Archie
The one thing I noticed about Raze’s place is that it never slept.
Even this late, there were lights on—low, deliberate, like the house itself was always watching, waiting. It wasn’t as sprawling as one would expect, but it carried the same weight. The same sense that whatever happened inside those walls mattered.
The door opened before I reached it, one of Raze’s men stepping aside without a word as I walked in without question. Atlas and Raze were expecting me.
I’d taken not two steps into the house when Tone came clicking down the stairs in her heels. Holy mother of… it was late, and she was dressed like she was just starting out her day.
She stopped near the base of the stairs, one hand braced against the banister, like she’d been halfway between moving and stopping when I walked in. Her gaze lifted to mine immediately.
Sharp. Assessing. But not explosive like she usually was. It had been two days since the meeting at Atlas’s home when she’d displayed a murderous hatred toward me.
There was still something there. Wariness. Mistrust. A flicker of that same fire that always lived just beneath her skin. But today, it wasn’t aimed at me as harshly as it usually was.
“Popovich,” she said.
My name, stripped down. No edge. No bite. What I imagined to be a greeting of sorts. Possibly, she was softening towards me. Or maybe not.
I stopped a few feet away, studying her for a second longer than necessary.
“Antonella.”
Silence stretched briefly between us. She didn’t correct me this time when I said the name she was blessed with, but I did notice the tight press of her lips.
“You’re here late,” she added, folding her arms loosely.
“So are you.”
Her mouth twitched slightly.
“Don’t start,” she warned.
I didn’t. Not because I couldn’t. But because this wasn’t the time.
“I need to see Atlas,” I told her.
Something shifted in her gaze then. Not suspicion. Not quite concern either. More like an awareness.
“He’s in the office,” she said, stepping aside. “With Raze.”
I nodded once and started to move past her, then paused.
“Whatever you’re up to, be careful,” I said.
The words left my mouth before I thought better of them.
Her brow lifted.
“Awww… is that concern I hear, Archie?” she asked lightly.
“It’s a warning.”
“Try not to get yourself killed,” she said, just as I moved past her.
I didn’t look back.
“Same to you.”
The office door was already open.
Atlas stood by the desk, one hand braced against the wood, the other wrapped around a glass he hadn’t touched. Raze leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his expression dark and unreadable.
They both looked up when I entered. Atlas didn’t waste time.
“Your phone call sounded urgent.”
I stepped into the room, but didn’t stop to close the door behind me.
“I know who put the contract out on me and I know why,” I said.
That got their full attention. Raze straightened. Atlas’s gaze sharpened.
“Who?”
“Baron Vilevski.”
The name felt like a detonation moving through the room.
Atlas’s jaw tightened, something dangerous flickering behind his eyes.
Before I could say more, Raze pushed off the wall, running a hand through his hair.
“That bastard’s been sniffing around us for months.”
“Then I’m sure you know what he’s after,” I said.
Atlas scoffed.
“He wants a lot of things,” he said. “Doesn’t mean he gets them.”
“He’s not a man that’s used to being told no.”
Atlas didn’t answer straight away.
His brow furrowed slightly, the line between his eyes deepening as he shifted his weight against the desk.
The glass in his hand hovered midway to his lips before he thought better of it, lowering it slowly instead.
His jaw worked once, like he was turning the words over, testing them for something that wasn’t immediately obvious.
“No one is,” he said finally, but there was less certainty in it now. His gaze flicked to me, sharper this time, searching. “I just don’t—”
He cut himself off, exhaling through his nose as he dragged a hand down his jaw, fingers pressing briefly into the tension there.
“I don’t know what his problem with me has to do with you.”
Something wasn’t lining up in his head, and he didn’t like it. His eyes narrowed slightly, not at me, but past me—like he was trying to piece together a puzzle that had one piece missing. Atlas didn’t like not having all the pieces.
“He’s tried to get around your refusal to let him use your land for distribution rights,” I said, my voice steady, measured. “Every attempt he’s made has fallen flat.”
Raze shifted where he stood, arms folding tighter across his chest, his focus sharpening.
“How?” he asked.
I glanced between them once before answering.
“Because I keep getting in his way.”
The words settled into the room, heavier than I intended.
“Every time he’s made a move on you,” I continued, my gaze locking onto Atlas now, “I’ve been there. Not for him—for something else entirely. But it didn’t matter. My presence alone was enough to derail it.”
Atlas didn’t interrupt. But I saw it—the subtle tightening in his shoulders, the way his attention narrowed like he was recalculating everything he thought he understood.
“Operations collapsed. Opportunities disappeared. Men pulled back before they could finish the job,” I went on. “Not because of you.”
A beat.
“But because of me.”
Raze’s jaw flexed.
“And now?” he prompted.
“And now he’s adjusted,” I said. “He’s not aiming for you first anymore. He’s aiming for me. Because if he removes me from the equation—”
“You’re no longer in the way,” Atlas finished quietly.
I gave a slight nod.
“He gets a clean shot at you.”
Silence followed. Then Atlas straightened slowly, his fingers tapping once against the edge of the desk before going still again.
“Why not just kill us both, then?” he asked.
It wasn’t dismissive. It was logical.
I drew in a slow breath. This was the part I’d avoided. For years.
In Italy, I wasn’t who I had been born as.
Here, I was Archie Popovich—the Russian who’d drifted in, useful enough to keep, quiet enough not to question too deeply. I hadn’t corrected assumptions. I hadn’t offered more than what was necessary.
I kept a relatively low profile. Controlled. Intentional. Because the truth—the truth had weight. But there was no way to explain this without it. No way to make them understand why a man like Vilevski would hesitate—unless they knew exactly what he was hesitating over.
I exhaled slowly. My gaze dipped to the table for a second—just long enough to steady it—then lifted again.
Atlas and Raze were both watching me with a heightened sense of curiosity. Waiting. This wasn’t just another conversation to get through.
“Vilevski knows exactly who I am,” I said.
The room tightened around my words, with no way to soften the truth.
Raze’s head tilted slightly, like he was trying to line the words up with something that didn’t quite fit. Atlas didn’t move at all, but I saw the shift in his eyes—sharp, immediate, cutting through whatever he thought he knew.
“And he knows,” I added, keeping my voice level, “that if he pulls the trigger on me… it won’t end with me.”
That was when it hit them. Their eyes met for half a second. Quick. Controlled. A silent exchange that didn’t need words. Then they were both looking at me again. Like they’d just realized they’d been sitting across from an unknown variable this whole time.
Something they hadn’t accounted for.
Atlas took a seat and leaned forward slightly, forearms braced against his knees. He was focused, studying me like I was a problem he hadn’t solved yet.
Raze didn’t shift much, but the energy in him changed. Like he was already running outcomes in his head.
Neither of them spoke, but I could see every question they weren’t asking. Every gap in the story they were trying to fill in real time.
Who the hell are you?
Why did you keep your secrets?
And what does this drag into our world now?
I’d spent years making sure no one asked those questions.
Names got buried. Histories got cut off at the root. You move far enough, long enough, and eventually people stop looking. Or they convince themselves there’s nothing worth finding.
I let them believe that because it made things easier. Because it kept the past where it belonged.
I dragged a hand down the back of my neck, slow, feeling the tension sit there like it always did when I recalled my family history.
“This isn’t just business to him,” I went on. “It’s history.”
Atlas’s jaw tightened. “What kind of history?”
I looked at him, then at Raze. Once it was said, there was no pulling it back. No pretending I was just another man passing through their world.
I’d kept that line intact for a reason.
People treated you differently when they knew where you came from. What you were tied to. What would come knocking if things went wrong.
It changed the way they stood next to you. Or if they stood next to you at all.
I held Atlas’s gaze.
“Vilevski wants you dead so he can seize control of your routes,” I said. “He wants me dead to get to you. But the only way he can get to me is through a proxy.”
“The contract on your head,” Raze intimated.
I nodded once. Silence came again. Thicker this time.
Raze’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Who are you, really, Popovich?”
I didn’t answer straight away.
I’d built distance from from my name. Put oceans between me and everything it came with. Let people believe I was just… me.
I exhaled once, steady. Then I gave it to them.
Their reactions were quiet, but they were delivered harder than anything they could’ve said.
Atlas leaned back slightly, like something had just clicked into place—and he didn’t like the shape of it.
Raze didn’t move at all. But his focus sharpened. Locked in. Assessing. Recalculating everything he thought he knew about me.
“Right,” Atlas said after a moment, voice slower now. “And when were you going to give us your truth, Archie? Would you ever, if Vilevski hadn’t forced your hand?”
“It explains a lot,” Raze added.
“You’ve been sitting on this the whole time,” Atlas said, not accusing. Not impressed either. Just stating it.
“Yes.”
“And you weren’t ever planning on telling us.”
“No.”
Raze let out a quiet breath through his nose. He pushed off the wall, finally shifting fully into the room again. “So what now?”
I rolled my shoulders once, letting the weight settle back where it belonged.
“Now?” I said.
My gaze moved between them, steady.
“Now he decides whether he wants a war he can’t win.”
And for the first time since I’d walked in—they were looking at me like I’d just said the first logical thing since they’d met me.