Chapter 21 Eddie
Eddie
I need to do something.
Nothing isn’t an option.
I might be a Little, but I need to help my Daddy…
The penthouse feels like a cage now, all glass and luxury that can't hide the emptiness and frustration gnawing at me.
Robbie and I are sitting on the thick white rug in the living room, legs crossed, staring at the city sprawl below us through the floor-to-ceiling windows.
The morning sun glints off skyscrapers, making everything look sharp and unforgiving.
Goldie is in my lap, his mane soft under my fingers as I absently stroke him, but it's not comforting.
Nothing is.
Alexander is at the kitchen island, sipping a coffee—black, no sugar, like it's just fuel to keep him going.
His face is still a mess of cuts and bruises, the towel Robbie gave him earlier now stained red and discarded on the counter.
He's quiet, eyes distant, phone in hand like he's waiting for a miracle text.
I can't take it anymore.
The silence is suffocating, every tick of the wall clock a reminder that Viktor's out there… captured, hurt, or... worse.
My chest tightens at the thought. "I can't just sit around while Viktor's in danger," I say, voice breaking the quiet like a crack in glass. "He's my Daddy. He's protected me, saved me. I need to repay that. We have to do something."
Robbie looks up from his phone, where he’s been scrolling aimlessly, probably checking news or social media for any hints of what happened.
His face is pale, eyes red-rimmed from the tears we both shed earlier. "Eddie, I get it. I do. But be sensible. What on earth could we even do to help? We're not... like them. We don't have guns or plans or whatever. We'd just get in the way. Or worse."
He’s right, logically.
We're Littles, artists, baristas.
We’re not fighters.
But logic doesn't stop the ache in my heart, the desperate need to act. "I know, but... sitting here? It's killing me. What if he's..."
I can't say it.
Dead.
The word sticks in my throat like a stone.
Alexander sets his mug down with a soft clink, drawing our eyes. He's been silent since delivering the news, making calls in low Russian that I couldn't understand. Now he looks like he has something on his mind—jaw working, eyes narrowed as if debating with himself.
"Alexander?" I ask, hope flickering. "You have an idea, don't you?"
He hesitates, rubbing a hand over his stubbled chin. The cut on his forehead has stopped bleeding, but it's ugly, purple bruising spreading around it. "I... might. But no. Viktor would forbid it. Involving you two? Not happening."
Robbie leans forward. "Come on, dude! We're already involved. Spill."
He shakes his head. "It's not my call. Boss's orders were clear… keep you safe, locked down."
I stand up, Goldie tumbling gently to the rug.
My legs feel shaky, but my voice is steady. "As Viktor's Little, I'm giving you a direct order. Tell us. You have no choice but to obey."
Alexander stares at me for a long second, then barks a short, surprised laugh. "It doesn't work like that, miss. You're his boy, not the Pakhan. Chain of command doesn't run through Littles."
Robbie crosses his arms. "But you're thinking about it. We can see it…"
Alexander sighs, leaning back against the counter.
The penthouse is so quiet I can hear the hum of the fridge, the distant honk of traffic far below.
After a pause that stretches forever, Alexander mutters something in Russian—probably a curse—then straightens.
"To hell with it. Viktor' will kill me if he survives, but. .. fine."
We lean in, Robbie scooting closer on the rug. I perch on the edge of the couch, heart pounding.
"The ambush," Alexander says, voice low and rough.
"Professional. Not street thugs. Mercenaries…
ex-military types. Coordinated, equipped.
Not our family's rivals. They don't operate like that. Too clean. This is more political level violence. I’ve seen it before.
I think they're working for Harry Caulfield. "
Robbie frowns. "The politician guy? Why?"
Alexander shrugs. "Caulfield's got motives. Viktor crossed him on a deal. Ambitious bastard... governor run, property empire. Hitting Viktor clears paths. And if I'm right about Caulfield..."
"Where would they take them?" I interrupt, my voice urgent. "Viktor and Ivan."
Alexander hesitates again, but he's in now. "Caulfield has got a place upstate. Secluded estate. Woods, security, off grid. Perfect for... holding people. Interrogating. Partying. Or worse."
The words hang heavy. Robbie and I exchange looks—fear, determination mirroring back. "Then we go," Robbie says, standing up. "What are we waiting for?"
Alexander holds up a hand. "Whoa. You two? No. That's not—"
"Yes," I say, cutting him off. My mind is racing, pieces clicking. "We can help. We can scout, distract, something. You can't do it alone. You're hurt."
He rubs his injured arm, wincing. "I'm fine. But... Caulfield's place is fortified. Guards, cameras. Getting in quiet..."
Robbie paces. "We need a plan. Disguises? Delivery? Something innocent."
I nod, adrenaline surging. "Alexander, you know the layout?"
He sighs, seemingly ready to rock and roll with this idea, as crazy as it might be. "Yeah. Been there once for recon. Main house, guest cottage, perimeter fence. Woods for cover."
We huddle around the kitchen island, Alexander sketching a rough map on a napkin. Robbie brews more coffee, and I grab my sketchpad for notes.
The penthouse feels less like a cage now—more like a war room.
Doubts linger… am I crazy? Risking everything for a man whose world could destroy me? But the thought of Viktor hurt, alone, captured... no. I can't sit by.
Alexander outlines entry points, weak spots. "Nightfall. Dark helps."
“No,” I say. “We move now. There’s no time to waste.”
Alexander stands. "I have contacts, I’ll get the family involved. They’ll fight for their Pakhan."
Robbie nods. "Let's bring him home. And Ivan too."
I clutch Goldie. "Please be alive, Daddy."
The city waits below, indifferent.
But we're not indifferent. Far from it in fact. I might be a sculptor, but this escape plan could be my greatest work of art yet…
Alexander pulls the sleek black sports car—another one from Ivan’s collection, low and growling, matte finish swallowing light—onto the highway.
The engine thrums beneath us like a caged animal, vibrating through the leather seats and up into my bones. Robbie is in the back, knees drawn up, clutching his phone like a lifeline. I’m in the passenger seat, Goldie on my lap, seatbelt tight across my chest.
The city has fallen behind us… now it’s open road, trees blurring past, the sky turning grey and overcast.
Alexander keeps one hand loose on the wheel, the other resting on the gearshift. His face is still a roadmap of cuts and bruises, but his eyes are sharp, focused. He glances at me, then Robbie in the rearview.
“Okay,” he says, voice rough. “What the hell is the plan? Because if you think we’re just driving up to Caulfield’s estate and knocking politely, you’re both delusional.”
I swallow.
My heart is hammering so hard I can feel it in my throat.
“We’re going to pretend we’re two lost boys,” I say. “Broke down or something. Need to use a phone. Caulfield’s reputation… party boy, boys, excess… he won’t be able to resist letting us in. He’ll think… fun. He’ll think easy targets.”
Alexander’s knuckles whiten on the wheel. “You’re talking about walking straight into a predator’s den. You know what men like Caulfield do to boys who show up ‘lost’?”
Robbie leans forward between the seats. “We know the risk. But it’s the only way inside without guns blazing. We’re not fighters. We’re… bait. Innocent bait.”
Alexander snorts. “Bait that gets eaten.”
I turn to face him. “It’ll work. He’s arrogant. Thinks he’s untouchable. We play scared, helpless. He’ll open the gates. We find Viktor and Ivan, message you their location, and get out.”
Alexander stares at the road for a long beat. Then he exhales through his nose.
“Crazy. Reckless. Stupid.” A pause. “But… it might work. Caulfield’s ego is bigger than his security detail.
If you can get inside, get eyes on them, message me immediately.
Coordinates, layout, numbers. Do not, and I mean do not, get involved yourselves.
No heroics. You see them, you text, you leave. Understood?”
Robbie nods quickly. “Understood.”
I nod too. “Understood.”
But inside, I know it’s a lie. If I see Viktor—hurt, chained, bleeding—I won’t be able to walk away. I’ll do whatever it takes.
Even if it’s stupid.
Even if it’s fatal.
Alexander continues. “I’ve contacted the generals. They’re mobilizing. A small team, trusted ones. They’ll be driving up too, but they’re coming from different directions. Might take longer to converge. If we’re lucky, they arrive not long after we do. If we’re not…” He trails off.
Alexander doesn’t need to finish. I know the implications of this.
Robbie squeezes my shoulder from the back seat. “We’ll be careful.”
Alexander grunts. “Careful doesn’t exist in this game. Just fast and smart.”
The car eats miles. The highway narrows, turns rural—fields, dark woods, occasional farm lights. I watch the dashboard clock tick forward. Every minute feels like an hour. My mind races: Viktor tied up, hurt, thinking I’m safe somewhere. The thought makes my chest ache.
Robbie breaks the silence. “What if he’s…?”
“Don’t,” I whisper. “He’s alive. He has to be.”
Alexander doesn’t contradict me. He just keeps driving.
We pass a sign… Caulfield’s estate is ten miles ahead. Private road, gated, no trespassing. My stomach flips.
Alexander slows, pulls off onto a dirt track half-hidden by trees. Kills the engine. Silence rushes in.
He turns in his seat. “Last chance to back out.”
Robbie looks at me. I look back.
“No,” I say. “We’re doing this.”
“Hell yeah,” Robbie says, a look of wild excitement in his eyes.
Alexander nods once. “Then listen. You get inside, you find them, you text me. Nothing else. If it goes south, you run. Or hide. But whatever you do, don’t look back.”
I nod, throat tight.
Robbie reaches forward, squeezes my hand. “We’ve got this.”
We get out of the car and wait as Alexander pulls away so he can remain out of sight.
I hold Robbie’s hand and we walk together. The gate looms ahead… black iron, tall, cameras on posts. A guard shack, light on inside. My heart slams against my ribs.
The guard steps out—uniformed, armed. “Private property. Turn around.”
Robbie steps forward, voice high and shaky. “Please, sir—we’re lost. Our car broke down a mile back. Phone’s dead. Can we just… use yours? Call for help?”
The guard looks us over—two boys, scared, alone. His eyes linger. Then he smirks.
“Boss might let you in. Wait here.”
He steps back into the shack, speaks into a radio.
My pulse roars in my ears.
The gate begins to slide open.
Robbie squeezes my hand so hard it hurts.
We’re in…