Chapter 8
Viktor
Damn, he’s sweet.
Well, he’s trouble too.
But sweet all the same…
I leave Eddie on the play mat with the wooden blocks and picture books, his fingers already reaching for the bright covers as though curiosity has temporarily overridden suspicion.
He glances up at me once, eyes flickering with that familiar mix of wariness and something softer, but he says nothing. I give him a single nod—stay here, behave—and turn away before the moment stretches too long.
It’s not that I can’t do intimacy or friendship, or whatever the hell this is. I’ve done it before. But not for a long time. And perhaps not under these circumstances either. Maybe I should just relax and enjoy it for what it is. Yeah, right.
I take the short steps from the living room to the study and my mind flicks back into business mode. It’s what I know. It’s who I am. I’m pakhan, and it’s time to start leading…
The study door closes behind me with a soft, decisive click.
The room feels smaller in the morning light, the desk lamp still burning from last night, casting a warm pool across the laptop screen.
“Okay, assholes…” I say under my breath, my brain warming up to the task ahead.
I settle into the chair, the leather creaking under my weight, and open the encrypted email service.
My fingers rest on the keys for a moment, weighing the risks again.
Reaching out now is necessary, but every word is a potential trap. Enemies inside the family? Almost certainly. But are they involved in this? Now that is the question.
The only way forward is to appear calm, in command, and deliberately vague—enough to reassure the loyal, but enough to tempt the traitors into showing their hand.
I type slowly, deliberately…
Subject: Operational Update
Brothers,
There was an incident last night. Nothing that cannot be resolved in short order. I am handling it personally. All operations should continue as normal. I will contact individuals directly as required.
Remain vigilant.
No names, no locations, no mention of the gallery or the bodies. Nothing that could be used against me even if this message is intercepted. Encrypted or not, caution is habit and non-negotiable.
I read it once more, then hit send.
The message disappears into the secure network like smoke. Or perhaps a bullet.
I lean back, exhaling through my nose. The house is quiet except for Eddie’s voice drifting through the wall—soft, happy singing, some nursery tune about bunnies or stars by the sounds of the odd word I pick up.
The sound is unexpectedly gentle, almost domestic. It catches in my chest.
I saw the look in his eyes before I left him though. Has he already guessed that the toys were Tommy’s? The blocks, the train set, the picture books with their worn corners—they haven’t been touched in years.
I kept them boxed away in the attic until yesterday, pulled them down on impulse when I saw how tightly Eddie was clinging to his stuffie. A foolish gesture, perhaps. Or maybe not.
And then there is the question of Tommy…
Darling Tommy.
The name still carries weight, even after all this time. He was bright, stubborn, full of laughter that could fill a room.
My Little, for a while.
Then one rainy night the phone rang and the world narrowed to a single sentence: car accident, instant.
I never believed the official story. Too neat. Too convenient, coming right after that border skirmish with the Petrov crew.
I wanted to tear the city apart—find whoever was responsible and make them bleed slow until I brought death upon them. My old Pakhan stopped me. “Rage is a tool,” he said. “Use it, don’t let it use you.” So I did. I channeled every ounce of fury into becoming the blade the family needed.
Ruthless. Precise. Unforgiving.
That night changed me from soldier to future Pakhan.
But it was a long time ago. So long in fact that I even have days now where I don’t think about Tommy.
I’m sure I’ve almost gone a whole week once or twice.
It’s not that I don’t still cherish his memory.
I loved our time together. But perhaps the passage of time and my commitment to the family has hardened me in a way that makes memories—happy or sad—seem just a little perfunctory.
My life is about the here and now and plotting for the future. The second I slip up and look backward, then that’s when I’m weakest. And by extension, that’s when the family is weak too. No. I need to stay focused on the present. And only then perhaps I can ensure the future is a good one.
“Wait…” I whisper, back in the real world.
I tune my ear to the sounds in the house. The singing falters, then stops.
Silence.
I tilt my head, listening. No clack of blocks. No rustle of pages. No wooden blocks collapsing in a heap on the hardwood floor. Nothing.
“Eddie?” I call, voice carrying easily through the door.
No answer.
The quiet thickens, turns sharp. I rise slowly, chair scraping back. Suspicion coils low in my gut. He wouldn’t. Not again. Not so soon.
Or would he?
I stride out of the study and into the hall. The living room is empty. The play mat lies abandoned, one picture book open to a page of smiling animals. The window…wide open, curtains stirring in the breeze.
“Fuck,” I growl. “You have to be kidding me.”
Rage surges, hot and immediate.
Eddie is running. Again.
After the toys, after breakfast, after I let him see a sliver of softness.
Foolish boy. Reckless.
But if Eddie thinks he’s on the home straight, he needs to think again. I know these grounds better than my own heartbeat. Every path, every blind spot, every place the trees thin enough to spot movement.
He won’t make the road. Not today. Not ever.
I step out the back door, boots silent on the grass. Dew clings to the lawn, footprints clear—small, hurried, veering toward the woods.
Eddie’s sharp. Smart enough to avoid open ground.
But not smart enough to know I’m already behind him.
I move fast, cutting through the underbrush, staying low. Branches snag at my sleeves but I ignore them.
“Gotcha,” I whisper, my senses heightened like a hunter stalking its prey.
Ahead, a flash of pale skin through the trees—his hair catching sunlight. He’s moving quickly, but not quietly. Twigs snap under his feet, breath coming in short bursts.
I circle left, flanking.
He stops behind a thick oak, crouching, clutching that stuffie to his chest like a shield. His head turns, scanning, searching for pursuit.
He doesn’t see me.
I step out deliberately, boot crunching on dry leaves.
Eddie whips around, eyes wide. A small, startled sound escapes him.
“The running ends now,” I say, voice low and final.
He scrambles backward, feet slipping on moss. “Stay back!”
I close the distance in three strides, hand closing around his upper arm, firm enough that escape is no longer an option. Eddie twists, small fists striking my chest, but it’s like hitting stone.
“Let go!” he cries, voice cracking. “Asshole! Let go now!”
“No.” I pull him against me, pinning his arms. “You were warned. You chose this.”
His breath hitches, eyes shining with fear and defiance. “What are you going to do?”
I don’t answer. Not yet.
I hoist him over my shoulder in one motion, ignoring his kicking legs and muffled protests. He pounds my back, but the blows are weak, frantic.
“You’re evil,” Eddie spits, anger in his voice. “Wicked and evil! Just get it over with!”
“As you wish,” I answer, pulling his jeans and briefs down to his ankles as he remains flopped over my shoulder. “If you’re lucky, this will be over by the time we get back to the house. Now, count each one. Out loud. And thank me for each one or the counter goes right back to zero.”
“No! Never!” Eddie shouts, fury in his voice. “You can just spank me forever then. I am not saying thank you!”
“We’ll see…” I say, shocked at his sass but in part also in admiration at his spirit.
And with that, I begin the walk back to the house, every other step being accompanied by the full force of my wide, heavy palm as it comes crashing down on his snow-white butt cheeks.
“Owwwwww!” Eddie squeals, his ass quickly turning red.
“Hey, you can always add a thank you and a number to the spank,” I say. “It’ll be over a lot sooner then.”
Eddie shakes his head and even hits my back with his balled up fists as I proceed to walk and spank.
As we exit the woods and walk across the lawn, I decide to take a detour. It might only add an extra thirty seconds to the time it takes to get back to the house but that’s a lot of time this deep into the punishment.
But Eddie doesn’t give in.
Eddie’s ass might be hotter than the sun now, but he’s got resilience by the bucketload. In fact, it kind of reminds me of how Tommy used to make me work hard during discipline time.
Damn.
There he is again.
“Enough,” I say, finally rounding the corner and bringing the spanking to an end. I put Eddie down and my feelings are somewhat all over the place as I can’t help but remember my former love. “Come on, let’s get that butt looked after.”
“Can you carry me?” Eddie asks, hopping from foot to foot, his jeans and briefs still around his ankles.
“No, but I’ll hold your hand as we walk together,” I say.
“And you can keep those briefs and jeans around your ankles too. You were very naughty, baby boy. You deserved your punishment and I want you to use this time to think about it. But you can do that knowing that your Daddy is here, holding your hand, and helping you learn.”
Eddie nods and takes my hand as I hold it out for him. His cock is semi-hard and bobs delightfully as we walk. Damn. It looks good enough to eat… but maybe that’s something for later. Right now, I want this damned boy to think about what he’s done without any distractions.
And together, we walk toward the kitchen and some much needed ice and cooling cream. Eddie keeps his head down as he walks. He’s quiet, hopefully learning his lesson. The boy tried to run, I caught him, and he was given a suitable punishment. And now I’ll help him get over the pain.
But this cannot happen again.
And if it does, it might be the devil that comes out of me rather than the Daddy…