Chapter 17
Kirill
This isn’t easy.
Was I na?ve in thinking it could work?
Fuck. Maybe this was a mistake…
The grandfather clock in Viktor’s study chimes three in the morning, its deep tones echoing through the grand room like a warning.
We have been at this for hours.
Maps, photographs, and encrypted messages are spread across the heavy oak table. Empty glasses and half-full bottles of vodka stand sentinel beside them.
Time is ticking on and it doesn’t feel like we’re any closer.
Viktor leans over the table, finger jabbing at a satellite image of an old warehouse complex on the outskirts of the city. “We hit here first. Their main stash. Take out the weapons, burn the rest. Then we move on the secondary site near the docks.”
Ivan shakes his head, arms crossed. “Too direct. They’ll see us coming from a mile away. We need to draw their main force out first, create a distraction on the east side, then strike the warehouse from the west while they’re stretched thin.”
I slam my palm on the table, the sound sharp in the tense room.
“Both plans leave too much room for error,” I snarl, my emotions getting the better of me. “If we miss even one senior leader, they regroup and come back harder. We need precision. We need to cut the head off the snake, not just bruise the body.”
The three of us have been butting heads like this for the better part of the night.
Tempers are fraying.
Voices have risen more than once.
This is not a simple conflict anymore—this is preparation for open war against the Mexican cartel, and one wrong move could cost dozens of lives on our side, not to mention change the course of the city’s power structure forever.
Ivan rubs his temples and exhales heavily. “We need a break. All of us. Clear our heads before we make a decision we’ll regret.”
Viktor and I exchange a look. Despite the heated atmosphere, we both nod. He is right. Exhaustion makes men sloppy, and sloppy men die.
“Fine,” Viktor says, pushing back from the table. “Walk with me. The grounds are quiet at this hour.”
We step outside into the cool night air.
Viktor’s upstate mansion sits on sprawling acres of manicured lawns and dense woodland.
The moon is half-hidden behind thin clouds, casting pale silver light across the grass.
The three of us walk in silence for a while, the only sound the crunch of gravel beneath our shoes and the distant hoot of an owl.
Eventually, the conversation drifts, as it always does when powerful men are tired and honest, toward the softer parts of our lives.
Ivan speaks first, a rare softness in his usually sharp tone. “My boy… he keeps me grounded. Before Landon, every night was the same. Blood on my hands, ghosts in my head. Now I come home and he looks at me like I’m not a monster. It changes everything.”
Viktor nods, a faint smile touching his lips.
“Same for me. My sweet boy makes the brutality bearable. He doesn’t flinch from what I am, but he reminds me there is still light in this world.
Without him, I don’t know if I would still be standing.
It’s heavy, but I don’t know if I could be the man I am without his presence in my life. ”
They both look at me expectantly.
I stare out at the dark tree line, jaw tight. “I’m conflicted,” I admit quietly. “Teddy is bright. Optimistic. Untouched by our kind of darkness. Bringing him into this world feels like dragging him into evil. I don’t know if he can handle it. I don’t know if I can handle what it might do to him.”
The words taste heavy. Ivan and Viktor exchange a glance.
Viktor speaks first. “If you care for the boy, give him a chance to see what it really means. I could arrange a playdate… my boy and yours. Safe, private, no pressure. Let him talk to someone who understands this life from the other side.”
Ivan nods. “Mine would come too. It might help Teddy understand that being with men like us isn’t all blood and shadows. There is protection. There is loyalty. There is… love, if you let it happen.”
I consider their words.
The idea has merit.
Teddy needs to see the reality, not just the fantasy I allow him in stolen moments. But not yet.
“Thank you,” I say, meaning it. “I will consider it. But only after this situation with the cartel is resolved. One war at a time.”
We walk a little farther, the night air cooling the frustration from earlier.
When we turn back toward the mansion, the tension between us has eased. We are no longer three men arguing, we are three men of business united against a common enemy.
Back inside, we return to the table with clearer heads. The plan takes shape: a coordinated strike on two fronts, precise intelligence gathering, and a contingency for every possible betrayal.
By the time the sky begins to lighten, we have a workable strategy.
I leave Viktor’s mansion as the sun rises, sliding into my sports car alone. The drive back toward the city is quiet at first, the long road stretching ahead through rolling hills.
Then I notice it.
A dark sedan, three cars back, matching my speed. It has been there for the last twenty minutes, maintaining distance but never falling too far behind.
Who do we have here?
It ain’t one of Viktor’s men.
It’s no one from my family…
Paranoia kicks in hard.
I take the next exit abruptly, speeding down a narrow back road.
The sedan follows. I push the Aston Martin harder, tires screeching as I take sharp turns, weaving through smaller streets and then onto another deserted country road.
The game of cat and mouse intensifies and I accelerate dangerously, the engine roaring, taking risks I would normally avoid.
For ten long minutes we race.
Finally, I lose the tail by cutting through a narrow service road and doubling back through a small town. When I am certain no one is behind me, I pull over on the shoulder, breathing hard, heart pounding.
I fire off a quick message to both Viktor and Ivan…
VIKTOR: Being followed on the way back. Dark sedan. Lost them, but it was deliberate. Could be Mexicans. Could be cops. Time is of the essence, we need to move urgently.
Their replies come quickly. Short, grim acknowledgments. We all know what this means. The net is tightening.
I pull back onto the road and continue toward the city, the morning sun now bright in my rearview mirror.
Teddy’s face flashes in my mind again—his bright eyes, his soft submission, the way he looked at me when I left him at his door. For a moment, the violence of my world feels even heavier.
But I push the thought aside.
Right now, survival comes first.
Everything else, including the boy who is quickly becoming my greatest weakness, must wait.
* * *
I step back into my apartment and lock the door behind me with a heavy click. The silence is immediate and welcome after the long drive and the paranoia that clung to me the entire way.
I move through the rooms methodically: checking windows, confirming the additional security measures I had installed are still intact, and scanning for any sign that someone followed me here.
Nothing.
I was not followed. The location remains secure. I’m safe for now.
Still, the tension in my shoulders refuses to ease. The cartel is moving faster than we anticipated. Weapons are already in the city. A traitor may be sitting at my own table. And recent events have only confirmed how fragile the balance truly is…
Who knows what would have happened had that car kept pace with me.
I remove my jacket and roll up my sleeves, preparing myself mentally for the next phase of the plan. Viktor and Ivan will handle their parts. I will coordinate from here, directing my most trusted men to strike the secondary stash while we draw the cartel’s attention elsewhere.
Precision is everything. One mistake and we lose the initiative.
A sharp knock at the door cuts through the quiet.
My hand moves instinctively to the gun holstered at my side. I draw it smoothly, thumb flicking off the safety as I move toward the door with silent, measured steps.
No one is supposed to be here. Not without prior warning.
I position myself to the side of the door, gun raised, and peer through the peephole.
Bobby.
I exhale slowly, lowering the weapon but keeping it in hand as I unlock and open the door.
He steps inside without hesitation, his eyes flicking immediately to the gun in my grip. My nephew doesn’t flinch. He has seen enough of this life to know what tension looks like.
“Uncle Kirill,” Bobby says, voice steady but laced with concern. “You look like you’re expecting the devil himself.”
I close and lock the door behind him, then holster the gun. “Better to be prepared than dead. What are you doing here?”
Bobby walks further into the apartment, glancing around at the sparse but elegant furnishings. He has always been perceptive, even as a child. Now, at nineteen, that perceptiveness has sharpened into something almost unnerving. He’s an Antonov, that’s for sure.
“I came to check on you,” Bobby says simply. “And to talk about Teddy.”
The name hits me harder than I’d like. I gesture for him to sit, but he remains standing, arms crossed in a way that reminds me too much of myself.
“He’s worried,” Bobby continues. “Confused. And it’s affecting him. He’s trying to hide it during our training sessions, but I can see it. He cares about you, Uncle. A lot. But he doesn’t understand your world. Our world. He’s not built for it the way we are.”
I bristle at the gentle reprimand coming from my own nephew. The pakhan in me wants to shut this conversation down immediately. No one lectures me, not even family—and especially not a junior member.
But Bobby holds my gaze without flinching. There is no disrespect in his tone, only honesty.
“He’s a good boy,” Bobby says softly. “Bright. Kind. Optimistic in a way that this life will try to crush. You need to open up to him. Let Teddy see the real you and decide if he can handle it. Or let him down gently and tell him you can’t commit.
It isn’t fair to keep him hanging on, wondering where you are and what you’re doing. ”
Bobby’s words land with uncomfortable accuracy. I turn away for a moment, staring out the tall windows at the Gothic building opposite, its spires cutting through the morning haze.
I do not like being given advice by my nineteen-year-old nephew. But I cannot deny he has a point. Teddy deserves clarity. The way I left him—cool, distant, playing the untouchable pakhan—was calculated to make him want me more. Yet it may have only deepened his confusion.
“You have a wise head on young shoulders,” I say finally, turning back to him. My voice is gruff but honest.
Bobby laughs, the sound light and unexpected in the heavy atmosphere. “I’ve had good teachers. You and Father both.”
He steps closer, his expression turning more serious again. “I want to help, Uncle. Not just with training or checking on Teddy. I want to move into the family business. Properly.”
I study him for a long moment. Bobby has always been sharp, resilient, and loyal. The last year has hardened him in ways I wish it hadn’t. Part of me wants to protect him from this life for as long as possible. Another part, the pakhan, knows blood is blood, and talent is talent.
“Soon,” I tell him. “When this situation with the cartel is resolved. Then we will talk about your place in the family.”
His eyes brighten with determination. “I’ll hold you to that.”
We stand in silence for a moment. Then Bobby tilts his head. “Come on. Let’s go see Teddy. Make things right in person. He deserves that much.”
I nod. He is right again.
As we head toward the door, I stop at the side table and pick up a compact pistol. It is small, reliable, easy to conceal. I check the magazine and hand it to Bobby.
“If you want to begin work today, we can call it a trial run,” I say, voice firm. “You can start by being my junior bodyguard on the way over.”
Bobby takes the gun without hesitation. He checks the chamber and safety with practiced ease, then tucks it into his waistband. A small, confident smile curves his lips.
“Less of the ‘junior’, Mr. Pakhan,” Bobby says, echoing my own authoritative tone back at me with surprising precision.
I allow myself a rare, brief smile. “We’ll see.”
We leave the apartment together, descending to the garage.
The drive to Teddy’s building is quiet but not uncomfortable.
Bobby sits beside me, alert and watchful, the gun a subtle weight at his side.
For the first time in days, I feel a small measure of reassurance—not just from the alliance with Viktor, but from the knowledge that my own blood is stepping up when it matters.
Teddy’s apartment building comes into view. I park the car and kill the engine. Bobby glances at me.
“Ready?” Bobby asks.
I nod once.
Whatever happens next—whether Teddy chooses to stay or walk away—I will face it directly.
No more games.
No more distance.
Only truth.
And the hope, however slim, that the bright, stubborn boy who has worked his way under my skin will decide that I am worth the danger and uncertainty that a life with a pakhan will bring.