Chapter 22 - Tikhon
The safehouse sits on the edge of the industrial district, always smelling like wet concrete and old motor oil—one of those places that never really dries out, no matter how many heaters you shove in the corners.
I’ve been holed up here for three days, grabbing sleep in quick, uncomfortable stretches on a cot that smells like it’s seen better centuries.
It’s just endless coffee—so strong it tastes like bad decisions—maps, security feeds, and the kind of eye strain that makes everything swim.
Viktor comes and goes. Sometimes he brings news; sometimes it’s cold food I mostly ignore, and sometimes it’s just a look that says, “Yeah, another lead went nowhere.”
When he’s gone, it’s just me, the hum of the laptop, and this fury that refuses to let me sleep, even when my body’s begging for it.
Fadir Klem.
Just saying his name leaves a bad taste in my mouth. I finally nailed it down two nights ago—digging through old Sokolov files, blurry photos from Viktor’s cousin’s era, and scraps of gossip from informants who’d rather keep their teeth but cracked anyway for the right price.
Fadir isn’t even close family. He’s a cousin’s cousin, barely on the radar. Nobody thought to keep an eye on him after Viktor died, and we stepped in.
Back then, he floated around the edges—collections, threats, whatever job needed a mean streak and no questions asked. The dirty work Viktor liked to keep at arm’s length.
Now Fadir wants everything. Not a cut—a takeover. He’s been pulling together the old crowd, the ones who miss living in fear, convinced our truce is just weakness.
Worse, he’s got siblings. Three brothers, two sisters, all cut from the same toxic cloth. They’re not talking about little fights. They want all-out war—blood in the streets, families dragged in, years of fragile peace ripped apart. All so Fadir can sit in the big chair and call it his.
I want him gone.
Not just dead. Wiped out. I want to pull the trigger myself and watch everything about him burn, so Katya never hears his name again.
Every time I close my eyes, I see her at the fire—broken, smaller than I remembered, the woman who fought so hard for something pure, standing in the ashes of her dream.
Fadir did that.
He took her last shred of hope and crushed it. My anger isn’t cold anymore; it’s burning me up, eating through every thought. I don’t go home. I can’t. If I walk in and see her pretending to be fine, I’ll break for good. So I stay here. I hunt, I wait, I watch for my moment.
Viktor finds me hunched at the laptop at 4 a.m., eyes gritty, coffee cold and bitter.
“You need sleep, boss.”
“I need to find him.”
“You will. Not if you pass out first.”
I wave him off. “Go home. Tell the team to watch the east side harder. He’s got family there—cousins. Maybe he’ll show himself.”
Viktor hesitates. “Katya called. Twice. She says you’re not answering.”
My chest aches. “I’ll call her later.”
“She’s worried.”
“I know.” I rub my face, stubble scratching my palms. “I just… can’t. Not until it’s over.”
He leaves. The door clicks. I sit there, staring at the screen—blurry CCTV, license plates, mugshots.
Fadir’s face gazes back at me from one of the photos, smirk and all, scar twisting his cheek. I want to reach through the screen and crush him.
I don’t go home for another two days.
When I finally do, it’s just after sunrise.
I need my backup gun from the safe upstairs and some clothes that don’t stink of dust and oil. The house is quiet when I slip in from the garage. The lights are out. I move quietly, skipping the squeaky third step, heading for the study.
Katya’s there.
She’s curled on the couch in the dim light, wrapped in one of my old hoodies. The lamp throws just enough light to cast shadows under her eyes, her hands balled up in the sleeves.
She’s been crying—not now, but recently. That hits me harder than anything Fadir ever managed.
“You’re home,” she says, voice soft.
I freeze in the doorway. “Just grabbing something.”
She stands, slow and steady. “Tatiana and Arina dropped by yesterday. They told me you pushed to get the stakeout pulled from the shop. Not just moved—gone. You threatened to pull out of the joint ops. You risked everything.”
I look away. “It wasn’t much.”
“It was everything.” She steps closer. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“It wasn’t about credit.” I force myself to meet her eyes. “It was for you. Your space. Your freedom.”
She just looks at me—steady, searching. “They also said you’re not sleeping here. Not answering calls. Just chasing Fadir. Obsessing.”
I swallow hard. “I have to end this.”
“You need to come home.”
I shake my head. “Not until he’s gone.”
Katya closes the distance. Stops inches away. “Look at me.”
I do. Her eyes are bright—anger, worry, something softer underneath.
“You think I don’t understand?” she says. “You think I don’t want him gone? He burned my shop. My dream. But you’re killing yourself over it. You’re disappearing. And I’m here, alone, wondering if you’re coming back.”
Her voice cracks on the last word. My chest aches.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
She reaches up, cups my face—gentle, despite everything. “Tell me the truth. Why did you marry me?”
I flinch. “Katya—”
“Truth.”
I exhale. “I was obsessed with you from the first day. The way you looked at your frosting like it had personally offended you. The way you smiled when someone loved what you made. I couldn’t stop thinking about you.
I couldn’t let you go. The alliance was convenient, but it wasn’t why.
I used the threat because I was desperate.
I couldn’t see another way to make you mine.
And I wanted you to bloom—to flourish. I wanted to watch you grow into everything you’re meant to be.
That’s why it hurts so much that he destroyed your work.
Because I wanted to protect that. Protect you. ”
Silence stretches. I wait for disgust. Rejection. For her to step back and tell me I’m a monster.
Instead, she steps closer. Wraps her arms around my neck. Pulls me down.
I freeze.
She hugs me—tight, fierce, as if she’s trying to hold all the broken pieces together. Her face presses into my neck. I feel wet heat—tears. Hers. Maybe mine.
“I’m not disgusted,” she whispers. “I’m angry. At the methods. At the fear you felt. But I’m not walking away. I’m here. And I love you. Obsession and all.”
I break then—arms around her, holding so tight I’m afraid I’ll hurt her. But she holds back just as hard. We stand in the dark living room, clinging to each other, breathing each other in.
“I’ll come home,” I murmur against her hair. “After this is done.”
“No.” She pulls back, cups my face. “Come home now. Let me help. Let us do this together. You don’t have to carry it alone anymore.”
I search her eyes—steady, certain. For the first time in days—weeks—the rage quiets. Not gone. But quieter.
I nod. “Okay.”
She smiles—small, tear-streaked, beautiful. “Good.”
We stand there a long time—holding each other in the dark. The obsession still burns, but it’s tempered now. Shared. And for the first time, I feel like I might actually win this fight.
Not alone.
With her.
***
The downtown office feels almost hollow at this hour.
Too late for the cleaning crew—they’ve done their rounds and vanished—but it’s still early enough that the night guard at the front desk is dozing.
Up here, the whole floor is swallowed by darkness except for my own little island of light—a desk lamp, papers everywhere, screens glaring at me like they’ve got something to say.
Behind me, the corkboard’s a mess of city maps, red string running from safehouse to safehouse, little pins marking spots where we’ve seen things go sideways.
Right in the middle, there’s Fadir’s face. Blurry, old surveillance shot, but the smirk is unmistakable. He wore that exact look in the garage—and I’d bet anything he wore it the night he lit the gasoline at my wife’s door.
I lean back, leather chair creaking loud enough to echo. My ribs still complain if I breathe too deeply, leftover from that boot in the shootout, but I mostly tune it out. It’s just noise now. What actually keeps me up is the plan, the one I’ve been building in my head for hours.
Fadir thinks he’s safe, but he’s not that smart, just arrogant. He believes slipping away once makes him untouchable. He’s out there, pulling together his old diehards, the ones who miss Viktor’s kind of cruelty.
Guys who think showing mercy is the same as showing weakness. And his family? They’re all in. Three brothers already seen moving guns. Two sisters handling the cash and the secrets.
They’ve become more than a gang—they’re a family going to war. And the bull’s-eye is everything I’ve built. Peace with the Letvins. Some kind of stability for my own people. And most of all, her.
Katya.
Just thinking her name pulls me out of the haze. I rub at my eyes, lean over the desk. My phone sits next to the keyboard, screen dark—no word from her since yesterday afternoon. She’s probably asleep by now, curled up on her side, hair thrown across the pillow.
I can see it so clearly, it hurts. The way she tucks her hand under her cheek when she dreams. That soft sigh she lets out when I slide in next to her. The way she finds my hand, even asleep, like she’s been doing it her whole life.
None of this was part of the plan. Not one bit.
The first time I walked into her shop, I was just a guy with a sugar craving and a problem nobody else could fix. The alliance was supposed to be simple—marry the Letvin princess, tie up the families, stop the blood before things got even worse.
No feelings. Just business.
But then she looks up, flour on her cheek, eyes sharp like I just insulted her entire bakery, and something shifts. I can’t go back after that.
Honestly, it wasn’t even lust at first. It was just fascination. The way she worked—so focused, so precise, chasing perfection in things as delicate as sugar.
The way she could throw my flirting right back at me, quick and fearless. The way she lit up when someone actually loved what she made. I’d never seen joy like that before.
Not in my circles. Not anywhere near me.
Obsession crept in after that. I couldn’t stop thinking about her. I kept finding excuses to go back. I wanted to know what it would be like to really have her—not just in my bed, but in my life.
Waking up to her in the kitchen, flour in her hair, humming, totally off-key. Watching her create. Wanting to keep that spark alive, guard it so nobody could snuff it out. Sure, the way I went about it was ugly.
Desperate.
But it came from fear—the fear that she’d disappear, marry someone else, slip into a life where I had no place. I couldn’t just let that happen. So I did what I had to. Used whatever leverage I had.
Now, she’s mine.
But it’s not about ownership. It’s something else—love, maybe. The word feels strange in my mouth, like it doesn’t belong to me. I’ve never loved anything that didn’t bleed or break.
Arina was family, sure—my instincts always said protect, but this is different. Katya is under my skin, in my veins. When she cries, I feel it—like a bruise right in my heart.
When she smiles, it’s like the whole damn room lights up. And when she touches me—hesitant at first, then sure—I finally feel like I’ve come home.
I sit there, head in my hands, elbows propped on the desk. Fadir’s photo stares back, and I realize I want him dead more than I’ve wanted anything in a long time.
Not just for the alliance. Not even for the family.
For her.
For the way she looked after the shop burned—tiny, shattered, like someone had ripped out a piece of her soul. I will find him. I’ll watch the life drain from his eyes. And then I’ll go home to her and never leave again.
But for now, the hunt isn’t over.
I get up, grab my coat. The city’s out there, dark and freezing, crawling with shadows. Fadir’s hiding somewhere in them. I’ll root him out.
And when I do, it’s over.
For her.
Always for her.