Chapter Two
Aleksei
The whir of servos fills the room as Bobik’s new chair responds to his command.
“ Papa , look!” His eyes light up as the chair smoothly rotates, following his voice pattern. “It understood me perfectly.”
I lean against the wall, arms crossed, watching him navigate the space between his desk and bed. Pride swells in my chest, but I keep my expression neutral. The technology cost millions to develop, but seeing him move independently makes every Ruble worth it.
“Try the gesture controls.” I tap the armrest panel. “Show me what you’ve learned.”
Bobik’s thin fingers dance over the surface. The chair responds instantly, gliding forward, then executing a precise turn. His dark hair falls across his forehead as he concentrates, reminding me so much of myself at his age.
Except I could walk.
“I’ve been practicing the programming interface too.” He guides the chair to his computer setup. “Did you know we can modify the AI response patterns? I’ve been studying neural networks and—” He launches into an explanation that leaves me lost after the first sentence.
I move closer, resting my hand on his shoulder. The familiar ache hits my chest – he’s so brilliant, yet trapped in this wing of the house for his safety. But his mind… his mind roams free through worlds I barely understand.
“The other day, I was reading about quantum computing applications in medical—”
“ Medlenno . Slow down.” I squeeze his shoulder gently. “Save some discoveries for tomorrow, malysh .”
He grins up at me, that pure smile that makes me forget every dark thing I’ve done. “Will you bring me more books? About artificial intelligence?”
“Of course.” I’d bring him the moon if he asked. “Whatever you need for your research.”
I settle into the chair beside Bobik’s bed as he spreads out the glossy pages across his lap. His fingers trace the detailed illustrations of prehistoric beasts, voice rising with excitement.
“See these markings on the Velociraptor’s skull? New evidence suggests they had feathers, like modern birds. And their hunting patterns—” He flips to another page. “They were pack hunters, using complex strategies.”
I nod, letting his enthusiasm wash over me. The technical terms blur together, but his face lights up with each revelation. He’s memorized every detail, every theory.
“And look at this one about black holes.” He reaches for another book, carefully balancing it against his chair’s control panel. “Scientists think they might be portals to other universes. The math behind it is fascinating—”
“Show me.” I lean closer, breathing in the familiar scent of his shampoo as he walks me through the equations. Most of it is beyond me – numbers were never my strength – but I recognize the sharp intelligence in his explanations.
“The gravitational forces would tear apart anything that crosses the event horizon, but theoretically—” He pauses, catching my confused expression. “ Papa , are you following this?”
“Every word,” I lie, making him laugh.
“You have that look again. Like when I tried explaining quantum entanglement.”
I check my watch, the motion automatic after years of timing these visits. The numbers mock me – another precious hour gone.
“ Malysh …” I start.
His smile dims. He knows what’s coming. “Just ten more minutes? I haven’t shown you the new theory about dark matter.”
The plea in his voice twists something in my chest. But routine keeps him safe. Structure protects him.
My attention shifts from Bobik as Olga enters with a tray of drinks, her sweater hanging loose where it used to fit snugly. The shadows under her eyes have deepened since last week.
“Drinks for everyone,” she says brightly, but for some reason, her voice catches my attention.
She hasn’t been herself lately. Although, to be fair, the mother of my child has never been a strong woman.
It’s probably why I insisted they both stay with me, even though it was clear that she and I would never be more than a fleeting dalliance.
And, of course, after the disaster surrounding Bobik’s birth…
I shake my head. I don’t want to think about that right now.
I watch Olga’s trembling hands as she sets down our drinks. Her wrists look skeletal, bones pressing against paper-thin skin. The weight loss is dramatic – her once-healthy frame now swimming in clothes that fit properly just weeks ago.
“You should sit.” I gesture to the empty chair.
“I’m fine standing.” Her smile doesn’t reach her eyes. Dark circles beneath them tell a different story. As Bobik turns his attention to his books, I turn to her.
“When did you last see a doctor?”
She busies herself arranging the glasses, avoiding my gaze. “Don’t start, Aleksei. I don’t need your mothering.”
“This isn’t mothering. You’re sick.”
“I’m tired. There’s a difference.” Her hand trembles as she pushes hair from her face. The grey pallor of her skin sets off warning bells.
“Tired doesn’t make you drop thirty pounds in three months.”
“Please.” The sharpness in her voice catches me off guard. “I don’t need this right now. Not from you.”
I lean back, studying her. The defensive posture. The way she angles her body away from me. She’s hiding something.
“Bobik needs you healthy.”
“Don’t.” Her fingers clench around the empty serving tray. “Using our son to manipulate me won’t work.”
I bite back a response. She’s right – I’m pushing too hard. But watching her waste away, knowing what it could mean for Bobik…
“At least let me arrange for some tests.”
“I can manage my own health.” She straightens, summoning what strength remains. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have other things to attend to.”
I let her go, already planning calls to my medical contacts. Whatever she’s hiding, I’ll find out. For Bobik’s sake, I have to know.
My focus shifts once more as my son tugs at my sleeve, chattering happily as he shows me another diagram that makes no sense to me. What makes sense, though, is the depth of my love for him. My cold heart warms a little when I’m around him. And that’s something that rarely happens anywhere else.
I watch as Bobik’s enthusiasm gradually wanes. His eyelids droop despite his determination to share one more fact about quantum mechanics.
“ Papa , did you know that… that…” He yawns, struggling to keep his eyes open.
“Time for rest, malysh .” I take the book from his lap, marking his place before setting it aside. His new chair whirs softly as I help him transfer to his bed.
“But I’m not…” Another yawn interrupts his protest as I pull the covers up to his chest. His dark eyes, mirror images of my own, fight to stay open.
“Sleep.” I run my hand over his hair, remembering how my mother used to do the same for me. “Your books will wait.”
Within moments, his breathing evens out. I adjust his blanket one final time, then step back. The security monitors need checking — a ritual I never skip, even though I know that the system I installed in Olga’s place is state of the art.
I roll up my sleeves as I prepare to inspect every camera, every sensor, every guard position.
Moving through the space, I verify each security measure. Bulletproof windows, panic room, emergency medical equipment tucked into false cabinet panels. Cameras monitor every angle of the place, all feeding through to a 24-hour control room.
I pause at Bobik’s bedroom door, remembering the night I learned this lesson. Three years ago, the Chechen brigade thought they could leverage my “weakness.” They’d caught wind of rumors about a child. My child.
Their mistake was sending only four men.
I still hear their screams as I made examples of them. But the message was clear – my enemies would use Bobik to destroy me if they could.
Because they know. A bullet I can handle. A knife, a beating, torture – all occupational hazards. But Bobik? My son is my heart outside my body. Vulnerable. Defenseless in his chair. One successful attack and…
My jaw clenches. I force the thought away, focusing on the security panel’s soft glow. The fortifications aren’t just walls and weapons – they’re my love made concrete and steel. Every lock, every hidden camera, every escape route exists because I cannot lose him.
I lean down, pressing my lips to Bobik’s temple. His skin is warm, peaceful in sleep. My hand lingers on his hair, memorizing its softness. These moments – they gut me every time.
“ Spi sladko , sweet dreams, malysh .” My whisper barely disturbs the air. The door clicks shut behind me as I tear myself away.
Memories flash – the hospital room, the concerned group of medical specialists. Their faces as they stammered excuses.
“These things happen… unfortunate situation…”
Pizda!
I don’t care what they said. This wasn’t an “unfortunate situation.” It was negligence. Criminal fucking negligence.
I should have ripped out their throats then.
My fists clench. The familiar rage burns hot, demanding blood. But violence won’t fix Bobik’s spine. Won’t let him run or jump or play like other children.
The irony cuts deep. I command an empire built on fear. Men tremble at my name. Yet here, watching my son sleep through bulletproof glass, I’m stripped bare. Exposed. No amount of money or power can shield him from his own body’s betrayal.
I force myself to move. One foot in front of the other. Away from his door. Away from the only pure thing in my life.
As I leave the warmth of the home he shares with his mother, the night feels empty around me. But experience has taught me shadows lie. My eyes scan the darkness – parked cars, rustling trees, the neighbor’s security light clicking on.
The cool metal of my Glock presses against my ribs. Comforting. Not like the broken vodka bottle my father used that Christmas Eve when I was eight. The jagged glass had torn through my shirt, left scars that still mark my shoulder.
A shadow moves nearby. My hand twitches toward my weapon before I register the movement.
Paranoid bastard .
But paranoia keeps people alive.