Chapter 430: Tangled Like Branches In The Flood

[FROLO]

"Sir, Mr. Moskowsky is at the gates," one of the soldiers whispered to the president, who had just gotten confirmation that Katya Romanov was in custody.

He had not seen whatever happened inside Romanov Holdings because all external signals were blocked, but damn, it was something else.

He was happy now.

Katya Romanov was in custody, and the Romanovs and Moskowskys would have to behave if they wanted their omega back. But now there was another problem.

Sergei Moskowsky himself.

"What?" President Boris asked, his heart almost leaping out of his chest in fear.

He knew that no amount of security that the palace had would ever be able to stop Sergei Moskowsky. And he was here, alone. What the hell did the devil want from him when Katya hadn’t even reached the palace gate?

"He is carrying a hot pot, sir. It is the only thing on him. We scanned for weapons outside the gate, but he is not carrying anything.

"And the hot pot, sir..." the soldier said, trailing off like he was not sure how to tell the head of state whatever the fuck they had seen in there.

Sergei Moskowsky was a menace who knew he was a menace, and he wasn’t even letting him live it down. What the fuck were they supposed to make of this right now, then?

"What about the hot pot?" President Boris asked, like he already knew he would regret asking, but he was the president, and the most dangerous man in Frolo had just decided to camp at his gates.

The feed was even more diabolical, because instead of the soldier spelling it out for the president, he simply pulled out the phone and showed the president the footage.

The sight was ridiculous.

Sergei Moskowsky.

THE Sergei Moskowsky.

Sitting on one of the stones right outside the presidential palace, holding onto a hot pot like his life depended on it. He looked like he had very well lost his mind, which maybe he had, because in what world was this ever going to be sane enough?

"How long has he been there?" President Boris asked.

"Just twenty minutes, sir," the soldier said, and President Boris sighed.

Sergei Moskowsky was as unpredictable as fuck. This man couldn’t be trusted for shit, and the fact that he was here with the most ridiculous of things told President Boris more than anyone could see.

Because Boris knew Sergei didn’t need weapons.

The man was a weapon of mass destruction on his own. He didn’t need to be cuffed or tied up, because many men who had tried and had ended up in the afterlife with their souls crashed.

Here and now, he knew this was not just about pelmeni or the possibility that he was waiting for Katya to be brought here.

This was a warning.

Sergei had come himself.

And he looked patient.

It was scary.

"Tell Chief Zhenya not to bring the Romanov omega here. Tell him to take the omega to the black site with the best security. The kind that no person can break out of," President Boris said, determined.

"You mean, Maeve Air Base, sir?" the soldier said.

"Yes. It should have proper security to keep the Moskowskys away," President Boris said, and the soldier looked at him like he wasn’t sure to tell the president what he had in mind.

"Speak up, soldier. I am not having the best of days," President Boris pressed.

"Sir, all the major military bases and black sites are occupied by Moskowsky betas. There is a team; they call themselves the Hercules team.

"They are scattered across, with most of them waiting at Maeve Air Base, holding the soldiers captive," the soldier said, and Boris paused.

"Fort May?"

"We’ve counted fifteen snipers around it, sir."

"Chiarra Bay?"

"They killed the commander for taking too long to open the gates, sir."

"Who the fuck are the Hercules?"

"The Shopkeeper..." the soldier began, hands shaking as he saw the president so close to frothing at the mouth.

"Mr. Moskowsky’s son, the Myrtles, the Romanov duo - Svetlana Vasilieva and Andre Stepanow, sir," the soldier continued.

"What?" President Boris asked, already frustrated.

There was just no way these psychos were going to ruin his day.

He had worked so hard to try and make the country better. It was not fair, and the way that they were going, the regime itself was clearly not enough to hold the madman with pelmeni outside his gates.

"They have Senator Aleksandr and are threatening to decapitate him on live television if Katya Romanov is not brought to the presidential palace as intended before," the soldier said, and Boris stared at the soldier tiredly.

"Do you have a cigarette?"

"Sir?"

"I need to smoke something before I lose my shit because of these psychos," President Boris said, the insanity of the whole situation something that even he did not understand.

Honestly, at this point he didn’t even know what the fuck the Moskowskys were fighting for. He didn’t know what the hell this was becoming, because regardless of the angle the president looked at it from, this wasn’t business.

This wasn’t even about the Bratva.

This wasn’t about their families either, right?

So what the fuck had gotten two of the most powerful families stressing him the fuck out? What were their intentions for pushing all the limits like this?

Desperately, President Boris walked into the nearest room with a TV. The soldier followed him, the shit in his hands like he was not done with the briefing for his dear president.

"Everybody out," President Boris said, and no one lingered.

They all stepped out as fast as possible. Perhaps because they could see a man in military uniform and the stress on the president’s face.

And in a desperate moment, President Boris turned the TV on.

He knew the Moskowskys never bluffed.

He knew they would do whatever it took, yet a part of him was very much scared of what that family would do. Horrified of the fact that Romanov Steel had been where they had gone, yet the Moskowskys were on their asses like they were criminals.

Were they, though?

Thankfully, the TV was just showing the normal programmes.

Boris confirmed... by clicking through all a hundred and seventeen media channels in Frolo. Some were focused on gossip while others were focused on the issues at hand.

Not one knew of the hostage situation Sergei Moskowsky was having everyone in.

"Sir... Do I still divert the convoy to Maeve airbase?" the soldier asked his president, who was pacing like a madman.

Honestly, he couldn’t be blamed.

Where Sergei had gotten with him, the man was bound to lose whatever ounce of normalcy he had gotten himself as the leader of Frolo over the past decades.

And to think that once upon a time, his greatest problem was not even the devil of Frolo, but how to make the people of Frolo happy.

Back then the devil of Frolo existed, but as a shadow in Frolo.

Not this brazenly.

Not this determined.

Someone had pulled the devil out of the shadows.

Someone had pressed the right buttons to get the mad barbarian from Frolo’s underworld version into Frolo’s version of normal.

The one person...

The one person they could have used to control Mr. Moskowsky... was now working with Mr. Moskowsky.

Mr. Romanov could have saved them.

But Mr. Romanov was now allied with the devil of Frolo.

"No. Let them come," President Boris said, leaning against the wall.

The soldier looked at his phone...

Then...

"They are at the gate already, sir."

"What?"

"Mr. Moskowsky got in with them."

President Boris wanted to die.