Chapter 29
Anton
Ray’s house smells like grilled chicken and sunscreen. Somewhere behind the screen door, his wife hums to a song playing from an old speaker, the sound of knives hitting a chopping board in rhythm.
I don’t know why I’m here again. To finalize tomorrow’s plan, sure.
The CIA, the intercept, the cleanup—fine.
That’s the official reason. But if I’m honest, it’s because every time I get near Mary, something in my chest starts to misfire.
And sitting here on this porch, pretending I’m just another man watching another afternoon fade, is easier than feeling that.
Ray’s backyard runs like controlled chaos—kids shrieking, the dog barking at a butterfly, toys everywhere. His wife, Sarah, moves around the kitchen with a small bump under her shirt and a kind of peace I can’t name. She waves at us through the window like we’re part of the furniture.
Ray sets two cold beers on the table between us. “You look like you swallowed a nail gun, Malikov.”
I grunt. “Bad habit.”
He leans back, squinting at me. “No. Bad feelings.”
“Feelings,” I repeat flatly. “I don’t have those.”
He laughs, low and lazy. “Bullshit. You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t.”
I take the beer but don’t drink it. The bottle sweats in my palm. Across the yard, his daughter is running barefoot through the grass, trailing a plastic sword, yelling about dragons. Ray watches her like she’s the best thing he’s ever built.
“You don’t miss it?” I ask.
He glances over. “What, the job?”
“The quiet.”
Ray chuckles. “Quiet’s overrated. You sit in silence long enough, you start hearing the things you’ve buried.”
I huff a laugh through my nose. “That supposed to be wisdom?”
“That’s marriage, man.” He nods toward the kitchen. “You think I didn’t bury half my ghosts before I met her? You find someone who makes the noise worth it, you start wanting different things.”
Different things. The words stick in my head, heavy.
Mary’s face flickers up again—her mouth twisting when she’s nervous, the way she tries to stand tall even when she’s shaking inside. The sound of her laugh when she forgets she’s scared.
Ray tilts his head. “You thinking about her right now?”
I don’t answer.
He grins, smug bastard. “Yeah. That’s a yes.”
I stare straight ahead. “She doesn’t belong in this world.”
“Sure,” he says, like he’s humoring a kid. “And I keep beer in my fridge for hydration. Try again.”
“Ray—”
“Anton.” He cuts me off, calm but firm. “You’re human. You bleed, you feel, you screw up. That’s not weakness. That’s proof you’ve still got a pulse.”
He lets that hang in the air, long enough for me to hear the sound of Sarah laughing inside the kitchen, the kids fighting over a popsicle, the dog barking like he’s in on the joke.
“You know what I think?” Ray says, finally, voice softer now. “You didn’t come here to talk shop. You came here to see what normal looks like.”
I glance at him. “And why would I need that?”
He lifts his beer. “Because you never had it, and some part of you wants to know what it feels like.”
For a second, I can’t look at him. The words hit straight, no place to hide behind them.
He’s right.
I’ve watched men die for power. Bleed for loyalty. Kill because someone told them to. But this? This noise behind the door—kids yelling, a woman laughing, a life that doesn’t need a gun to stay alive—I don’t know what the hell to do with it.
Normal isn’t something I lost. It’s something I never had. And maybe that’s the worst part. I don’t even know if I’d know what to do with it if it were handed to me.
The breath I take feels wrong in my chest. Heavy.
“Hey!” The back door opens, and Sarah steps out, wiping her hands on a dish towel. Her belly’s showing now, a small curve under her shirt. “Food’s ready in ten,” she calls, smiling at Ray before disappearing again.
He watches her go with this quiet kind of awe. Not loud, not dramatic. Just love. The kind that’s steady enough to build a house on.
The screen door shuts, and for a second, I see something else—Mary in my kitchen, sleeves rolled, hair messy, moving like she belongs there. The smell of garlic, the soft hum under her breath. She fits. Too easily. Too damn well.
I don’t deserve her.
I force the thought out, drag my eyes toward the pool. The sunlight hits hard, reflecting off the water.
Zeus, the golden retriever, trots over, tail wagging, tongue lolling. Emma’s right behind him, barefoot, hair wild from running.
“Hi, Mister Anton!” she chirps, voice too bright for the weight sitting in my chest.
Zeus noses at my knee. I reach down, awkward, give his head a pat. My mouth tugs into something that might be a smile.
Emma studies me like she’s trying to solve a puzzle, then leans in quickly and plants a kiss on my cheek.
“Don’t be sad,” she says, and before I can answer, she’s already sprinting back toward the house. Zeus chases after her, tail a blur.
For a second, I just sit there. The spot on my cheek burns in the best way.
It shouldn’t hit anything, but somehow it does. My chest feels too tight and too full all at once—heat and ache mixed together in a way I don’t have a name for.
Ray watches his daughter run toward the house.
“She’s got a radar for people carrying heavy things,” he says quietly. “Always has. Picks it up before the rest of us do.”
I keep my eyes on the pool. The water shifts, bending my reflection out of shape until it’s just a blur. Easier to look at that than whatever she saw in me.
Ray takes another sip of his beer. “So,” he says. “You gonna tell me why you haven’t taken Timofey down yet? You’ve got the reach. The men. The proof.”
“Because Igor’s still breathing.”
He snorts. “So you’re waiting for permission from a man who’d have you shot if your loyalty looked too pure?”
I glance over at him. “I’m not a man who betrays his own.”
Ray studies me for a long moment, then nods once.
“Yeah. That’s why they call you loyal. It’s not fear. It’s choice. Scares the shit out of them, honestly.”
I look past the fence, toward the desert stretching endless and silent.
“Timofey’s the last family Igor’s got. His blood. His heir. When I move, it won’t just be cleanup—it’ll be succession.”
Ray tilts his head. “You afraid of the throne?”
“No.” I take another drink. “I’m afraid of what comes after.”
Silence settles again. A bird chirps somewhere above us, too loud in the still heat.
“My father used to say,” I start, surprising myself, “‘A loyal dog eats last, but he never starves.’”
Ray smirks. “Your old man sounds like a barrel of laughs.”
“He believed loyalty was the only thing that kept us alive.” I turn the bottle in my hand, watching condensation roll down my knuckles. “But I’m starting to think it just keeps us chained.”
Ray’s grin fades. He studies me for a beat that feels longer than it is.
“Maybe it’s time you stop being the dog.”
I meet his gaze. “And start what?”
He shrugs. “Being the man who decides who deserves his loyalty. Not the one who gets told where to aim it.”
He’s not wrong.I’ve known this day was coming since the first time Igor looked at me and saw a threat instead of a soldier.
The shift was small at first—a hesitation before giving orders, a test disguised as loyalty.
Then came the watchers, the questions, the quiet reassignment of men who used to answer to me.
Igor built an empire on fear and obedience, but he’s forgotten that loyalty isn’t something you buy—it’s something you bleed for. I’ve bled enough.
Maybe he’s right. Maybe being the dog was never my nature. Maybe I’ve just been waiting for permission to stop pretending it was.
Inside, Sarah laughs again, bright and soft. The smell of roasted garlic drifts through the window. The kind of life that feels miles away from mine—and yet, sitting here, it doesn’t feel impossible.
Ray taps the neck of his bottle against mine. “You can’t save everybody, Anton. But you can choose who’s worth saving.”
I don’t say it out loud, but I know. Ray’s right. I didn’t come here for strategy. I came here to see what a man looks like when he has something to lose—and to understand why I’d burn down the world before letting Mary become another casualty in mine.