Chapter 6 Kirill
Kirill
The city sidewalk feels different under my shoes as I walk away from the café.
The late afternoon light has softened into early evening gold, casting long shadows between the buildings. Teddy’s green smoothie and his bright, determined eyes linger in my mind longer than they should.
I enjoyed the coffee—more than I care to admit.
The boy’s voice when he spoke about acting was full of genuine passion, the kind of raw optimism that most people lose by the time they reach their mid-twenties. He hadn’t held back. He told me his dreams like they mattered, and for a few minutes, I listened as if they did.
What strikes me most, though, is the moment outside the SUV. The way he marched across the street with Bobby, fire in his eyes, and stopped my man from closing the door. Teddy looked me straight in the face and told me—no, informed me—that he would no longer train my nephew.
The sheer audacity of it.
No one speaks to me like that.
Not my soldiers, not my associates, not even Viktor. And certainly not since I took my father’s place as pakhan. People bow, they obey, they whisper agreements behind closed doors. They do not challenge me on a public sidewalk.
Yet Teddy did. With his small, athletic frame, flushed cheeks, and that peppy energy he seems to carry everywhere, he stood up to me without flinching.
It is refreshing.
Disarming, even. A crack of light in the heavy darkness I carry daily. For the first time in months, someone has treated me like a man rather than a title or a threat.
But that is exactly the problem.
I hadn’t been thinking straight when I followed him. When my hand landed on his shoulder and the my offer to take him for coffee left my mouth.
I have told myself—repeatedly—that there would be no more contact beyond Bobby’s training. Teddy is staff. Temporary staff. A tool to give my nephew the discipline and structure he desperately needs after my father’s death shook the family. Nothing more.
Yet I slipped out of business mode the moment those defiant eyes met mine. I socialized. I offered help with his acting career. I shook the boy’s hand and felt the warmth of his skin against mine far longer than necessary.
Foolish.
I loosen my tie as I continue walking, the cool evening air brushing against my neck.
Ivan’s face flashes in my memory from our recent meeting.
The way he spoke about his boy—his Forever Love—with that rare softness in his voice.
He has found something real in this brutal world.
A Little who completes him, who gives him a reason to come home from the shadows.
Ivan is a killer by trade, yet he has managed to build something tender and lasting.
I know what I am. A Daddy. The instinct lives in me as naturally as breathing—the need to guide, to protect, to correct when necessary, to reward when earned.
The thought of having a boy of my own, one who would look up at me with trust and need, who would accept my firm hand and my care… it pulls at something deep inside.
Teddy’s sass today has stirred my Daddy drive awake. His flushed reaction when I offered help, the way his breath hitched when our hands touched—it all points to a submissive core beneath that bright optimism.
A Little who doesn’t yet know he is one.
Or maybe he does.
But the pragmatic pakhan side of me crushes the fantasy before it can take root.
Now is not the time.
My father’s killer still walks free. The pact with Viktor is new and fragile.
Rivals are watching for any sign of weakness.
Bringing a young man—especially one as soft and unprotected as Teddy—into my world would be reckless.
It would paint a target on his back. Worse, it might distract me at the exact moment I need total focus.
Vengeance first.
Consolidation of power second.
Everything else comes after.
And if I am honest with myself, that “after” might never arrive.
The life of a pakhan is not built for happy endings.
My father learned that the hard way when my mother died and the light left his eyes.
I watched him drift, grow softer, and pay for it with a bullet to the chest. I will not repeat his mistakes.
The black SUV waits at the corner exactly where I left it. I slide into the back seat, the leather cool against my back.
“New apartment,” I tell the driver, my voice cold. “No stops.”
The engine purrs to life and we merge into traffic.
I stare out the window as the city blurs past, trying to push Teddy from my thoughts.
It doesn’t work. His laugh when he defended his mushroom powder drink echoes in my head.
The determined set of his jaw when he said “deal.” The spark in his eyes.
By the time we pull up to the old building, the removal men have already come and gone. The doorman nods respectfully as I enter, keeping his eyes down. Good. Discretion is part of what I pay for.
The apartment feels vast and echoing when I step inside.
The mahogany paneling and high ceilings are as impressive as I remember—classic, solid, old-money elegance that speaks of permanence.
The working fireplace sits cold and dark for now.
The view through the tall windows shows the Gothic building opposite, its spires catching the last of the daylight.
At night it will glow beautifully, a reminder that some things in this city still hold beauty amid the rot.
But the space is far from a home.
The removal men have delivered the furniture—large couch, dining table, the massive four-poster bed in the master—but it all sits sparse and impersonal.
Boxes remain unopened in corners.
No photographs. No personal touches. Just functional pieces placed where they need to be.
A place to lay my head. A hidden refuge away from the compound, away from the constant eyes and whispers of the family business.
Somewhere I can think without the weight of expectation pressing down every second.
I pour myself a glass of vodka from the crystal decanter on the sideboard—smooth, chilled, the good stuff imported from home.
The first sip burns pleasantly down my throat.
I carry the glass to the large couch and sink into it, the leather creaking under my weight.
The city lights are beginning to flicker on outside, painting the room in shifting patterns of gold and shadow.
I hadn’t planned to linger on thoughts of the boy.
But before I know it, my mind fills with images of Teddy.
His small, strong body. The way his cheeks flush when he confronts me. The sway of his hips and the flex of his ass as he stomps away in irritation.
In my fantasy, we are still in the café…
Instead of shaking hands on our deal, I pull him across the table and over my lap right there in the booth.
His shocked gasp makes me stiffen. The way he squirms as I remove his briefs, exposing his pale, soft skin.
My hand comes down firm and deliberate—spank after spank—correcting that bratty mouth, turning his protests into whimpers and then moans.
“You will learn to speak to me properly, malysh,” I growl in the fantasy, my voice low and commanding.
My fingers slip between his thighs afterward, finding him hard and ready, rewarding him for taking his punishment so well.
He arches into my touch, needy and desperate, his bright optimism melting into sweet submission.
The fantasy spirals wild and fast.
I set the vodka glass aside, my hand moving to my belt without conscious thought. Stroking myself to the image of Teddy bent over, ass red from my palm, begging in that sweet voice while I drive him higher. His calling me Daddy. He is trusting me completely.
It hits hard and sudden. I cum with a low groan, spilling over my fist in sharp, intense pulses that leave me breathing raggedly against the back of the couch.
For a few blissful seconds, the dopamine wave washes over me—warm, heavy, almost peaceful.
Then it fades. Of course it does. That’s always the way.
And then the apartment feels even emptier than before. The high ceilings and impressive moldings only emphasize the silence. The Gothic building across the way now looks cold and distant in the growing dark.
I am alone again, as always.
A pakhan in a sparse apartment, surrounded by luxury that means nothing without someone to share it with.
I reach for the vodka and pour another glass, larger this time. The burn this round feels sharper, more necessary.
Ivan has his Forever Boy. He has found balance in the darkness. Viktor too, if the rumors are to be believed has settled with his Forever.
Me? I have vengeance.
I have power.
I have a family legacy that demands every ounce of my strength.
Teddy is a distraction I cannot afford. A bright spark that will only get extinguished if I let him too close.
Yet as I sit there in the half-furnished apartment, glass in hand, the memory of his hand in mine refuses to fade. The way he said “deal” with that mix of wariness and hope. The electric tension that crackled between us.
I take another long sip, letting the vodka dull the edges.
Tomorrow I will refocus. Strengthen the hunt for my father’s killer. Solidify the pact with Viktor. Keep Bobby on the right path through Teddy’s training.
And I will keep my distance.
No more coffees. No more fantasies. No more slipping.
But even as I make the silent vow, a small, stubborn part of me wonders how long I can hold to it.
The city lights twinkle outside, indifferent to the lonely pakhan sitting in his empty apartment with nothing but vodka and forbidden thoughts for company.
The second glass of vodka does little to quiet the restlessness gnawing at my chest. Sleep feels impossible tonight.
The sparse apartment, with its high ceilings and echoing silence, only amplifies the emptiness.
I set the glass down on the side table, the crystal clinking softly against wood, and stand.
A walk.
Fresh air.