Work Text:
“Call sign: Sukuna
Real name: Roman Sergeyevich Suknov
Age: 33
Place of birth: Zarechye village, Minsk region, Byelorussian SSR
Occupation: Criminal authority, "Thief-in-Law," co-owner of a network of export-import companies, "Master of Moscow."
Arrived in St. Petersburg for negotiations on consolidating transport routes and laundering money through the city's ports.
Professional, calculating, and very dangerous. Travels with a personal security detail of 20 Afghan War veterans. Armed with AKS-74U assault rifles and Stechkin pistols. The convoy consists of black armored BMW E38s; Sukuna himself drives a Jeep Grand Cherokee.”
“Call sign: Japanese Princess
Real name: Gojo Satoru
Age: 27
Place of birth: Tokyo, Japan
Occupation: Sukuna's wife
Arrived in St. Petersburg with his husband.
A brainless doll, Sukuna's primary vulnerability. Presumably accompanied by seven bodyguards. Armed with PM pistols; the senior guard carries a sawn-off shotgun under his coat.”
These two brief profiles, complete with attached photos, were delivered to the headquarters of the St. Petersburg mafia. Several men of dubious appearance studied them, scrutinizing the faces. The first photo showed a large man with facial tattoos and a short haircut who looked like a hardened thug. It appeared to be a picture for a fake passport or some other document. The second photo seemed completely candid but was strikingly impressive, as if paparazzi had captured a model on the street. It showed an omega of rare, astonishing beauty. He was walking past a building in what looked like terribly uncomfortable jeans and a short top, hugging a bag with a small dog inside. His white hair flew in the wind, his full lips frozen in a charming, sensually parted position as he looked out at the world from beneath slightly lowered white eyelashes. The “brothers” sitting around the table studied this photo much longer than the one of Sukuna, who objectively deserved their attention far more.
"He's bagged himself a pretty piece of ass," one of them finally remarked. The others sighed in agreement. "It'll be a shame to waste him."
"No need to kill him," said the man in the tight black T-shirt, sitting at the head of the table and taking a drag from his cigarette. All eyes immediately turned to him as thick gray smoke curled toward the ceiling of the dark office. "You can't bargain with a corpse. But a living one..." He clasped his hands under his chin and looked grimly at his entourage. "Listen up. These two are arriving in St. Petersburg tomorrow. Sukuna wants to buy his way into our ports with his rotten Moscow money and launder his stinking business. He thinks we'll be happy to see him and just let him waltz into our ports, onto our turf, share our influence... He thinks money will open every door for him..."
"Those fucking Muscovites have completely lost their minds," someone growled grimly from the far end of the table, and a chorus of discontented murmurs swept through the headquarters.
"Exactly." The man at the head sat up straighter, laughing maliciously at his accomplices' indignant reaction. "We're not going to bargain with him. We're going to teach him some manners. And his chick..." He jabbed a calloused finger at the photo of the beautiful omega. "...is our golden ticket. I'll handle Sukuna myself, keep him busy when he comes for negotiations. Meanwhile, you lot will carefully, without rushing, snatch the chick. Brazenly, in broad daylight. Because in our city, we take what we want. And then, we stick to the classic playbook: first, the Muscovite will sign anything we put in front of him if he wants to keep his wife alive. He'll hand over half of his Moscow operations. We'll bleed him dry, slowly, piece by piece, trading his chick as we see fit. And if he dares to shortchange us..." The man smiled almost maniacally. "We'll set up a little game for him: 'collect the chick piece by piece.' Hair, nails, fingers... By spring, he'll get an arm and a leg. And then it's not far to the head. And when it's all over, it'll be our call. We'll break him so badly that every Moscow nouveau riche will learn a lifelong lesson about messing with us, the Petersburg crew. Because St. Petersburg is the crime capital. And we're the bosses here."
The brothers laughed and whistled, approving their leader's plan—the Petersburg crime boss, Toji Fushiguro. The printer quickly churned out a set of Gojo Satoru's photos for each of them, so they'd always be able to recognize the right face on the street.
November 15, 1997
Large snowflakes fell on the city, dancing in the air above the gray buildings, carrying the scent of frost and the already anticipated New Year. Though it was only November, technically still autumn, the temperature had long since dropped below zero, and all of St. Petersburg was blanketed in white snow. It melted slowly on the gray sidewalks under the feet of passersby and settled in clumps on their jackets and hats. Evening was gradually setting in.
Gojo sat in the car, his nose pressed against the tinted glass. He had never been to St. Petersburg before—Russia's second capital, a huge city on the Neva River—but he already liked it. Luxurious cathedrals, European-style houses, palaces scattered here and there, wrought-iron fences and towering spires, narrow entryways and canals, canals, canals... The omega examined each new street with curiosity, while Sukuna sat beside him, leafing through some papers and paying no attention to the snowy city outside the window. They were on their way to the hotel, having just arrived after a tiresome journey from Moscow, and the alpha was already buried in work...
"Masya!" (if you forgot, russian sweet nickname for sugar daddy, the same with “masik” and “masechka”) Gojo called to him, smiling. "How come we don't have a place here yet? I want to live here sometimes!" He was already thinking about picking out the most beautiful house. At that moment, they were passing the Palace Embankment. There stood the Winter Palace—a luxurious building of a delicate turquoise color, adorned with white stucco, columns, and gold ornaments. "That one! Will you buy it for me, masik?"
Sukuna lifted his head to look at the Winter Palace, which Satoru was so naively offering to buy for him. It was as silly as if the omega had wanted to buy the Statue of Liberty or the Eiffel Tower, but Sukuna didn't even smile and returned to his papers.
"Later, baby. Business first."
Gojo pouted indignantly at the curt reply but said nothing. He propped his cheek on his hand and demonstratively turned back to the window to continue looking at St. Petersburg, though with less enthusiasm. Their car moved steadily in the narrow stream of traffic, churning up dirty snow under its wheels.
After just a few minutes, they stopped at the Astoria Hotel, in a VIP suite with the most luxurious view of St. Isaac's Cathedral. The helpful staff helped carry the suitcases to the room, bowing obsequiously to the VIP guests. Gojo walked down the long hotel corridor lined with red carpet, holding his husband's arm. He didn't like it when he paid almost no attention to him. Satoru had hoped for a relaxing vacation together after the tiresome trip, but Sukuna almost immediately took the cars and left, without even treating his wife to a quiet dinner at a restaurant.
The door to the room slammed shut. Gojo sighed, left in proud solitude.
The VIP suite consisted of four large rooms, not counting the bathroom: two bedrooms, a dining room with access to a balcony, and a living room. All were decorated in the same style Satoru knew so well: a sort of baroque, with an abundance of gold, paintings, vases, and other luxury items. It seemed as if they had never left home; all the interiors were recognizable due to the ostentatious wealth that permeated every inch of space here.
Gojo went into the bathroom and turned on the light. He was immediately met by the fancy, flashy design with gold fittings and snow-white cabinets, but Satoru wasn't interested in that. He noticed the bathtub, which looked more like a mini-pool with thin legs, and decided to fill it up to relax. He really needed it today. A long journey, a busy husband... Satoru wanted to unwind and feel refreshed and rested, at least for a little while.
To fully immerse himself in relaxation, Gojo returned to the dining room and, rummaging through the minibar, took out a bottle of expensive pink champagne. Perfect. The evening was gradually becoming more pleasant.
"Nanamin! Come to my room," the omega demanded over the radio, which was there in case of danger. All the security guards who had come to St. Petersburg with them were staying in neighboring rooms one level below, so Gojo didn't have to wait long to hear a knock on the door.
The senior guard, Nanami Kento, entered after a brief invitation. He was always dressed in a formal suit and tie, ready for his boss's unscheduled negotiations, wore green sunglasses as part of his look, and was clean-shaven. Nanami looked silently at Satoru, waiting for further instructions. Satoru lazily handed him the bottle.
"Open the champagne for me," the omega asked with a languid sigh. "And I'm hungry. Have the restaurant deliver to the room? Will you bring me the menu?"
"Yes, ma'am. One moment," Nanami replied politely, taking the bottle. He removed the foil, took out a folding knife, and opened the cork with one movement. Without waiting for Satoru's next request, the man poured champagne into a tall glass on the table and pushed it toward Gojo. Then he nodded and left the room, closing the door behind him. Satoru was alone again.
He took off his clothes and threw a long hotel robe over his shoulders, completely white but with gold trim and the hotel logo. Omega casually tied it at the waist, leaving a thin triangle open on his chest, then opened the huge panoramic windows of the dining room and stepped onto the small balcony of his room. A cold wind swept over him and caught him in its embrace, tugging at the hem of his robe as Gojo surveyed St. Petersburg and St. Isaac's Cathedral with a haughty smile, taking a sip of champagne. He pulled his robe tighter and leaned on the openwork wrought-iron railing, slowly swirling his drink in his glass. He was bored.
In fact, Satoru thought about everything a lot, much more than any of the guards or even Sukuna could have expected. He sensed that the weather was changing, and it wasn't about the vicious Petersburg cyclones. There was a spirit of change in the air, a wind that slowly turned the weather vane in the other direction, forcing the children of his era to look for a way out. Sukuna would never tell him the details of his affairs, but Gojo understood everything anyway. Their clock was ticking louder and louder, and the whole country, engulfed in snow, fear, and blood, could hear it.
Finally, he closed the window. It was getting cold. Satoru knew that he shouldn't look directly into his thoughts for too long, because in the place from which he looked at them, being smart meant being unhappy. There was a reason why Russians almost never smiled.
A brief knock on the door interrupted his thoughts.
"Come in," Gojo replied, turning around. It was Nanami again. He brought the menu for the Japanese princess and, unexpectedly, a lush bouquet of red roses.
"It's from the boss," he explained. "As an apology for having to leave on business so late and not spending time with you."
"From the boss..." Satoru repeated, snorted, and took the bouquet. He needed both hands to hold it while Nanami carefully placed the menu on the table. "He thinks I'll forgive him because of a bouquet?"
"Of course not, ma'am... But he hopes it will make your evening more enjoyable."
"Fine. Leave me alone," Satoru replied with a sigh and sank into a luxurious soft armchair, hugging the bouquet.
He thoughtfully studied the red rose petals, running his fingers through them. He liked these flowers, and he liked their rich, scarlet hue. He always associated red with Sukuna, with Moscow, with passion and blood. And although the roses had no scent, Gojo still buried his nose in them to feel the fragile petals thaw after the street frost.
He slowly placed the bouquet in a large crystal vase on the living room table. Then the omega took one rose out of it and returned to the bathroom.
The large bathtub was perfectly filled with foam and hot water. Gojo sat on the edge of it and slowly tore off a petal to throw it into the center of the white foamy space. He suddenly remembered a silly guessing game popular in Russia. A long time ago, Sukuna had personally shown it to him, and now Gojo couldn't help but try it again. There was something similar in Japan, but Satoru bowed his head and began to whisper in Russian, plucking one petal after another:
"He loves me... He loves me not... He loves me... He loves me not..." Red spots began to generously decorate the foam in the bathtub while Gojo concentrated on counting the petals. Nothing remained of the rose with the last one: "He loves me..."
Omega sighed quietly and smiled, looking at the bare green stem in his hands. Of course, Sukuna loves him. There was no doubt about it, and the fortune-telling had turned out to be true. However, even if the rose had had the audacity to say that Sukuna doesn't love him, Gojo wouldn't have believed it. Anyway, these flower fortune-telling games are very silly and inaccurate.
Omega took a bath, ordered dinner from a restaurant by phone, ate, and went to bed.
Sukuna arrived at the Astoria late at night. Satoru woke up when he heard his footsteps in their room. Alpha finished giving orders to the security guards, took off his heavy, fur-lined overcoat, washed his hands—water splashed quietly in the bathroom—and then entered the bedroom.
Satoru pretended to be asleep and slowly turned away. Today, he was too upset with his husband to rush to him with kisses. "Later, baby" is a serious offense! Let him think about his behavior. Or, at the very least, buy the Winter Palace as an apology. Only then would Gojo possibly wait for him in bed with open arms again.
Sukuna didn't turn on the light so as not to wake the omega, so he heard rather than saw what he was doing. In the darkness, the buckle of a heavy belt clinked and a cotton shirt rustled faintly. The alpha took off his clothes, threw them somewhere on the chair, and sank heavily onto the bed. Satoru clearly felt the mattress sag where Sukuna sat down.
Silence. The icy, bone-chilling Petersburg wind whistled outside the window, its noise muffled even through the high-quality wooden frames. The glass rattled from the pressure, as if a giant, howling creature was walking through the city. The snowstorm raged, but everything was calm and quiet in their VIP room.
Sukuna said nothing. In the faint bluish light from the windows, Gojo could make out his black silhouette as the man wearily wiped his forehead and face with one hand. The way his broad shoulders slumped and his proud head drooped conveyed a quiet but oppressive sense of hopelessness. For a moment, Satoru's heart ached. He wanted to hug him, to pull his mighty Atlas close to him, and he almost acted on that impulse, but Sukuna suddenly moved first. The alpha rose and collapsed onto the bed, leaning on Gojo. The omega almost squeaked from the unexpected pressure. He heard Sukuna mutter something under his breath, possessively hugging him around the waist and pulling him toward himself, toward his hot, naked chest.
Satoru sighed. He didn't resist, allowing himself to dissolve into the silence of their closeness as his man's massive, powerful body pressed so scorching close and tight. At moments like this, Sukuna reminded him of a big brown bear. He was silent, but his nose rubbed gently and eagerly against Gojo's neck, sniffing it and searching for the most comfortable place to burrow and quiet down. His large, firm hands wrapped around the omega's waist and hips as they lay there without saying a word.
Satoru thought that perhaps he should have continued to play the offended man and pushed Sukuna away, but he couldn't find the strength to do so. He knew that the man would not hold him back, so the question of physical strength was irrelevant. Gojo simply... couldn't do that to him after what he saw in the black silhouette against the window.
There was no sun in St. Petersburg that morning. Satoru woke up in an empty bed and stretched sleepily, lifting his head from the down pillow. The light from the open window was soft and subdued, and the omega saw a white sky completely covered with snow clouds. They did not let the sun's rays through, creating a hazy effect over the city.
Sukuna had not disappeared from the bed without a trace. He was standing near their suitcase, methodically getting dressed and adjusting every detail of his appearance. The man had his back turned, so he did not immediately notice that Gojo had already woken up.
"Good morning, angel," Sukuna said softly, turning around by chance.
"Good morning." Gojo sat up in bed and ruffled his short white hair. He was wearing a light, sexy negligee that he had brought from home, one thin lace strap slipping off his shoulder. Satoru lazily pulled it back up, not noticing the look Sukuna gave him as he did so.
"How did you sleep?" he asked, coughing and applying a little cologne.
"Bad," replied the capricious omega, snorting and studying St. Isaac's Cathedral in the window again. "What time did you come home yesterday? I was asleep and didn't even hear you."
Sukuna glanced at him and smiled slightly. He knew Satoru was lying. His razor-sharp mind was always working, even when he was pretending to be a stupid puppet. However, it was next to this doll that Sukuna could lower his shield, take off his armor, and kneel down—to be completely broken and defeated at night, so that tender white hands could comfort him and wipe away his tears, which would be forgotten by morning. In the morning, they would put on these masks again, and Gojo would once again look at him as an almighty, invincible god among men, pouting capriciously. He never doubted Sukuna's power. And it was to him that Sukuna showed what he could not show to anyone else.
"Sorry. I was delayed, I had things to do," he replied, smiling warmly and knowingly. The smile touched even the corners of his only remaining eye, creating a pleasant, slight squint. Sukuna played along, allowing himself to be deceived. "Let's go to breakfast. Just get dressed first."
Gojo acted a little bratty, pretending to be dissatisfied. However, he was actually very happy to at least have breakfast with his perpetually busy husband, and then he quickly got out of bed.
Sukuna was already dressed in a strict black three-piece suit with a white shirt and red tie. Satoru wanted to match him, so he chose something incredibly expensive, stylish, and sophisticated: also a suit, but consisting of a white chocolate-colored jacket and matching trousers. It was a Givenchy set. It was perfectly complemented by several strands of natural pearls and vintage diamond earrings with one large teardrop-shaped pearl.
Gojo looked at himself in the mirror. Yes, he looked just perfect for breakfast. Sukuna might have fallen asleep in his chair while waiting for him, because Satoru had also taken a shower, styled his hair, and put on makeup, but it was worth it—the omega looked like a true aristocrat, destined to attract the attention of everyone around him.
Soon, the elegant couple descended to the hotel's restaurant of the same name.
Huge crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, and the entire interior was imbued with a sense of decadence, bohemianism, and luxury. Gojo looked bored as he scanned the rows of tables while Sukuna led him to the breakfast spread for hotel guests. It was quite early, so there weren't many people there. Sukuna talked to the waiters, briefly asking Satoru what he would like today, while the omega indifferently gazed out the large windows. Isaakievsky again. To be honest, he was even getting tired of it. Gojo wanted to walk around the city, explore all the local boutiques, and marvel at the sights. That's what the omega decided to suggest to Sukuna when they finally sat down at a table by the window.
"I can't, baby. I have negotiations today," the man replied, shaking his head.
"But I want to walk around!" Satoru frowned indignantly, listlessly poking at his omelet.
"And you're coming. With Nanami and the bodyguards, as always. I'll give you money." Sukuna looked up at him and sighed. "Listen, kitten... I need you to know. St. Petersburg isn't Moscow. We're not welcome here. Be careful."
"Your negotiations... Are they dangerous?" Gojo asked, looking at him too.
"All negotiations in our line of work are dangerous." Sukuna smiled. "Anyway, don't fill your pretty little head with that. Daddy will take care of everything."
After breakfast, they returned to their room, but their paths for the day were already beginning to diverge. While Gojo was packing a bag for shopping, Sukuna was talking intently with someone on the phone. Nevertheless, he did not forget his promise to give his wife money. Satoru received a tight, crisp wad of a couple hundred thousand rubles, held together with a simple rubber band. The feel of the bills in his palms made Gojo's eyes sparkle with joy. Usually, masik gave him pocket money in dollars, but today they were in enemy territory, so using foreign currency would be too conspicuous and unwise.
Sukuna left again. However, it was time for Satoru to go too. He urgently needed to spend the money somewhere, so, throwing on his mink coat and matching hat, Gojo climbed into the black limousine, where his personal driver and Nanami were already waiting for him.
"Let's go," Satoru ordered. He immediately decided to touch up his makeup a little and was now powdering himself with compact powder in a blue rectangular case. "Did masik tell you when he'll be free? He's busy all morning today."
The driver and Nanami exchanged glances. Despite the apparent small number of Sukuna's people, they were not alone—there were two more black cars behind and to the side. Every person here had a gun hidden under their warm outer clothing.
"The boss said to escort you until five. After five, he'll finish his business and be here. What would you like, ma'am?" Nanami asked politely.
"I want a new handbag! And to go shopping with my masik," Satoru declared, slamming his powder compact shut. He rested his elbows on his thighs and leaned forward to see the road. "You're all such bores. You don't understand fashion at all."
"As you say, ma'am," Nanami replied with a sigh.
"My masya understands everything and knows everything." Gojo sighed wistfully, leaning back on the sofa. To tell the truth, just one glance at Nanami was enough to make him bored, and the cold St. Petersburg weather only added to his melancholy. "I'd rather go alone... Maybe I'd find some new friends."
"The boss ordered us not to let you out of our sight, ma'am," Nanami said laconically.
"I know, I know. He's always coming up with stupid rules. What could possibly happen on a shopping trip?" Gojo wrinkled her nose capriciously.
"It's not a stupid rule, ma'am. First of all, you're wearing very expensive clothes. It's simply unsafe for an omega to walk around alone like this. Any thug could grab you, drag you around the corner, and do whatever he wants. Second, your husband has many influential enemies who might want to use you to put pressure on him. We must always be on our guard."
Gojo knew he was right. Moreover, Sukuna had told him the same thing during breakfast. Still, he didn't like listening to Nanami's lectures.
"Blah, blah, blah," Satoru mimicked him, sticking out his tongue. "I told you, you're such a bore, Nanamin! If you keep lecturing me, I'll ask masya, and he'll fire you!"
"That would be wonderful," Nanami snorted dryly, adjusting his glasses.
"Oh, really!" Gojo puffed up with indignation. "Then... Then I'll ask him never to fire you!"
Nanami sighed heavily and exchanged glances with the driver. The driver understood him without words, and both men decided not to say anything more.
The most expensive and bohemian Passage was chosen for luxurious shopping. That was where the car quickly took the Japanese princess.
The driver got out of the BMW and opened the door for Gojo, also offering him his hand, while the omega carefully stepped over the puddle in his beautiful patent leather boots. He adjusted his brown fur coat and immediately walked ahead of his security detail, lifting his chin. Passersby on the streets involuntarily turned their heads to look at the exotic beauty, but the burly men in dark jackets and stone faces left no doubt that it was better not to mess with Gojo.
Meanwhile, the omega didn't notice the gloomy mood of his support group at all. He smiled cheerfully as he looked around the huge Passage building, where brand names were splashed across the shop windows.
"I can't wait to grab a handbag!" he shared with Nanami, beaming with delight. Suddenly, Satoru noticed the name of the department store, which clearly read "Пассажъ." "What a funny word... As far as I know, 'Пассаж' is spelled without a hard sign (ъ)! And I know Russian very well. This was written by someone who is illiterate." He chuckled as he walked inside when the doors were opened for him again.
"That's pre-revolutionary grammar, ma'am," Nanami replied politely. "After the revolution, the Russian language was changed for ease of writing. Previously, hard signs were mandatory in almost all words."
Gojo's smile faltered and became more forced. He turned to the senior guard, baring his pearly white teeth and narrowing his eyes. Despite his smile, he looked damn angry.
"Nanamin." He began softly. "I don't think I asked you anything, and I certainly didn't ask you to be clever again." His frenzied smile widened. "When I'm joking, you'd better laugh, okay? Don't try to make me look like an idiot. Do we understand each other?"
"I understand, ma'am." Nanami swallowed and exhaled. "I apologize."
Gojo waved his thin hand in a black glove and walked majestically past him. The guards followed him in gloomy silence.
The first thing that caught the Japanese Princess's eye was the Chanel boutique, the very fashion house from which Satoru wanted a new handbag. His eyes sparkled with delight, and he strode boldly inside, like a man who knew exactly what he could afford.
Nanami followed him, hands clasped behind his back, while the rest of the bodyguards remained at the entrance, assessing the situation outside.
"Good afternoon!" a young sales assistant in white gloves greeted him politely, instantly rushing over to the new customer. It was her first time seeing Gojo, so her eyes quickly scanned his entire appearance, from his fur coat and well-tailored suit to his handbag and diamond earrings. Satoru knew he looked impeccably prestigious, so he just chuckled when he saw the sales assistant break into a broad smile. "Is this your first time in St. Petersburg? That's an amazing perfume, Habanita—it's rare for locals to wear it."
"Hello." Gojo beamed when the sales assistant recognized the scent emanating from him—androgynous, sweet, expensive. "You're right. My husband and I are from Moscow. He's here on business, and I'm just a tourist."
"Oh, how lovely. How do you like our city?" asked the saleswoman, helpfully leading Satoru into the main room of the boutique.
Nanami froze in the neutral zone and tried to blend into the furniture. He knew the drill perfectly well. Salespeople in boutiques always sized up new customers by their clothes, perfume, and accessories... and, by the way, Nanami himself was also considered an accessory. If an omega in nice clothes could afford bodyguards, then he was more than solvent.
Nanami listened, bored and reluctant, as the sales assistant asked Satoru what he wanted and brought him bags, wallets, and various accessories, how Gojo chose what he liked best without haggling, and how the saleswoman tried to upsell him, admiring his impeccable taste along the way. It was all unbearably saccharine, and sometimes Nanami sincerely couldn't answer the question for himself: does Satoru not realize they are kissing his ass, or does he realize it but doesn't mind? Nanami hated hypocrites. If he were in Gojo's place, he would have told the saleswoman what he thought of her long ago. However, he never went to boutiques; one bag here cost as much as his annual salary. That's why the saleswoman didn't offer him coffee or tea.
Suddenly, his radio crackled. Nanami turned away and covered his mouth with his hand, quickly receiving the signal:
"Go ahead."
"Boss, there are some suspicious guys hanging around the entrance. They've blocked all four doors. They're looking through the glass to see who's inside."
Nanami paled upon receiving this message and clenched his teeth in anger. He didn't let on that anything was wrong, keeping up appearances in the expensive boutique. Things were starting to look dicey... There was no doubt that these guys were here for Gojo. It was unlikely that two persons of interest to the St. Petersburg criminal world would just happen to cross paths in the Passage. Still, what the hell did they want? He was unlikely to find out during a pleasant social conversation.
"Understood. Keep an eye on the situation. I'll inform the Boss. Over and out."
Nanami took out his phone, a push-button Nokia, to quickly dial Sukuna. Today, the boss was busy meeting with St. Petersburg gangsters, but he had to be warned about the danger threatening his omega wife. Any action without Sukuna's instructions could be fatal for the entire security team. Nanami pressed a speed-dial button with his thumb and put the phone to his ear, turning away but keeping an eye on Satoru.
Long beeps sounded.
***
Meanwhile, at the Troika Restaurant...
The air in the luxurious hall, decorated with pompous, golden decor in the pure Stalinist Empire style, was thick with tension. Waitresses rushed back and forth, setting the best of everything on a table for two: vodka in an ice barrel, red and black caviar, cold appetizers, and cognac. Crystal clinked on silver trays, and pristine shot glasses were placed at each setting. Whispers spread among the young, beautiful waitresses: "The VIPs are here... They say they're crime bosses... The VIPs are here..."
The table was reserved in the name of Toji Fushiguro, a man who needed no introduction in the world of thieves-in-law. It was to meet him that Sukuna was here today. He had a lot on his plate, much to discuss, and the negotiations could end in any number of ways. That's why Sukuna had a whole motorcade with his people, and despite his business-black suit, there was a gun in his pocket. Toji was undoubtedly armed in exactly the same way.
Both leaders arrived at the restaurant at about the same time: punctuality is the politeness of kings. They got out of their black cars and slowly shook hands, exchanging brief greetings.
The meeting officially began.
The restaurant manager personally bowed to his guests, escorting them to a separate table. Gold gleamed on expensive cufflinks, and the air smelled of exquisite beef tongue, tobacco, and alcohol. Toji and Sukuna sat down at a table covered with a pristine white satin tablecloth, ready to begin the conversation with brutal pleasantries before getting down to business. Their people sat at neighboring tables, creating a living shield between them and the rest of the room, hinting that other visitors would be better off staying away. Anyone who looked too long at the two authorities received synchronized warning glances from the security guards.
"Well, Roman Sergeyevich, welcome to our humble little town..." Toji began, smiling and personally pouring vodka. He was the first to take a sip, while Sukuna remained silent, swirling the contents of his glass. "You're probably used to Moscow luxury... Things are different here. But the air is wonderful!" Toji raised two fingers with the expression of a true gourmet. "Not every Moscow constitution can handle it."
"Air is just air," Sukuna replied with a shrug. "It's cold, that's true, but overall it's the same as everywhere else." He paused for a moment, tapping his fingers on the table before getting to the point. "Your rivers are beautiful. And the ports are adequate."
Toji grinned loudly, putting a generous spoonful of black caviar on his bread. He understood perfectly well what Sukuna was getting at.
"You're being unfair. Our ports are the best in Russia. Pyotr Alekseich (he's about Peter the Great, the first Russian emperor, who founded St. Petersburg) built them."
"And how is the... throughput in these ports?" Sukuna inquired, studying the sparkle of vodka in his glass as the liquid refracted the light from the luxurious chandeliers.
"We have no complaints." Toji leaned back in his large red armchair. "And why are you interested, Roman Sergeyevich?"
Sukuna decided that there was nothing left to hide and that it was time to lay his cards on the table. He had always hated these flowery conversations with hidden meanings, so he tried to get to the point as quickly as possible. If Sukuna wanted pleasant small talk, he would have found someone clearly better than Toji.
"I'm offering you a deal. I need your ports—a reliable corridor for transporting goods to and from Europe," he said bluntly, placing some papers on the table. They were copies of contracts detailing the terms of the deal. It might have seemed like a mere scrap of paper, but the personal lawyers of criminal authorities could certify even such documents. "Add to that the St. Petersburg protection and connections. I'm not claiming your existing transport routes. As far as I know, you are only utilizing thirty percent of the merchant ships' potential. I want to achieve one hundred percent. Of course, not for free."
"Ah, how ambitious... And what do you offer in return?" Toji smiled, taking the contract in his hands and slowly leafing through the pages.
"The same corridor in Moscow." Sukuna placed one of his palms on the table, his posture becoming more imposing and confident. "I offer long-term cooperation and the opportunity to expand your influence beyond St. Petersburg."
Toji nodded with a very serious expression, then put the papers aside and poured himself more vodka. Sukuna looked at him intently, waiting for agreement or at least some reaction to his proposal.
"Let's have a drink, Roman Sergeyevich," he finally said, nodding at Sukuna's untouched glass. "You can't have conversations like this without a shot."
"Fine." He sighed heavily. "What are we drinking to?"
"To your beautiful wife, of course." Toji smiled innocently. "What's the power, brother? Beauty. (a quote from the film "Brother". In the original, power is in truth, Toji changes the phrase) Let's drink." He raised his glass.
Sukuna frowned darkly at the mention of Gojo. What did this guy want with his wife anyway? Nevertheless, he waited for an answer and didn't want to ruin their relationship prematurely, so he swallowed the insolent remark from the St. Petersburg authority and clinked glasses with him, although what Sukuna wanted most was to spit in his insolent face and reply, "You're no brother of mine, you scum."
"I would prefer that my wife not be mentioned in these kinds of negotiations," he finally replied slowly, weighing each word, after drinking the glass to the bottom, as required by thieves' etiquette.
"Why?" asked Toji, propping his cheek with his hand and continuing to smile nastily. "Such beauty is difficult to hide. It's surprising that you let him go out alone. Someone might covet him... They'll steal him. St. Petersburg is not like Moscow. We don't walk around wearing diamonds on the streets; we are a modest people."
Sukuna froze and lifted his chin. How does this bastard know about his wife's diamond earrings?!
He didn't have time to finish the thought, because at that moment his phone, which had been lying face down on the table, vibrated loudly with an incoming call. Sukuna rubbed the bridge of his nose irritably and picked it up to see who was calling. Nanami. What does he want?
"Who is it? Is your beauty calling?" Toji continued his teasing, sprawled in his chair. "Must be missing you. Such delicate creatures... Well, go on, answer it. It's more important than our dull conversations about business. That can wait."
Sukuna gave him a murderous look, then abruptly grabbed the phone and walked into the next room—the corridor connecting the restaurant halls—to answer it.
***
Several rings passed, then something clicked, and then steady, albeit slightly tense, breathing could be heard.
"Speak," Sukuna demanded immediately. Soft music played in the background, and forks and glasses clinked muffledly.
"Boss, SOS," Nanami's voice was low. He glanced at Gojo, who was sniffing perfume as if nothing had happened. "We're at the Passage. Suspicious guys in black Mercedes have every entrance covered. They've surrounded us. Awaiting instructions."
"Have you lost your fucking minds?" Sukuna growled into the phone. "Why the fuck are you still standing there like a bunch of morons?! Get him out. Immediately. Through the back, the basement, I don't give a fuck how. I'll be there in half an hour." He suddenly fell silent for a couple of seconds. His breathing quickened noticeably from irritation and adrenaline. "And, Nanami... If a single hair on his head is harmed... If he gets scared... I'll drown you in the Neva with my bare hands, like a stray puppy. Understood?"
"But, boss—"
A loud beep interrupted him; Sukuna had hung up. Nanami was left alone with a terrifying order, while gangsters waited outside, and in the background, Gojo was amiably chatting with a consultant about his recent trip to Milan. Damn. He had to act.
Nanami quickly assessed the situation via radio. Indeed, all four entrances were blocked, but there was another, fifth exit in the Passage that led to the subway. They could get a car there and extract Gojo without being noticed. However, now came the most difficult part: somehow peel the omega away from the boutiques and get him to the subway without letting him realize he was in danger.
Sighing, Nanami decided to act. He cautiously approached Satoru and the consultant.
"Ma'am, excuse me, I..." They both looked at him as if he were a piece of shit. Nanami knew exactly why: the boutique was a rather intimate space. The role of a bodyguard here was to be seen and not heard, not to interrupt. Nanami was seriously violating protocol, but he had no choice. "I was informed that the Dior boutique has received a new shipment of cosmetics that are currently unavailable anywhere else. I thought you might be interested."
The saleswoman's face soured even further, but Gojo perked up and clapped his hands:
"Really? Oh, what are we waiting for! Of course, I'm going there right now!" He glanced at the saleswoman and gestured toward the cash register. "The black 2.55 handbag and the glasses, that's right. Ring them up, and be quick about it."
Satoru stood up, adjusting his suit, and watched with a satisfied smile as the saleswoman carefully packed his purchases into a branded bag. Then he opened his personal purse, took out the very same stack of bills his husband had given him, and counted out a thick wad of cash. The saleswoman didn't seem at all surprised by this extravagant display, already accustomed to wealthy clients. Meanwhile, Nanami watched the transaction with growing impatience, praying that Gojo would move faster. Their Japanese Princess moved with infuriating, regal grace.
Finally, omega waved a hand, prompting his bodyguard to take his bag, and headed for the boutique on the opposite side of the long, shiny gallery.
Nanami's plan was simple; he tried to make it cunning so that Gojo wouldn't catch on. The trick was that the Dior boutique was closer to that subway exit. He planned to take Gojo there and casually suggest he appreciate the beauty of the St. Petersburg subway. Did it sound dubious? Yes. Of course. Absolutely. But it was worth a try. Nothing smarter came to mind under stress, and the suspicious shaved heads watching from the Passage windows left him no time to devise a better plan.
"Ma'am, you know... I have an idea," Nanami began cautiously, moving a little closer to Satoru as he walked, his heels clicking loudly.
"What is it? Spit it out," the omega demanded boredly.
"We are near the exit to the Gostiny Dvor subway station. They say it's an incredibly beautiful station. Would you like to take a look? You've never been to the St. Petersburg metro before."
Nanami fell silent, sincerely praying that Satoru's curiosity would be piqued, even though he already sensed how flimsy that hope was. Omega froze and looked at the head of security with such a sour expression that Nanami understood without words that the plan had failed miserably.
"Is this your idea?" Gojo grimaced. "Next time, think twice before suggesting something like that. Where am I, and where is the subway? Especially since I have Dior cosmetics waiting for me. Stop talking nonsense, you're getting on my nerves today."
Nanami watched wearily as Gojo disappeared into another boutique, this time Dior, and the exact same scene with the sales assistant as at Chanel repeated itself.
Meanwhile, the situation was gradually taking a more critical turn. Nanami noticed several guys in quilted jackets entering the Passage and standing by the doors, glancing at him from time to time. They all had their hands in their pockets, and there was no doubt that each had a gun under his jacket. Nanami clenched his teeth in tension and anger. He wanted to rush around like a wounded animal, grab his boss's capricious wife, and run.
"Boss, there are cars at the Gostiny Dvor and Nevsky metro exits. They've figured out your plan," came a sudden message over the radio.
Nanami cursed under his breath and stuffed the radio in his pocket. Okay, stay calm, don't lose your head. It was unlikely the "brothers" would start shooting right in a building full of people; that would be more than just a kidnapping, it would be outright terrorism. He tried to think. Obviously, Sukuna would kill him anyway. However, if Gojo just got scared, he might do it more mercifully than if Gojo died. In any case, there was no time to waste; any delay now could cost them all their lives. The other bodyguards were already signaling about service exits they could use to quickly extract the boss's wife from the danger zone. They had to act quickly, before those areas also fell under the control of the "brothers."
"Ma'am." Nanami turned again to Satoru, who was thoughtfully testing eyeshadow swatches on his wrist. "We need to leave immediately. It's the boss's order."
Gojo looked at him with undisguised irritation and slammed the palette down loudly.
"Nanamin! Will you leave me alone or not?! First, you lie about the cosmetics, and now you're telling me what to do?!" He shoved the eyeshadow away so hard the sales assistant barely caught it. Satoru decisively took his coat from one of the bodyguards and headed for the main entrance.
"Ma'am! Wait! That's not the right exit!" Nanami hurried after him in a panic. "Where are you going?!"
"I'm leaving! And all of you, get off my back!" Gojo clicked his heels loudly, almost running toward the doors. Even the "brothers" loitering at the entrance were stunned by this turn of events and stepped aside in surprise when the enraged omega slammed both doors open.
Nanami immediately rushed after him, his face pale with horror. Not this! He couldn't lose sight of him!
"Ma'am! Wait! It's dangerous!"
Satoru rushed out of the Passage at full speed, intending to hail a taxi. He raised his hand to wave down a driver, but everything happened much faster than he expected. A black sedan instantly pulled up right beside him, and the driver helpfully opened the rear door, inviting the omega to get in.
His bodyguards, led by Nanami, were running behind him. Without a second thought, Gojo jumped into the car, and the driver closed the door with one quick movement. Nanami lunged forward, grabbing the handle of the closing door, when suddenly the car jerked forward with all its might, and the head of security crashed with a thud into the dirty snow on the asphalt.
"No!!!" he shouted, his voice breaking, feeling everything inside him grow cold with absolute horror.
It wasn't a taxi. It was a car belonging to the St. Petersburg gangsters.
"To the Astoria," Gojo ordered calmly, settling into the car and taking a powder compact with a mirror out of his purse to touch up his lipstick. When the sedan accelerated sharply, the omega frowned in displeasure. "Can't you drive more carefully? You're not transporting a sack of potatoes!"
In the front seats were two large men in black jackets. Satoru suddenly heard the central lock click, and then saw the gangsters' malicious, mocking grins. The realization that he had been caught came abruptly, as if someone had doused him with cold water, but Gojo only pressed his lips together, not showing any emotion.
"Sure, doll. Whatever you say," growled the man in the passenger seat, smiling so that his gold tooth was visible.
After his crushing fall, Nanami, of course, had no intention of lying in the snow. He grabbed the radio and yelled at the top of his lungs:
"Everyone!!! To the cars!!! After them! License plate X987US99! Everyone to the Nevsky exit!" As the cars pulled away one after another, and the guys from the last one helped Nanami himself get up and into the passenger seat, the man frantically dialed Sukuna. He already knew he was fucked.
Nevertheless, it was too early to despair and give up. The security guards instantly mobilized to begin the pursuit, and now all four cars were moving through city traffic at breakneck speed, drawing angry honks from other drivers.
Satoru turned around and immediately saw the chase: his bodyguards were driving after them without backing off, not letting the departing "taxi" escape into side streets. For some reason, this calmed Gojo. He smiled again and returned to touching up his lips.
"Don't flirt with me, sweety. I'm married, and you'd better not know who my husband is." Omega lazily corrected the red outline with his finger, while the gangsters' faces stretched with anger, irritation, and distrust.
***
When Sukuna returned to the table, he found Toji staring at the ceiling. To be fair, there was something to look at: the Troika restaurant's signature feature was a large, luxurious fresco depicting three horses galloping at full speed. It covered the entire ceiling, making an indelible impression.
Sukuna sat down. Toji quickly turned his attention back to him and smiled.
"Magnificent, aren't they?" He nodded upward. "Are you fond of horses, Roman Sergeyevich?"
"No," Sukuna replied curtly. First his wife, now horses... Was this guy going to discuss anything of substance? If not, he'd leave for the Passage right now to deal with Nanami's problem. That call had put him on edge. He had a strong suspicion that the trouble at the Passage was Toji's doing. The unspoken accusation sat between them like a giant elephant in the room. "You know, I suggest we get back to—"
"You just reminded me of someone!" Toji said cheerfully, cutting him off. Sukuna was irritated by the impudence but fell silent, fixing the man with a grim look. Toji continued, undeterred. "We had a fellow here once, just like you, from Moscow... He adored horses. Came here on business, you see. Lived well, started breeding them. Built his own private stable." Toji's smile widened. "Only... he got too cocky, you understand? And that was that."
"That was that?" Sukuna asked, raising an eyebrow, unimpressed.
"He woke up one morning, and in his bed... was a head. A severed head. His favorite racehorse's." Toji laughed, pouring himself another glass of vodka. "And you know what's most interesting, Roman Sergeyevich? It's not about the stallion, it's about its owner. One must be more modest. That's our St. Petersburg way."
Sukuna began to understand where this was going, and he definitely didn't like it. He clenched a fist under the table.
"So you're not going to sign the contract?"
"My dear man, I'd be delighted!" Toji spread his arms and chuckled. "But you understand: you can't just insert one cog without affecting all the others. Our ports are crowded... And they don't like it when someone comes in and starts throwing their weight around."
Sukuna wanted to say something else, but his phone vibrated again. Nanami. Nothing good ever came from his calls now. Sukuna simply stood up. His men, seated nearby, rose with him as if on cue.
"Fine. Then we're leaving," he said dryly, turning away and answering the call as he walked. "Goodbye."
Toji watched him go. He slowly ate another caviar sandwich, finished his vodka, and asked for the check. After a wad of cash was crudely stuffed into an elegant leather folder, the man also stood and waved his hand.
"To the cars, boys. Time to catch our stallion."
***
"Boss! They took him. Snatched him right from under our noses. License plate X987US99." Nanami's voice cracked over the phone as he tried to keep track of the chase and report at the same time.
"Have you all lost your fucking minds?! You useless, brainless idiots! What are you, fucking decorations?!” Sukuna yelled into the phone so loudly that Nanami had to pull it away from his ear. For a moment, his voice drowned out the roar of the engines as the bodyguards' cars raced down the highway, overtaking oncoming traffic and narrowly avoiding accidents. The St. Petersburg crew tried to lose them in back alleys, but Satoru's motorcade quickly split up to follow from every angle. The chase was intense and desperate.
"Hey, dipshits. You even understand what's happening? We fucking kidnapped you! Got it?! You're done for, you little bitch," one of the gangsters in the front seat growled, both of them glaring at the calm Japanese Princess.
"I understand. It's you who doesn't," Gojo replied, propping his cheek on his hand and looking out at the gray buildings. He smiled slightly, able to almost hear his husband's furious roar even from this distance. "I almost feel sorry for you... When my masik gets here, you're dead men."
Sukuna threw himself into his SUV, still on the phone with Nanami. His voice turned to steel as the driver immediately started the car and the entire motorcade sped away from the Troika.
"I'm on my way. Pray, Nanami," he growled, hanging up and focusing fully on the operation. He had to get his precious Satoru back at all costs and tear the kidnappers apart with his bare hands.
"He won't forgive you for this..." the omega remarked thoughtfully in the car with his captors, lowering his long white eyelashes.
"You..." The man in the passenger seat clenched his fists in rage. He restrained himself because the boss had forbidden them from killing or maiming Sukuna's wife. "You fucking whore! We're taking you to the woods, and your boyfriend won't be able to find your bones! You think we're scared of your Moscow big shot?! We have our own rules in St. Petersburg! You're both fucking dead!"
Gojo didn't listen; he continued powdering his face with the same compact. He had to look perfect for when he saw Sukuna, and even the wild speed of the black sedan couldn't stop him from tidying up.
Meanwhile, the entire Moscow delegation was consumed by the fury of the chase. Sukuna seethed with the rage of a man whose beloved wife had been stolen, but his mind was as cold as the winter Neva. He quickly became a strategist, tactician, and commander. He knew who he was dealing with, and in this game, every move had to be calculated.
Fortunately, his team knew their stuff. A minute later, the radio transmitted coordinates, routes, and potential hiding places, using a map of St. Petersburg and the Leningrad region. The guys who used to live here provided crucial intel. Sukuna always surrounded himself with professionals.
"Boss, they're heading towards the forest park via Vyborgskoye Highway," came the report over the radio. The engine of the black SUV roared like a mad beast, skidding on the slippery St. Petersburg ice.
"Understood." Sukuna gave orders grimly. "Group One, block the fork at Parnas. Group Two, take the exit to Svetlanovsky Avenue. I'm taking the main road. Don't let them turn back into the city. Herd them toward me," he growled like a wolf anticipating the hunt.
His driver, a silent Afghan veteran with a grim demeanor, wrung every last bit of power from the car. They sped as fast as they could, drawing angry honks, and somewhere in the distance, police sirens had already begun to wail. Sukuna positioned himself between the front seats for a full view of the road through the windshield.
Gradually, the landscape began to change. From the bustling city, the group of cars moved onto cold winter roads, where there was nothing but pine and fir trees touching the sky, covered with fluffy white snow. Sukuna had no doubt Gojo was being taken to the woods. He needed to trap the Petersburg car between him, his two groups, and the motorcade led by Nanami.
"Boss... We've got a tail," the radio suddenly crackled.
"Toji?" Sukuna asked, gritting his teeth.
"Toji."
"Open fire." He gave the decisive order and moved away from the front seat to avoid being the most vulnerable target when the return fire began. The man pulled a black, matte Stechkin automatic pistol from under the seat. It would suffice for now; they'd get the Kalashnikovs from the trunks in the forest. The cold, glare-free body fit comfortably in his hand as Sukuna prepared it for battle: he racked the slide, the sharp, metallic click echoing through the SUV's interior. The negotiations were over. Now the real war began.
In the distance, a short burst of two or three shots rang out. The deafening reports echoed over the road, making the pine trees seem to tremble. Sukuna listened as the sounds became more frequent and louder, his motorcade firing directly at Toji's armored Mercedes. He looked back to see the lead car's windshield was still intact but already webbed with cracks, despite the armor.
Sukuna leaned out of the wide-open window and fired a similar short burst at the car where he presumed Toji was sitting. He jerked back immediately as bullets whistled past his cheek. The St. Petersburg gangsters returned fire.
"We need to get closer to the forest road fork, out of Toji's line of sight," Sukuna said to his driver. "We have to catch the scum who took Satoru. If Toji sees us, we'll be the ones in a trap. Drive faster."
Sukuna radioed his convoy to continue the firefight. Gunfire became the soundtrack as Sukuna's SUV suddenly sped ahead, leaving both the pursuers and the other cars behind.
"Group One, copy. The target is almost cornered. We're on the highway approaching the fork."
"Group Two, copy. We're pressing the target toward the roadside."
"Be careful, no ramming," Sukuna growled. "Keep your eyes open, make sure Satoru is safe. Nanami, status?"
Nanami's calm voice, though trembling with tension, reported immediately:
"We're preventing them from reversing, maintaining pursuit. The target attempted to shoot out our tires."
Sukuna laughed grimly upon hearing this.
"What kind of brainless fucks are driving? Never seen armored vehicles before? Keep on them, don't let them fall back."
The operation continued. Sukuna silently promised himself he'd tear the world apart if anything happened to his beloved wife. He'd punish everyone involved, even if it meant killing half of St. Petersburg...
Gojo sat in the car, clutching the door handle tightly. The breakneck speed made him nauseous, and the G-forces pressed his body firmly into the seat. He gritted his teeth, watching his kidnappers occasionally lean out to fire short, sharp shots at the tires of his motorcade. Each time, he turned to check if Nanami and the others were okay, but they were close behind, not slowing even when bullets whistled over their roofs.
The St. Petersburg sky was rapidly turning a deep blue, though it was only around five in the afternoon. Crows cawed explosively above the pines as another shot cut through the twilight. Gojo pressed his lips together nervously, watching the chase with a sliver of fear. Despite his apparent composure, he was worried. And he really hoped there would be no casualties... on the Moscow side, of course. The chase had been going on for a long time, and the omega was growing anxious. What if they didn't make it? What if he was killed? What if Sukuna didn't come for him?
No. That was unthinkable. Satoru knew his husband would rather die than leave him to his fate. He was coming; the omega felt it in his heart. Everything would be fine. Sukuna would handle it, as he always did.
"Suspicious cars up ahead," muttered the driver of the sedan, squinting but not turning on the high beams.
"Fuck. Head into the woods. We'll lose them and wait it out," growled the second thug, also peering ahead. Gojo craned his neck and beamed. If those were their cars, then Sukuna was already here! He would save him!
However, a moment later, the sedan veered sharply off the highway into a deep ditch. Satoru gasped, hitting his head painfully on the ceiling. The tires spun wildly, roaring inside the cabin as the car fishtailed, but the thugs paid no mind. The driver floored it, and with a loud squeal, the sedan shot into a narrow tunnel between the pines. Gojo's heart sank as he saw Nanami and the motorcade brake hard behind them, thwarted by the daring escape.
Meanwhile, the sedan flew over snowy bumps between the trees, sinking into the snow up to the doors and stalling mercilessly. The driver swore, started it again and again, and pressed on. They quickly found a more traveled path with at least some tracks. The trees closed in above, branches hitting the windows, their snow-laden boughs shaking powder onto the car as it crawled desperately through the forest.
"We're clear... Those Muscovites won't follow us here," the thug in the passenger seat grinned. He turned, looked first at the road behind, then at Satoru. "Well, pussy? Where's your famous 'Masik' now?"
...The moment the words left his mouth, a bright yellow flash tore through the forest's darkness. The driver, blinded, yelled curses, and the thugs saw something they never expected...
A large, massive black SUV was parked across the narrow path. Its headlights had suddenly illuminated the forest.
A figure in a black, fur-lined greatcoat slowly emerged from the SUV. The twilight and the shadows of the firs played across its face, giving it a fearsome, deadly expression in the stark light.
It was him. Sukuna—the Master of Moscow.
"Sukuna..." the thugs muttered in shock. The trap had sprung. There was nowhere to run: forest all around, Sukuna ahead, snow and Nanami behind.
"Masik!" Gojo gasped in admiration. He bounced with joy in his seat and rattled the door handle, completely forgetting it was locked.
"Sit the fuck down!" the driver barked at him. "We're not getting out. He won't shoot at us."
The second kidnapper grabbed his gun again. He raised it, the metal glinting like a star in the SUV's headlights. Satoru's eyes widened in shock and fear as the reflection flashed in his large blue eyes. A single moment.
Chaos erupted in the car! Before the thug could open the window to shoot, Gojo lunged forward and jumped on him like a rabid cat. The omega knew he was ineffective in a fight, but he couldn't sit idly by while this bastard aimed a gun at his beloved.
"Get off me, you crazy bitch!" the kidnapper yelled. The driver was so stunned he didn't immediately help pull Gojo off his accomplice, while the omega dug his sharp nails into the man's face, making him scream like a madman.
Seizing the opportunity, Satoru grabbed the gun and slammed it hard against the dashboard, somehow popping all the door locks. By then, the driver had managed to grab him and was pulling him away from the kidnapper, while Gojo growled and bit, still trying to kick the second man in the face with his sharp heels. The mink coat flailed wildly between them, getting in everyone's way and adding to the chaos.
"Calm down, you whore!" the man barked at him, wiping blood from his face. Sukuna and his men were sprinting toward their car. They saw the commotion inside, and a moment later the door was wrenched open with a crash. Icy air rushed in, and Satoru felt himself being pulled back forcefully. It took him a split second to realize it wasn't him being pulled, but the driver, who was still holding his arms.
"Get your fucking hands off him, you bastard!" Sukuna's voice boomed through the forest, and the gangster's arms were twisted so hard something cracked loudly. He groaned in pain. But it didn't matter, because in the next instant, Gojo felt the familiar embrace and the warm, albeit frozen, scent of his husband. Sukuna grabbed him tightly and pulled him close.
"Masechka..." Omega sighed quietly and purred. A wave of relief washed over him. He hugged his man around the neck, ignoring the shrill cries of his captors behind them, where the Moscow crew was beating them and dragging them from the sedan.
"Baby..." Sukuna looked at him for a few seconds, his eyes filled with tenderness, relief, and concern, but he quickly composed himself. "Get in the car. Now. We'll talk later."
"Wait, what about you?" Gojo clasped his cheeks with his cold palms, turning his face.
"Don't worry. I'll handle this." Sukuna leaned in and kissed him, gentle and passionate. Satoru exhaled as the man's warm, wet tongue entered his mouth; he parted his full lips to welcome it and responded fervently. Somewhere in the background, Sukuna's men had subdued both of Gojo's kidnappers, who were writhing and screaming, but then two short, precise shots rang out over the forest, followed by deafening silence. Sukuna slightly opened his eyes, watching the snow turn red with blood, bits of brain matter lying in ugly chunks under the wheels of the abandoned sedan, and he smiled. He turned Gojo away from the sight and kissed him deeper, more tenderly, so he wouldn't even think of looking. These men were lucky Sukuna hadn't killed them himself. He wouldn't have granted them the luxury of a quick death for kidnapping his wife.
Gojo caught a glimpse of what happened from the corner of his eye but didn't turn, allowing Sukuna to shield him.
‘I told them... Masya won't forgive them. But they didn't believe me, the fools,’ he thought, smiling smugly.
The sudden crunch of snow and the steady hum of an engine once again shattered the forest silence, interrupting the tender scene between the crime boss and his wife. Sukuna broke the kiss and looked up. A convoy of black Mercedes was approaching through the trees. Toji.
"Come on, kitten. Into the car. Daddy will take care of it," he whispered to Gojo, quickly pushing the omega toward his SUV and squaring his shoulders. Sukuna frowned grimly, standing in the headlights with his hands shoved into the pockets of his greatcoat.
Satoru hesitated, glancing back at him before cautiously climbing into the Jeep. He hugged the back of the front seat, hiding behind it and watching warily. In the pocket of his coat, he suddenly felt the distinct weight of the pistol—the one he'd snatched from the kidnapper. Gojo carefully weighed it in his hand. It wasn't a classic Makarov, but some foreign make. At least, Omega had never seen such a weapon among his bodyguards' or Sukuna's arsenal. The pistol was off safety, ready to fire—if Gojo had hesitated even a moment, the thug could have started shooting at an unprotected Sukuna. The thought made the fragile Japanese Princess shiver.
Toji slowly got out of his car, chuckling. He looked at Sukuna and raised an eyebrow lazily.
"Why the pause, Roman Sergeyevich? Such a touching moment... I could have waited while you were busy with your little wife." The man's gaze flicked to his men, now stiffening corpses in the snow. Come spring, they'd be the next "snowdrops" found in the St. Petersburg woodlands. Business as usual. Toji's lips twisted in anger, but he kept the same insolent smile.
"You've crossed a line," Sukuna replied dryly. "I came to you in peace. You touched my family. That is unforgivable. However... If you don't want to cooperate, we can always settle this by force."
"You forget your place, Muscovite." Toji's smirk turned into a furious snarl. "You're on my turf, in my woods, killing my men. And you're threatening me?"
"I don't see that I have a choice."
"Idiot." Toji waved a hand, laughing. "Grabbing your wife was easier than taking candy from a baby. Your bodyguards are helpless, weak morons. What would they say in Moscow if they found out the great Sukuna's wife was snatched in broad daylight without a single shot fired? Face it. Your reputation is finished; I don't even need to kill you to destroy it." He stretched lazily and turned back to his car. Sukuna gritted his teeth in rage and abruptly pulled his hand from his pocket, gripping the Stechkin.
At that very moment, Toji's driver thrust a gun out the window and fired before anyone could react. Sukuna dropped to the ground, a bullet whistling over his head as he returned fire and rolled back to his SUV for cover. The Moscow crew simultaneously drew their weapons, the St. Petersburg crew did the same, and the narrow snowy path exploded in a hail of gunfire.
A full-blown shootout. Gojo ducked under the seats in fear, praying for it to end quickly. Everyone was shooting: Sukuna's men and Toji's men. Omega heard bullets thudding into the windshield of his SUV, the armored glass slowly cracking under the onslaught. Gojo saw that his husband had taken cover behind one of their cars. Sukuna was closest to him, and Satoru could hear his shots more clearly—short, accurate bursts before he ducked back to avoid return fire.
Gojo curled into a ball, hugging his shoulders in his thick fur coat. He closed his eyes. He hated this part of his husband's life more than anything! How did Sukuna always get into these situations? Wasn't there a less dangerous way to earn their money?
He was terrified. Every shot made him flinch, every time he feared Sukuna had been hit, the outcome fatal. Gojo was afraid to lift his head and see his husband's dead body lying in the snow... It was dark and cold in the Jeep without the heater running. Satoru huddled, rubbing his gloved hands, sometimes warming them with his breath. He tried not to think about the bullets whistling just outside the door, but he couldn't; a constant, clinging fear squeezed his lungs.
Gradually, the shots seemed to grow fewer, and Gojo guessed why. There were fewer people left to shoot.
Satoru cautiously peeked out the passenger window to assess the situation. He clearly saw Sukuna, his husband lying in the snow near the adjacent car, still returning fire. Alive... Unharmed. Good. Toji and his men were trapped: Group One and Group Two had arrived behind the Jeep, and Nanami and Satoru's bodyguards had blocked the St. Petersburg motorcade's retreat. People were hiding wherever they could—behind cars, behind trees, some shooting from inside vehicles. They moved in short bursts; many were already wounded. Most importantly, Sukuna seemed unscathed.
The only thing... Satoru couldn't spot Toji. The St. Petersburg authority seemed to have melted into the darkness of the trees, becoming one with the long pine shadows. Gojo pressed his lips together and gripped the car door handle. He felt helpless, watching the carnage from his knees on the dirty floor. His beautiful suit was ruined, and the omega would surely mourn it later—but not now, later, when the threat to their lives had passed.
A sudden movement in the darkness made Satoru focus his gaze. He squinted, trying to catch it again, when he suddenly saw the massive figure of a man with vicious eyes. Gojo gasped. It was as if a wild beast, a wolf or a bear, had emerged from the thicket to see what the humans were doing. But this was a monster worse than any forest predator. It was him. Toji.
The man maneuvered among the pines in the dark, slowly crunching through the snow. He moved only when volleys of shots rang out to mask his footsteps. He was heading straight for Sukuna, holding a black foreign pistol in his hands, just like the one Satoru had.
Gojo froze. His legs felt weak, his fingers going numb from the cold. Toji was approaching from behind, so Sukuna couldn't see him. His wonderful, brave husband had no idea that death itself, in the form of an unshaven Petersburg mobster, was creeping up on him.
Gojo didn't remember what he did next. He threw open the Jeep's door, falling to his knees in the snow, while clumsily fumbling for the gun in the long folds of his coat. Toji turned at the noise, his eyes widening in surprise as he stared at the frail omega pointing a pistol directly at him.
Gojo's hands shook. He bit his lip hard, his own eyes flashing, as his thin, gloved fingers squeezed the grip. It all happened in a flash.
A shot. A BANG!
Gojo shot Toji point-blank. He didn't think for a second as he pulled the trigger. The sound boomed in his ears, vivid and much louder than the distant gunfight. The recoil jarred his hand painfully; he gasped in surprise and hugged his fragile wrist. The cold metal warmed against his glove, acquiring a sticky, earthy smell mixed with the acrid stench of gunpowder.
Toji grunted as he fell into the snow. The bullet had hit him in the collarbone. Sukuna spun around sharply when the shot deafened him from behind. He looked first at Toji, then his shocked gaze found Satoru, who was still clutching his arm, sitting in the snow.
"Satoru..." he muttered, rushing to him, also on his knees. He held the omega tightly. "Are you hurt?"
"No! Did I save you? I saved you, Sukuna!" Gojo buried his face in his shoulder, still looking at Toji, who, despite his wound, was alive. The man groaned, pushing himself up from the snow, clutching his white shirt, now stained crimson. The wound was serious, but not fatal.
Sukuna turned. He raised his machine pistol and, with one hand, fired a cold-blooded, brutal burst directly into the wounded man, leaving him no chance of survival. Gojo trembled, pressed against his man's broad chest, watching his cold, impassive face, his dark, crimson eyes reflecting death itself. Satoru couldn't look away, amazed by the steel in Sukuna's features as he killed with one hand while holding him with the other.
"Sukuna..." he whispered, gently touching his husband's cheek when the automatic fire ceased.
"We're leaving," the alpha said quietly, his gaze cold on his dead rival. He signaled to his men, then firmly grabbed Gojo under the knees and back, lifting him into his arms. The machine pistol was discarded, and a moment later they were in the back seat of the Jeep, into which the driver had hurriedly returned.
The black figures of men in coats scattered in the darkness like startled insects. The edge of the forest was cut by the light of dozens of headlights, revealing the brutal, bloody scene of the massacre. One by one, the black SUVs left the site of the shootout, leaving the remnants of the St. Petersburg gangsters behind. Toji was gone. Without him, the handful of pathetic thugs with pistols posed no threat. It was over.
Meanwhile, Satoru sighed quietly, kneeling beside Sukuna in the car. He clung tightly to his neck, unable to let go. Alpha held him just as fiercely, burying his face in his neck and pressing him close, as if he were his most precious treasure.
"I saved you," Satoru repeated, pulling away and smiling through his tears. These weren't tears of joy—he was crying at the thought that he might have been too late, that he might have missed.
"You did," Sukuna agreed, his voice rough. He smiled, a fragile thing, and kissed his hands.
"Now you owe me... Will you buy me that house? The turquoise one?" the omega asked, awkwardly wiping his wet cheeks.
"The Winter Palace?" the man clarified, bursting into a sad but gentle laugh.
"Yes! That one!"
"I'll do everything in my power, I promise." Sukuna laid his head on Gojo's chest, closing his eyes and sighing, a strange, convulsive sound. The omega gently cradled his head and stroked his pink hair, which stuck out from under his black hat.
"Are you crying, masya?"
"Of course not, my treasure," Sukuna replied in a breaking, weak voice, pressing himself even closer to the fragile chest.
"Good, then." Gojo smiled, melting with tenderness for his man. "I know you're the bravest and strongest. You wouldn't cry." He closed his eyes blissfully, still stroking the alpha's head. "Thank you for taking care of everything. As always."
Snow was falling again outside the tinted window. The Jeep growled steadily, rocking them along the road back to the Astoria. The deserted highway was lit by yellow lights. Sukuna leaned back against the seat and sighed, stroking his little wife's hair. Now Gojo was settled on his chest. Omega snored sleepily, hugging him tightly around the waist as if he were the most precious thing in the world. Sukuna held him close. He couldn't live without him. And he was infinitely grateful to fate for leaving them both alive.
Cold St. Petersburg greeted them with equally cold lights. It was time for them to return to Moscow.
The first rumors of the fatal shootout spread through the portside smoking rooms and behind the garages. Much later, the news reported that bodies had been found in the forest belt near Vyborgskoye Highway, including that of the notorious crime boss Toji Fushiguro. His death caused a major schism within the St. Petersburg mafia, and Sukuna took advantage of this, with true Moscow audacity, taking possession of what was left unclaimed after Toji's fall. Those in the know whispered to each other over cigarettes: "Sukuna came for one port and left with half of St. Petersburg... And all because of that Japanese princess of his. They say that when Toji snatched his wife, he and half his gang ended up in the next world that very same evening." His companion would shake his head, but he believed it. Everyone knew and understood. Such was the reckless era, where today you were the master of Petersburg, and tomorrow you slept in the cold snow of the forest belt.
They did buy a "house" in St. Petersburg after all. Not the Winter Palace, of course, but a cozy, large apartment in the historic center of the city, in a blue building with an elegant entrance hall and a view of the canal.
However, they never managed to finish the renovations and celebrate their housewarming in Petersburg. The weather vane of fate completed its circle before that could happen, and the era was gone forever.