence clear in his expression. "Yes, Master. Don't worry. I can handle this. They should already be poisoned by now, so it'll just be a walk in the park."

Alexei smiled faintly behind his mask at his minion's confidence. "Problems have a habit of appearing when you least expect them. Keep that in mind."

"I understand," Ivan replied. "Thank you for your trust, master."

Alexei chuckled and patted Ivan's shoulder. "Take care of your brothers, will you?"

Ivan chuckled as well. "Of course, Master. My sister would have my hide if I didn't."

Alexei studied him for a moment, then nodded. He called for Sergey and Stepan, and the three of them departed.

Left alone, Ivan closed his eyes. He pressed a hand briefly against his chest, steadying his breathing as his heart hammered beneath his ribs.

—--

The tavern was loud.

That was the first thing Ivan noticed as he crouched atop a low building in the adjoining alley, the noise spilling out in uneven waves of laughter, shouting, and crude singing. It poured into the cold night air, thick and careless, the sound of men who believed themselves safe.

Safe. He let out a silent breath that might have been a chuckle. Months of relentless surveillance, of spying and watching from the shadows, were finally coming to an end tonight.

The plan itself was simple. Strike the tavern where most of the ratcatchers had gathered to celebrate the birthday of their leader, Ilya Voronin. It was almost ironic that the man himself wasn't present for his own celebration.

But Ivan wasn't concerned.

His master would handle that part. He just needed to focus on the responsibility his master had entrusted him to.

He shifted slightly on the rooftop, his eyes never leaving the tavern's entrance. A man stumbled out through the door and bent over near the wall. A moment later, the man heaved and vomited into the snow.

That was the first sign.

The poison they used was not meant to kill its targets outright. Instead, it weakened them first, bringing nausea, vomiting, and pain that robbed them of strength and clarity. Ivan knew this well. He had tested it on the men who he thought were not worth the life itself.

When he had presented his tactical plan, detailing the timing of the attack and how it would unfold, his master had praised him. Ivan remembered the quiet pride he felt at the time. But then his master had murmured, almost to himself, It would have been perfect if we could poison them before the attack.

Ivan hadn't thought much of those words at first. It was only later that night, when he reread his plan, that he came to the same conclusion.

His master was right.

The plan was solid, but it could be better. If the targets were weakened before the strike, the fight would be shorter, cleaner, and far less costly.

So he began looking.

Fortunately, it wasn't difficult. The black market to the west, controlled by the Steel Knuckles Syndicate, the very gang they intended to target next, had what he needed.

Ivan watched as another man stumbled out into the snow, clutching his stomach.

That was what he had been waiting for.

He reached into his coat and drew the revolver his master had left him. Instead of raising it and firing into the air as a signal to attack, Ivan leveled it calmly at one of the ratcatchers' guards, the one he judged to be the most dangerous among them.

He didn't hesitate.

He pulled the trigger.

Bang.

One by one, his brothers, who had been hiding in the snow, with their coats dyed white to blend with their surroundings, rose at once and began their attack.

Those hiding on the rooftop of the tavern pulled out their ropes and began their descent. Once they reached the third-floor windows, they didn't hesitate. Using the momentum of their swing, they crashed through the glass and forced their way inside.

Ivan joined the brothers on the ground and pushed through the entrance with them. Those assigned to watch the perimeter and intercept anyone attempting to flee remained outside, sealing off the surrounding streets.

The moment Ivan stepped inside, chaos erupted.

The tavern was no longer a place of celebration. Tables had been overturned, mugs lay shattered across the floor, and the air was thick with the smell of alcohol and sickness. Men staggered blindly, clutching their stomachs or collapsing where they stood. Some tried to stand and failed, slipping on spilled drink and blood.

A ratcatcher lunged at Ivan with a knife, his movements sluggish and desperate. Ivan stepped aside and struck him hard in the ribs. He felt something crack beneath his knuckles, and the man folded instantly, hitting the floor with a soft cry.

Around him, his brothers moved with purpose. They didn't shout. They didn't rush. Each strike was deliberate, aimed at those still capable of resistance. A man trying to crawl toward the back door was dragged away and silenced. Another swung a chair wildly before being tackled and pinned to the floor.

From above, glass continued to rain down as the men who had entered from the third floor pressed their advantage. Shouts echoed from the upper rooms as they cleared them one by one, forcing anyone they found down the stairs or ending the struggle where it began.

Ivan advanced deeper into the tavern, his eyes scanning constantly. He stepped over bodies, ignored the groans, and cut down anyone who tried to block his path. The poison had already done most of the work; what remained was a cleanup.

Or so he thought.

Near the bar, a small group of ratcatchers had managed to pull themselves together. They clustered behind overturned tables, faces pale but eyes burning with desperation. One of them raised a revolver, his hands shaking as he aimed past Ivan.

Ivan saw them a moment too late. He reached for his own revolver with his left hand, but he knew he wouldn't be fast enough. He dropped his weight instead.

"Down…!" he shouted.

The shot rang out.

The sound was deafening in the enclosed space, sharper than anything that had come before. A flash lit the tavern for a split second, followed by a cry of pain. One of Ivan's brothers staggered backward, clutching his side as blood seeped through his coat. He collapsed against a table and slid to the floor.

For a heartbeat, everything froze.

Yet Ivan didn't allow it to last.

Time was tight, and every second counted. He rose, brought up his revolver, aimed, and fired, dropping the man before he could squeeze off another shot.

Ivan aimed his weapon again, ready to deal with the others near the bar as they scrambled for their own guns. Then he saw one of his brothers leap into them, crashing across the counter and knocking two men off their feet.

Ivan swore under his breath.

He couldn't risk firing now.

He lowered his revolver and moved.

He crossed the distance in a burst of speed, kicking a fallen chair aside as he vaulted over it and threw himself into the fight. The air was thick with smoke and the sharp stink of alcohol. Someone swung at him blindly; Ivan caught the wrist mid-strike and twisted hard. The man screamed as the weapon slipped from his grip.

Ivan drove his elbow into the man's face and shoved him aside just as another ratcatcher lunged from behind the bar. They collided hard, both slipping on spilled drinks. Ivan slammed the man backward into the shelves, bottles shattering around them as glass rained down.

The ratcatcher tried to bring his head forward, desperate, but Ivan met him with a short, brutal headbutt. The man went limp, sliding down the counter and disappearing from Ivan's view.

To his left, his brother was struggling, pinned against the bar by a larger man who still had enough strength left to fight. Ivan stepped in without hesitation. He grabbed the attacker by the collar and drove a knee into his ribs. The man gasped, loosening his grip, and Ivan followed with a sharp strike to the jaw that sent him crashing to the floor.

Ivan didn't stop moving.

Another figure rushed at him, swinging a broken bottle. Ivan ducked under the wild slash and slammed his shoulder into the man's chest, driving him back across a table. Wood cracked as they went down together. Ivan came up first and brought his heel down hard. The fight left the man in a heap, unmoving.

Breathing hard now, Ivan scanned the room.

The last pockets of resistance were breaking. The poison had done its work, those still on their feet moved slowly, clumsily, their attacks desperate and unfocused. Against trained men who were still clear-headed, they didn't last long.

"Clear the bar!" Ivan shouted.

His brothers responded at once, surging forward and finishing what little resistance remained. Groans faded into silence. The last ratcatcher collapsed near the doorway, his strength finally gone.

Ivan wiped blood from his brow with the back of his hand and turned toward the brother who had been shot. The man was conscious, teeth clenched against the pain as two others pressed cloth against his side.

Ivan knelt beside him. "Good, You're still breathing."

After checking the wound with what little first aid knowledge he had, he clasped his brother's hand firmly. "You'll live."

He then turned to the two supporting the injured man. "Take him to the secret hideout. The healers are waiting there for the wounded. Make sure he's given priority."

The two nodded wordlessly, carried their wounded brother, and left.

Ivan straightened and looked around the tavern once more.

Broken glass crunched beneath his boots. Smoke drifted lazily through the air.

He let out a slow breath.

Finally, it was over.

As Ivan was about to check the rest of the tavern, Oskar came down from the upper floors.

Oskar's coat was dusted with glass and ash. "Upstairs is clear," he reported quietly. "A few tried to barricade themselves in the rooms, but we just climbed back out and smashed through their windows."

He chuckled briefly at the thought of repeating the same process over and over, but the sound died quickly as he scanned their surroundings.

Ivan simply nodded and gave his brother a brief pat on the shoulder.

A moment later, Nikolai approached, wiping his hands on his coat. "The back is secured. A couple tried to slip out through the storage exit, but they were intercepted. No one got away."

He paused, glanced around the ruined tavern, then looked back at Ivan. "What happened? We heard gunshots. I thought you were not allowed to fire more than once so as to not alert the authorities."

Ivan let out a short chuckle. "Hell happened here."

Then his expression hardened. "It's not over yet. We still have to clean up."

He thought for a moment before continuing. "Nikolai, check on your Jackals. I want full control of the surrounding areas as soon as possible. Oskar, pile up the bodies as planned. The carriages should be outside by now, and don't forget to collect everything of value inside." He paused, then added dryly, "My miser sister still needs those valuables to keep us fed."

Nikolai and Oskar smiled at those words before they nodded at once and moved off to carry out their orders.

When Oskar finished his tasks and the tavern had been stripped of its valuables, Ivan stood before the entrance. He struck a match and let the flame steady in the cold air before tossing it onto the oil-soaked door.

The fire caught at once, blooming inside and outward as the tavern began to burn.

And elsewhere in the city, at the same moment, Alexei was finishing the rest.

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