Chapter 10
Viktor
“Sleep well,” I say, quietly and more to myself than to Eddie. Truthfully, it just feels good to say it. I rarely sleep well myself, so it’s almost like I’m living vicariously through the boy at this moment.
I shut the door to Eddie's guest room with a quiet click, the sound echoing slightly in the empty hallway. The house feels still now, the kind of quiet that settles after a long day, broken only by the distant crackle of the fire downstairs.
I pause for a moment, hand lingering on the doorknob, listening.
No movement inside—no footsteps, no rustling.
The boy is probably already drifting off, his small frame buried under the covers with that stuffie clutched tight. The image sticks with me: him in my pajamas, oversized and swallowing him up, eyes heavy with exhaustion but still holding that spark of defiance.
It's dangerous, this pull he has on me.
A distraction I can't afford, not tonight of all nights.
But there's no time to dwell. Alexander is waiting, and the meeting can't be delayed. I head downstairs, boots thudding softly on the wooden steps.
The air cools as I descend, the warmth from the study fire not quite reaching the upper floors. Alexander stands in the foyer, arms crossed, his face illuminated by the low lamp on the side table.
He's alert, as always—eyes sharp, posture ready. Five years with me, and he's never let his guard down. Loyal, or at least as loyal as anyone can be in this life. Even in these dark times, I know I can trust this man.
"Boss," he says, nodding once. No questions yet, but I see them brewing.
I reach the bottom step and meet his gaze. "I'm heading out. Keep an eye on the boy. He doesn't leave his room. No matter what. If he tries, handle it quietly. No harm, just back to bed."
Alexander's brow furrows slightly. "You sure about going alone? Outside the grounds? It's dark, and with the trouble..."
I wave it off.
"The man I'm meeting. I trust him. Known him for years. This isn't a setup."
Alexander shifts his weight, not fully convinced, but he knows better than to push too hard. "Alright. I'll watch him. No matter what happens."
"Everything's fine," I reassure him, clapping a hand on his shoulder. "Just a talk. Back soon."
Alexander nods, though his eyes linger on me as I grab my coat from the hook by the door. I can feel his concern, but it's misplaced.
I step out into the night, the cool air hitting my face like a slap.
The woodland surrounds the house, thick and dark, trees whispering in the faint breeze.
No moon tonight, just stars scattered overhead, sharp as knife points.
I pull my coat tighter and start walking, sticking to the familiar path that winds through the undergrowth.
Leaves crunch under my boots, but I move quietly out of habit—years of training, of slipping through shadows unseen.
The compound's perimeter is secure, but I know every inch, every weak spot I've reinforced myself. Trust is a luxury in my world, even with my own property. As I push deeper into the woods, my mind wanders back to Eddie...
That promise he made—eyes wide, voice soft. Does he mean it? Or is it just exhaustion talking? He’s tried to run a couple of times now, each attempt bolder than the last. Smart boy. Resourceful. But naive about the dangers outside these walls.
If he got out, if the wrong people found him… I shake the thought away.
Focus on the meeting. My guest will have answers, or at least leads. That's what matters.
The secret entrance comes into view after ten minutes of walking—a metal door camouflaged behind a wall of thick undergrowth, vines and branches woven over it like nature's own lock.
I brush them aside, revealing the rusted handle. It's old, from the property's previous owners, but I've kept it functional, oiled the hinges myself. No electronic locks here—no trace. I turn the key—always on me—and push it open with a low creak.
The door swings inward, revealing a narrow tunnel that leads beyond the compound's fence.
On the other side… Ivan waits.
He's a shadow against the trees, lean and still, dressed in black like always.
No coat despite the chill. Ivan doesn't feel cold, or at least that's the myth.
His face is sharp, scarred from old fights, eyes bright blue and unreadable.
We've known each other for over a decade, back from when he was part of a crew, before his family was wiped out in that massacre. Petrov's doing, or so the rumors went.
Ivan survived by chance—or skill—and went solo after.
He’s an assassin for hire now, but selective. Loyal to no one, debts to few.
"Viktor," Ivan says, voice gravelly, extending a hand.
I clasp it firmly, the shake brief but solid. "Ivan. Good to see you breathing."
He snorts—a rare sound. "Same. What's the play?"
I lean against the doorframe, scanning the darkness behind him out of habit. "Gallery downtown. Meeting to close a deal on the building. Associate drops… ambush. I take out the shooter, but more come. Grabbed a witness on the way out. A boy. Holed up with me now."
Ivan's eyes narrow. "Inside job?"
"Likely,” I say. “Traitors in the family. Various names are possible."
He nods slowly, processing. "I'll dig. You know me, I’ve got contacts in the shadows. Quiet ones. I’ll get to the bottom of this."
"Appreciated. But payment—"
"Free." Ivan cuts me off, gaze steady. "I owe you. A debt from years ago. You pulled me out of that warehouse fire. Saved my skin. This squares it."
I remember it well—flames licking the walls, Petrov's trap closing. Ivan pinned under debris, helpless, in agony. I could've left him, but debts like that pay dividends.
"Fair enough,” I say. “Thank you."
We shake again, hands clasping tight. "Whoever's behind this," I say, voice low and cold. "It’s no mercy. Them, their associates, anyone tied to the plot. Burn it all."
Ivan's lips twitch in what might be a smile. "Understood. I'll be in touch."
With that, he melts back into the night, gone like smoke. I close the door, lock it, and cover it again.
The walk back feels longer, thoughts churning. Ivan's reliable… debts make men honest. But trust? Still thin. If he's wrong or compromised... it’s my neck on the line.
Back at the house, Alexander meets me in the foyer. "All quiet. Boy asleep."
"Good. Head back to the perimeter. I'll take watch here."
Alexander nods, heads out.
I pour a whisky, settle in the study.
The fire's embers glow. Eddie is upstairs, safe—for now.
But the net tightens. Traitors close in. Decisions loom…
I finish the whisky in one slow swallow, the burn steadying the restless edge that’s been riding me since the meeting with Ivan. I trust Ivan. We have the kind of history that so few people have.
But still...
These are strange times. Worrying times. Even those I hold close to me are now potential traitors. This is just the life of a Pakhan…
The glass clinks softly as I set it on the desk. The fire has burned down to glowing coals, casting long shadows across the study walls. The house is quiet—too quiet, the kind of silence that amplifies every small sound. Alexander’s out on perimeter, and the night feels thick, watchful.
Breath.
Slow your heartbeat.
Turn your emotions to stone.
I exhale and stand, stretching the stiffness from my shoulders, and head upstairs. The steps creak under my weight, familiar and worn. At the top landing I pause, glancing toward Eddie’s door. No light under it. Good. He should be sleeping by now, exhausted from the day.
But as I take a step toward my own room, a sound stops me.
Soft. Barely there.
A light moan.
I freeze, head tilted, listening. It comes again—small, distressed, caught somewhere between sleep and fear.
My pulse kicks up a notch.
A nightmare? Or just restless dreams? Either way, it’s not the peaceful breathing I expected.
I think of Tommy.
The memories rise inside me… nights when he’d wake gasping, tears already on his cheeks before his eyes even opened.
I’d pull him against me, arms locked tight, whispering in Russian until the shaking stopped.
He’d bury his face in my chest, fingers clutching my shirt like I was the only solid thing in the world.
Holding him then felt like purpose—like the only thing that mattered in a life full of blood and betrayal.
Eddie’s moan drifts out again, quieter this time, but sharper. A whimper.
I should leave him. Let him ride it out. Keep the lines clear. He’s already under my skin too deep… climbing into his bed would only make it worse.
But the sound tugs at something buried, something I thought I’d locked away years ago. Before I can talk myself out of it, my hand is on the doorknob. I turn it slowly, push the door open just enough to slip inside.
“Boy?” I whisper. “Are you awake?”
The room is dim, lit only by the faint glow from the hallway and the moonlight slipping through the curtains.
Eddie is curled on his side, knees drawn up, face half-buried in the pillow.
Goldie the stuffie is tucked under his chin, his hands fisted in his mane.
His breathing is uneven, short, hitched.
Another soft moan escapes his lips, his brows pinched in distress.
Definitely a nightmare.
I should know.
I close the door behind me, careful not to let it click. I cross the room in three quiet steps. The bed is wide enough, the covers rumpled where he’s twisted in them. I hesitate for half a heartbeat—then kick off my boots and climb in fully clothed beside him.
The mattress dips under my weight.
The boy stirs but doesn’t wake. I slide an arm under his shoulders, drawing him gently against my chest. He’s small, warm, my oversized pajamas evidently doing their job.
The silk slides under my palm as I pull him closer, tucking his head under my chin.
One hand strokes slowly through his hair—long, soft strands slipping through my fingers.
“Hussssshhhh,” I murmur against his temple. “You’re safe. I’ve got you.”
He makes a small, broken sound—half sob, half sigh—and presses closer instinctively.
His fingers curl into my shirt, clinging.
I keep stroking his hair, slow and steady, the rhythm of my hand matching the slow beat of my heart.
The scent of him—lavender from the shampoo, faint traces of the day’s fear and sweat—fills my lungs.
It’s intoxicating in a way I haven’t let myself feel in years.
Eddie’s breathing evens out gradually. The tension in his body melts. He half-wakes for a moment—eyes fluttering open just enough to find my face in the dark. A sleepy, trusting smile curves his lips.
“Daddy…?” he mumbles, his delicate voice thick with sleep.
My chest tightens. “Right here, baby boy. Sleep.”
He sighs, content, and nestles deeper into me. His eyes close again almost immediately, lashes dark against his cheeks. Within seconds he’s out, soft breaths puffing against my collarbone.
I lie there, unmoving, his slight weight anchored against me. My heart is beating hard—too hard—thudding against my ribs like it’s trying to break free. Not from fear. Not from anger. From something quieter, deeper. Satisfaction. Pure, bone-deep satisfaction.
This feeling, the simple act of holding him, protecting him, being the thing he reaches for in the dark. It’s been years since I felt it. Not since Tommy.
I thought that part of me had died with Tommy, burned away in the same fire that took everything else soft. But here it is again, alive and insistent, curling through my veins like warm whisky.
I don’t want to give it up.
I don’t want to give him up.
The thought settles heavy and certain. He’s dangerous—yes. A witness. A liability. But he’s also this: small, brave, stubborn, soft in all the places I’ve been hard for too long.
My Little. Mine.
I tighten my arm around Eddie, careful not to wake him. The moonlight paints silver across his face, highlighting the faint freckles on his nose, the way his lips part slightly in sleep. Beautiful. Fragile. And mine to keep safe.
I should get up. Go to my own room. Keep the boundaries intact.
But I don’t move.
I stay.
The boy’s breathing deepens, steady now, trusting. I press my lips to the top of his head—just once, barely a touch—and close my eyes.
For the first time in years, the night doesn’t feel empty.