Chapter 21
Kirill
The docks are shrouded in darkness, the only light coming from a few flickering security lamps and the distant glow of the city skyline. I move silently with six of my most trusted soldiers, each of us armed and focused.
The air smells of salt water, rust, and oil. Somewhere ahead, in one of the old warehouses, the cartel has stashed a major shipment of weapons, enough to arm a small army for their planned assault on the city.
This is very real now.
I know there is no going back.
Every Pakhan will go through this during their reign.
Probably more than once. But somehow this feels different to how I expected, like there’s an extra pressure on this.
If we lose, I know that the family will be razed to the ground by the cartel, perhaps so badly that they will never be able to climb up in the world again.
I need to succeed here. There is simply no other option.
We approach from the shadows, keeping low behind shipping containers. I signal to my man as we advance, so far undetected, and ready to make a move at my command.
Eyes open.
Scan. Observe.
Move like the wolf in the night…
Then I see him.
One of the cartel generals—a stocky man with a scarred face and the look of a natural born killer—stands near the open warehouse doors, surrounded by at least a dozen armed men. They are loading crates onto a truck, laughing and smoking as if they own the night.
My blood runs hot.
I pull out my phone and send a quick message to Viktor:
KIRILL: Docks location. Identified one of their generals. I’m striking now. Take him out and the cartel may retreat. Now or never.
Viktor fires back a message that leaves no room for interpretation…
VIKTOR: Send him to hell.
I signal my men. We move in stealthily at first, using the maze of containers for cover. Two of my soldiers take out the outer sentries with silenced shots—clean, quiet kills.
We get within thirty yards before one of the cartel men spots movement.
“Advance!” I roar, my heart thumping and adrenaline coursing over my body.
Shouts erupt. Gunfire explodes across the docks.
The night turns into blood-splattered chaos.
Bullets ricochet off metal containers with sharp metallic pings.
My men return fire, advancing in disciplined bursts while I push forward, pistol in hand.
I drop two cartel soldiers with precise shots to the chest, then dive behind a stack of pallets as return fire tears through the wood above my head.
“Flank them!” I shout. “Push!”
My soldiers split, half laying down suppressing fire while the others move to the sides. The cartel general barks orders in rapid Spanish, trying to rally his men.
I catch a glimpse of him retreating toward the water’s edge, where several powerboats are tied up.
Not today.
I break cover and sprint forward, firing as I run, signaling for a soldier to run with me. A bullet grazes my left arm, burning like fire, but I don’t slow.
One of my soldiers takes a hit to the shoulder but keeps fighting. We press the advantage, dropping more of their men until the general and two of his bodyguards reach the boats.
He jumps into the nearest powerboat. The engine roars to life.
I curse and sprint toward another boat tied nearby. One of my most trusted lieutenants is right behind me.
“Cover me!” I yell.
He lays down fire as I leap into the boat, hot-wire the ignition with practiced speed, and gun the throttle. The powerboat surges forward, cutting through the dark water like a blade. The cartel general’s boat is already racing away, heading toward open water.
The chase is on.
Wind whips my face. Spray flies over the bow. I steer with one hand while firing with the other. Shots ring out from the general’s boat, his bodyguards returning fire.
A bullet shatters part of my windshield.
Another punches through the side of the hull.
“Fuck,” I growl. “You ain’t hit the most important target, asshole.”
I push the throttle to its limit, closing the gap. The two boats race parallel for a moment, engines screaming. I line up my shot, breathe out, and squeeze the trigger.
The bullet strikes the general square in the head.
His body slumps. The cartel powerboat veers wildly out of control, slamming into the concrete embankment at high speed. The impact is catastrophic and the boat explodes in a fireball of fuel and debris, lighting up the night sky.
I throttle back, breathing hard, watching the flames reflect on the water.
The war might not be over.
But this battle has very much been won for now.
And with Viktor and Ivan no doubt holding up their end of the bargain wherever they are right now, I can only hope that this is the last of the cartel we’ll be seeing for some time.
* * *
I meet up with Viktor and Ivan a couple of hours later at one of Viktor’s private bars on the edge of the financial district.
Both men are bloodied but thankfully very much alive.
Viktor has a cut above his eye. Ivan’s shirt is torn and stained with someone else’s blood. We look like men who have walked through hell and come out the other side.
We raise glasses of vodka.
“To victory,” Viktor says.
“To the fallen,” Ivan adds.
“To unity,” I declare.
We drink deeply. The burn feels good. For the first time in days, the tension in my shoulders eases slightly.
“They will speak of this night for many years,” Viktor says.
“And some will lie and say they were there,” Ivan adds, a wry smile on his face. “But only those who lived through it will know how it went down.”
I nod in agreement. Our triumvirate strike will go down in history, in all of our families.
I feel proud to have led the Antonov family through it.
To lead from the front, to be the pakhan who lets actions speak louder than words means something.
I don’t say it out loud, but I know that my father would have been proud of me tonight.
“Our peace pact will continue,” Viktor says. “If that is what you wish, Kirill?”
“It is,” I say. “We will always be different families with our own best interests at heart. But… we are stronger when we work together. Any other family will think twice before stepping up to the team that vanquished the cartel.”
“I hate to bring the moment down,” Ivan says. “But we still have the small matter of a potential rat to handle.”
“Tomorrow,” I say.
“Tomorrow,” Viktor adds.
“Of course,” Ivan says. “Tonight… vodka.”
The door to the private room opens.
The boys walk in… Eddie and Landon first, then Bobby, and finally Teddy.
The moment I see him, a huge release of energy floods through me.
All the adrenaline, the fear, the cold calculation of the night collapses into something raw and real.
I cross the room in three strides and pull him into my arms. My most incredible boy melts against me, burying his face in my chest.
“I love you,” I say, the words coming out rough and honest. “I want to be your Forever Daddy. That’s if you still feel the same.”
Teddy looks up at me, eyes shining with tears and joy. “Yes,” he whispers. “Yes, I do.”
We kiss. It’s passionate, deep, full of everything we’ve been through and everything still ahead. His hands clutch my shirt. Mine hold his like I’ll never let go.
When we finally pull apart, the others are watching with quiet smiles. Viktor raises his glass again.
“To new beginnings,” Viktor says.
We all drink.
For the first time in a long time, the future doesn’t feel like only war and shadows.
It feels like something worth fighting for.