Chapter 14
Kane
Damn, how long have I been out for?
Too long maybe.
Or maybe not long enough…
The room is dark except for the faint silver glow of the city lights filtering through the half-drawn blinds.
I wake slowly, aware first of the warm weight pressed against my chest. William. His breathing is soft and even, his leg thrown over mine, one small hand curled against my ribs like he’s afraid I might disappear in the night. Twist is somewhere near his pillow, a fuzzy lump in the shadows.
My arm is wrapped around my boy’s bare back, holding him close. William’s skin is warm, soft, still carrying the faint scent of our earlier passion… sweat, sex, and that light vanilla shampoo he uses.
It’s very late.
Or very early.
The clock on the nightstand reads just after three in the morning. William has studies tomorrow. Seminars. That brilliant mind of his needs rest.
I brush a strand of blonde hair from his face and murmur against his temple, “You need to sleep, little one. You won’t be able to concentrate tomorrow if you don’t.”
William stirs, nuzzling closer. His voice is sleepy and sweet, laced with that stubborn Little tone I’m quickly becoming addicted to. “I don’t want to sleep,” he whispers. “I want to stay up all night talking to you… and snuggling. Just like this.”
A low chuckle rumbles in my chest.
I tighten my arm around William, loving the way his naked body molds perfectly against mine. “We can snuggle. But no talking. You need rest.”
The sassy Little makes a small protesting sound, tilting his head up so those big eyes meet mine in the dim light. There’s mischief there, but also something deeper—trust, affection, maybe even the first fragile threads of love. It hits me harder than I expect.
I stroke him back slowly, fingers tracing his spine.
“Close your eyes,” I say. “I’ll sing you something. An old Russian nursery rhyme my mother used to sing to me and my brothers when we were small. It always worked.”
William smiles, soft and trusting, and presses himself even closer, his cheek resting over my heart.
His bare chest brushes my side, his thigh slides higher over mine.
The intimacy of it, the quiet vulnerability, stirs something protective and possessive deep in my soul.
I begin to sing, voice low and rough, the melody simple and haunting in the dark.
“Bayu-bayushki-bayu,
Ne lozhisya na krayu…
Pridyot serenkii volchok
I ukusit za bochok…”
The old words roll out of me, carrying memories I rarely let myself touch.
William’s breathing slows as I continue.
His fingers relax against my chest. I feel his lashes flutter against my skin as his eyes grow heavier.
By the third repetition, he’s gone—fast asleep, lips slightly parted, completely at peace in the arms of a man who has spilled more blood than most people ever see.
I keep singing for a few more verses anyway, just to feel him relax deeper into me.
Then silence falls like a knife through air.
The city hums far below, but in here it’s just his soft breathing and the steady beat of my heart.
Sleep won’t come for me tonight.
I stare up at the ceiling, one hand still stroking his back in slow, soothing circles.
My mind drifts to the blood waiting for me in the streets.
An image of Kruchev’s dead face. My brothers’ bodies in that shot-up SUV.
The meeting with Viktor, Ivan, and Kirill.
The way Viktor had said they were “already on it.”
My mind tells me to be wary. It’s all too smooth. Too convenient.
If they’re the ones who killed Milo and Loren—if this whole alliance is a trap to draw me in and finish the job—then their deaths will be especially bloody. I’ll make examples of them that the entire city will remember for generations.
No mercy. No quick bullets.
Slow. Personal.
The kind of vengeance that sends a message no one will ever forget.
My thoughts then slip backward, unbidden, to a memory from when I was barely fifteen.
The Streets, many years ago…
The alley smelled of piss and rotting garbage.
Rain had turned the ground to mud. Three older boys…
seventeen, maybe eighteen… had me cornered.
I was already bleeding from a split lip and a cut above my eye.
One of them had a knife. The others just wanted to stomp the so-called Kamedov brat into the pavement.
I fought like a cornered animal, swinging wildly, taking hits that rattled my teeth. Then I heard them, Milo and Loren, leaning against the wall at the mouth of the alley, smoking cigarettes like they were watching a show.
“Fight, little brother,” Milo called, voice calm. “Show us you’re worthy of the name.”
Loren just nodded, arms crossed.
No rescue. No intervention.
Rage and pride surged through me. I stopped trying to run.
I charged the biggest one, tackled him into the mud, and beat him with everything I had.
The knife clattered away. I took a boot to the ribs but kept swinging.
By the time it was over, all three older boys were on the ground, groaning, broken.
I stood over them, chest heaving, blood running down my face, knuckles shredded.
Milo walked over, clapped me on the shoulder hard enough to sting, and grinned.
“There he is,” Milo chuckled. “The Young Menace. You earned this.”
Back in the present…
A wry smile tugs at my lips in the darkness.
That night all those years ago changed something in me.
It taught me that pain, blood, and standing alone were the price of respect in our world.
I wonder if I’ll ever teach my own children the same lesson one day, when they’re old enough, when they need to prove they carry the Kamedov blood.
Children.
The thought hits me like a gunshot. Could those children be with William?
I look down at his sleeping face, innocent, brilliant, soft in all the ways my life has never been. The idea of us having children, of tiny hands gripping his finger while I teach them to be strong, fierce, and unafraid… it fills me with a longing so sharp it almost hurts.
I’m falling for him. Hard. Harder than I ever thought possible. This smart, sassy, determined Little who takes my spankings and still looks at me like I hung the moon. William makes me want things I have no right to want—peace, a future, something beyond endless war and revenge.
But doubt creeps in like poison.
He’s too good for this life. Too straightlaced. Too academic. One day the reality of who I am—what I do—will hit him fully. The late nights.
The blood on my hands. The danger that follows me everywhere. He’ll wake up one morning and realize he can’t live like this. He’ll leave.
And I won’t blame him.
I tighten my arm around William, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. For now, he’s here. Warm. Mine. I’ll take every second I can get. I’ll protect him with everything I have. And when the day comes that he walks away, I’ll let him go.
Because loving William means wanting what’s best for William—even if that best isn’t me.
I close my eyes, but sleep stays far away. Instead, I hold him close and listen to him breathe, letting the steady rhythm anchor me while my mind spins with vengeance, memories, and the terrifying realization that this soft, bookish boy has somehow become the most dangerous thing in my life.
He holds my heart.
And I have no idea what the fuck I’m going to do about it.
* * *
Morning light filters through the tall windows of the apartment as I watch William get ready.
He moves around the bedroom in that adorable, slightly frazzled way of his, pulling on a soft cream sweater, styling his blonde hair, carefully tucking Twist into his backpack like he’s attending lectures too.
I’ve already made coffee and ordered a car, but I decide against it.
I want to walk William to the university myself.
“Come on, Daddy,” William says cheerily. “Let’s move!”
“Of course,” I reply, a knowing smile on my face. “You lead the way, my darling boy.”
We step out into the crisp morning air a short while later, two takeaway coffees in hand. William sips his happily, his free hand occasionally brushing mine as we walk.
The city is waking up around us—pedestrians hurrying, delivery bikes weaving through traffic, the distant hum of construction.
William looks so normal, so perfectly suited to this world of books and lectures.
And yet here he is, holding the hand of a man who spent half the night planning bloody revenge.
We arrive at the grand stone steps of the famous Uppington Building.
Students mill about, chatting and clutching notebooks. William spots his friend immediately…
“Davey!” he calls, waving.
Davey turns, curly hair bouncing, and beside him stands a clean-cut man… Charles, I assume based on what William has briefed me. The new Daddy. He has that safe, polished look: neat beard, friendly smile, the kind of man who probably has a 401k and never had to bury his brothers.
William beams as he makes the introductions. “Davey, Charles… this is Kane. My… boyfriend.”
The word sounds strange coming from his lips, but it sends a possessive thrill through me.
I shake Charles’s hand first, firm grip, but I can already read the suspicion in his eyes.
Davey is more obvious. His smile is polite, but his gaze is sharp, protective. He knows enough about me to be wary.
They both do.
“Nice to meet you,” Charles says, though his tone suggests otherwise.
“Likewise,” I reply, keeping my voice even.
The conversation is short and stilted. Davey asks William about yesterday’s seminar notes. Charles makes small talk about the weather.
But I feel it… the undercurrent of judgment.
The way they look at me like I don’t belong in their clean, academic world.
Like they can smell the blood on my hands even though I showered twice this morning.
It makes my jaw tighten. I’m used to commanding rooms full of hardened criminals, not standing awkwardly beside a PhD student and his pastel-wearing friend while they sip coffee and discuss literature.
I check my watch. “I have a meeting I can’t miss,” I say briskly. I turn to William, cupping his face gently with one hand. “Have a good day, little one. Text me when you’re done.”
William smiles up at me, soft and trusting, completely unaware of the tension. “I will. Thank you for walking me.”
I lean down and kiss his forehead, then his lips… brief but possessive. When I pull back, I catch Davey and Charles exchanging a look.
I don’t care. Let them suspect. Let them worry. William is mine.
I turn and walk away without another word, shoulders squared, footsteps purposeful. The moment I’m out of sight I pull out my phone and message Padraig…
KANE: Update on the meet with Viktor?
A new text arrives faster than I could have expected, but it’s not from Padraig…
VIKTOR: New information on your brothers’ killers. Credible. We need to meet in person ASAP. Neutral ground. Today.
My blood runs cold, then hot.
This could be the break we’ve been waiting for.
Or it could be the trap I’ve been expecting.
Either way, it’s big. And it could be deadly—for them or for me.
I stop at the corner and turn back toward the Uppington Building. William is just disappearing through the heavy doors into the lecture hall, backpack bouncing, arms swinging with excitement. He glances over his shoulder once, almost like he senses me watching, and offers a small wave.
I raise my hand in return.
Damn, the boy is gorgeous. Kind. Funny. Sassy as hell when he wants to be. Brilliant all round in fact. He takes my spankings like he was made for them and still looks at me like I’m worth something more than the violence I bring. He’s perfect.
Then, a bittersweet ache settles in my chest.
This might be the last time I ever see him.
If today’s meeting is a setup, if Viktor and his partners are the ones who murdered my brothers, I may not walk away from it. And even if I do, the war that follows will be ugly. Blood will run in the streets.
I won’t drag William into that. I can’t.
I stand there for a long moment, watching the doors he disappeared through, committing the image of him to memory—sunlight catching his hair, that soft smile, the way he carries himself like the world is full of wonder instead of knives in the dark.
Then I turn away.
My phone is already in my hand, typing a reply to Viktor…
KANE: Name the time and place. I’ll be there.
The pakhan has work to do.
And the boy who somehow stole my heart will have to wait.
For his own safety, I hope he never has to see the monster I become when I finally get my revenge and show the world that two Kamedov brothers might have fallen, but the youngest is alive, kicking, and ready to take lives like most people eat hot dinners.