Chapter 12
Kane
Fuck. I know this kind of place.
Maybe too well.
Maybe from too many wild nights…
The downtown bar is one of those dimly lit places that smells of old whiskey and stale blood. I push through the heavy door and spot Padraig immediately at a corner booth, two glasses of vodka already waiting. His face is grim. Good. He knows the weight of tonight.
I slide into the seat opposite Padraig. The leather is worn, cracked like everything else in this city. I pick up the glass, raise it, and Padraig mirrors the motion.
“To Kruchev,” I say, voice low. “A loyal soldier. May he rest while we make them bleed.”
“To Kruchev,” Padraig echoes. “A good man. Loyal. A fighter.”
We toss the vodka back in one smooth motion. The burn is clean and sharp, exactly what I need. I signal the bartender for another round.
Padraig leans forward once the fresh drinks arrive. “His body has been taken care of. Our funeral director has him. Closed casket… the damage was… bad. Arrangements are moving fast. The family, his wife, has been notified. Two kids too.”
I nod once. “Make sure they don’t pay a single fucking penny. Full coverage from the family fund. Widow gets the usual pension plus extra. Kids too. I want them set for life. Tell them it’s from me personally. And tell them I will visit soon enough, when we bring his killer to justice.”
“Already on it,” Padraig says. He hesitates, then adds, “This wasn’t random, Kane. Single shot to the head, execution style, right in our territory. It’s a warning shot. Same people who took Milo and Loren is where I’d be putting my money. They’re testing the new pakhan. Seeing if you’ll crack.”
I swirl the vodka in my glass, staring into the clear liquid like it holds answers. The rage that lives permanently under my skin flares hot. “I agree. They want us distracted. Weak. Bleeding resources on revenge while they plot to carve up our territory.”
I drain the second glass and set it down hard enough that the table rattles.
“It’s time,” I say. “Set up a proper meet with Viktor, Ivan, and Kirill. No more casual talks. No more feeling each other out. We sit down like men who own this city and we make a plan. We find my brothers’ killers.
Eliminate every last one of them. Then we make sure no one ever fucks with the Kamedov name again.
Full alliance if they’re serious. Blood pact if that’s what it takes. ”
Padraig studies me for a long moment, then nods. “I’ll arrange it. Neutral ground. Heavy security on all sides. I’ll make the calls tonight.”
“Good.” I stand, tossing cash on the table. “Keep me updated. And Padraig… watch your back. They’re coming for all of us now.”
Padraig gives me that half-grin of his. “Always do, pakhan.”
I leave the bar and step into the waiting SUV. The city rushes past as we drive back toward my apartment, but my mind is already shifting gears.
Kruchev’s death is fuel. Every drop of blood spilled on my watch only hardens me. And waiting for me at home is the one soft thing I’ve allowed into this brutal life…
William.
The thought of him curled up in my bed sends a different kind of heat through me.
I’ve been gone a couple of hours, but I already miss the way he trembles under my hand, the way he looks at me like I’m both terrifying and safe.
He’s becoming something I never planned for. Something I’m not willing to give up.
By the time I step into the apartment the lights are low. I lock the door behind me and toe off my shoes. The place feels different with the sweet boy here, less sterile, less empty.
I walk quietly toward the bedroom.
He’s in my bed, exactly where I left him. Curled on his side under the dark sheets, his stuffie tucked against his chest.
But his breathing is too measured, too careful. He’s awake.
I strip slowly—suit jacket, shirt, pants, everything—until I’m naked. My cock is already thickening at the sight of him. I slide under the covers behind him, the cool sheets brushing my skin. The moment my body presses against his back he lets out a tiny, needy sound.
“Daddy?” William gasps.
He turns in my arms. His eyes are wide open, shining with lust even in the low light. No fear this time—just raw hunger.
The boy leans in and kisses me. It starts soft, almost tentative, then deepens fast. His tongue meets mine, eager and sweet. I growl into his mouth, one hand sliding down to cup his ass.
He pulls back just enough to whisper against my lips, “I can tell my Daddy is stressed.”
The words hit me hard.
Before I can respond he’s sliding down my body, kissing a trail over my chest, my stomach, until he settles between my thighs. His small hand wraps around my cock, stroking once, twice, then his hot mouth closes over the head.
“Fuck, William…” I groan, threading my fingers through his blonde hair.
He takes me deeper, sucking with that perfect mix of innocence and filthy enthusiasm he’s developing. His tongue swirls, cheeks hollow, and he gags softly when I hit the back of his throat.
I tighten my grip in his hair. “Touch yourself while you suck me,” I command. “I want you cumming when I cum down your throat.”
William moans around my cock and obeys instantly. I feel him shift, one hand slipping between his own legs ands gripping his cock. The sound of his hand working his cock mix with the slick noises of his mouth on me. It’s filthy. And it’s beautiful.
I watch William—head bobbing, ass still marked from earlier, hand pumping his thick dick while he worships my cock. The stress of the night melts away with every stroke of his tongue.
Then tension coils tight at the base of my spine.
“That’s it,” I rasp as I see his body contort in pleasure. “Good fucking boy. Make yourself cum while you take care of your Daddy.”
His moans grow louder, vibrating around my shaft. His hips rock desperately against his hand. I thrust up gently, fucking his mouth, chasing the edge. When he cries out around me, his whole body shaking with his orgasm, I let go.
I shoot my seed down his throat, groaning his name as he swallows every drop like the perfect Little he is.
“Fuck,” I grunt, my ass clenching and quads tightening once more to make sure that I’m fully satisfied.
And then we both quieten.
We stay like that for a long moment, his cheek resting on my thigh, breathing hard, my hand gently stroking his hair. Then I pull him up into my arms. He curls against my chest, sticky and satisfied, his stuffie somehow ending up between us.
I kiss the top of his head. “Sleep, baby. I’ve got you.”
William’s breathing evens out quickly and he duly passes out in post orgasmic bliss.
I lie awake a little longer, one arm wrapped possessively around him, staring at the city lights through the windows.
Kruchev’s death. The coming war. The alliance I need to forge.
All of it waits for tomorrow.
But tonight, with William warm and safe in my bed, I feel something I haven’t felt in months.
Hope.
And the ruthless determination to burn the whole fucking world down to keep this boy safe in a world that I know can be cruel, vicious, and full of the most evil men…
* * *
The following morning the sun is barely up when I wake William with a slow trail of kisses down his spine.
He stretches like a contented kitten and murmurs something sleepy and sweet.
By the time we step out into the crisp morning air, he looks fresh, glowing, and impossibly innocent in one of my black shirts knotted at his waist.
I take the boy to a quiet café a few blocks from the apartment, one with outdoor seating shielded by tall plants and a view of the street but not the world.
We sit at a corner table and I order pancakes stacked high with berries, strong black coffee, and a big shared plate of fresh fruit.
William’s eyes light up when the food arrives.
He cuts into the pancakes with genuine delight, drizzling them with maple syrup like it’s the best thing he’s seen all week.
I watch him over the rim of my coffee cup.
The domesticity of it feels foreign but not unwelcome. My Little at breakfast, hair still damp from our shower, cheeks pink in just the most perfect way.
“Do you have studies today?” I ask, spearing a piece of melon and offering it to the boy.
William laughs softly, the sound light and genuine. He leans forward and takes the fruit from my fingers with his teeth. “I always have studies. There’s never a day off when you’re a PhD candidate. Seminars, reading, writing, grading undergrad papers… it never ends.”
I smile, genuinely.
“You’re committed,” I say. “I respect that. You fight for your world the same way I fight for mine.”
William chews thoughtfully, then his expression turns serious. “Speaking of your world… Kane, we still need to talk about it. About you. I can’t keep pretending I don’t know you’re involved in something dangerous. I deserve to know what I’m getting into.”
The words hang between us.
I’m about to give William the careful, controlled answer I’ve prepared—enough to satisfy without revealing too much—when movement at the café entrance catches my eye.
Viktor Volkov walks in, flanked by Ivan Zorin and Kirill Antonov. All three are dressed sharply, exuding power. They spot me immediately.
Viktor’s gaze flicks to William for a brief second, assessing, before his face settles into a polite, almost charming smile.
The three men approach our table.
“Kane,” Viktor says warmly, extending a hand. “Good to see you. And who is this lovely young man?”
William tenses beside me. He senses the shift in the air, the way these men carry themselves, the undercurrent of threat beneath the civility.
William is smart. He knows.
“This is William,” I say smoothly, placing a possessive hand on his thigh under the table. “My boy.”
The three men nod politely. Ivan and Kirill offer small, respectful greetings—nothing overt, but enough to show they understand he’s under my protection.
Still, William’s discomfort is palpable. The darling boy shifts in his seat, winces slightly, and gives me a quick look.
I lean in and kiss the back of his hand. “Go on, little one. I’ll see you back at the apartment later. Text me.”
William nods, clearly relieved. “Okay. Nice to meet you all,” he says quietly, then gathers his things and slips away. I watch William until he disappears around the corner, making sure no one follows.
Only then do I gesture for the three men to sit.
They settle across from me. The waitress appears nervously, but I wave him off. This isn’t a social breakfast anymore.
“I’m ready to talk about an alliance,” I say without preamble, voice low.
“But first, I need a show of good faith. Help me find the men who killed my brothers. I want names. Locations. Heads on fucking spikes. Once that’s done, we can discuss how we divide the city and make sure no one ever challenges any of us again. ”
Viktor leans back, studying me. Ivan and Kirill remain silent, watchful.
“We’re already on it,” Viktor says calmly. “My people have been digging since the night it happened. We have some leads… old rivals, disgruntled suppliers. We’ll share everything we find.”
I raise an eyebrow and nod, keeping my face neutral. “Good.”
Inside, suspicion coils like a snake. Already on it. How convenient. The timing, the smooth offer of help, the way they appeared right after Padraig told me about Kruchev’s death…
It’s possible—very possible—that the Downtown Devil and his two quiet partners are the ones who ordered the hit on my brothers. Luring me into an alliance only to put a bullet in my head when I’m no longer useful.
I smile thinly across the table, every instinct screaming danger even as I play the game.
“Excellent,” I say. “Then let’s get to work.”
The city keeps moving around us, unaware of the blood about to be spilled. And somewhere a few blocks away, my sweet William is walking along, completely unaware that the man he’s falling for might have just sat down with his brothers’ killers.
I’ll protect the sweet boy from all of it.
Even if it means killing every single one of them myself.