Chapter Forty-Nine
Aleksei
I huff out a breath and settle at my desk.
The soft glow of the laptop screen shines through the dim light of my study. The house is quiet — an unusual calm that settles only in the dead of night. I shift in my seat as I open my encrypted email. A new message from James Whitmore sits at the top of the inbox.
I click it open, my eyes scanning the formal language:
“Dear Mr. Tarasov,
After careful consideration, we have decided to terminate the existing contract for the Cyclone R9 shipments. Strategic shifts and more cost-effective alternatives have necessitated this decision. We appreciate your understanding and wish you the best in your future endeavors.
Sincerely,
James Whitmore”
I reread the words, each sentence pumping red hot rage into my veins. Strategic shifts. Cost-effective alternatives. More bullshit.
Khash shlyukha!
I have no doubt this is about Maranzano again.
That Italian cunt has been slithering too close for comfort. He undercut my prices, threatened Stella, and now, he’s even sunk his fangs into my biggest contract. He clearly doesn’t understand the implications of his actions.
Nyet.
I rise from my chair, my feet scraping against the floor. A surge of anger courses through me, hot and undeniable. This isn’t just a loss of seventy-five million dollars; it’s a direct attack on my reputation. An attack on me. And in my world, such offenses are met with absolute retribution.
I stride across the room, pulling out my phone. “Sasha,” I bark into the receiver.
“ Da , boss?” His voice is immediate, alert despite the late hour.
“We must make a move on Maranzano. Sooner than we planned.” My tone carries a finality sharp as a gunshot.
“What do you want to do, boss?”
“I want him gone. No loose ends. Make it clean, and make sure it sends a message.” I say coldly.
There’s a brief pause. “Understood. I’ll assemble a team.”
“Good. I want it done by the end of the week.”
“On it.”
I end the call, my grip on the phone tightening until my knuckles whiten. The room feels stifling, the air too thick to breathe. My vision narrows, a red haze threatening to consume my thoughts.
Instinctively, I reach for the decanter of vodka on the side table, the clear liquid catching the faint light.
I pour a generous measure into a crystal glass, the smell sharp and familiar.
I raise it to my lips, but something stops me.
An image of Bobik flashes in my mind — his hopeful eyes, the way he looks up to me.
Then Stella’s face surfaces, her trust, her vulnerability.
Nyet. I slam the glass down, the vodka sloshing over the rim and spilling onto the table. Drowning myself won’t solve anything. I need clarity, not clouds.
Turning on my heel, I head toward the gym. The urge to hit something, to channel this fury, is overwhelming. The corridors of the manor blur past me until I reach the gym. The scent of leather and metal greets me, promising an outlet.
I strip off my shirt, tossing it aside. The cool air brushes over my skin, but the fire inside me burns hotter. Wrapping my hands, I approach the heavy punching bag suspended from the ceiling. It sways slightly, as if anticipating the onslaught.
I launch into a barrage of punches, each strike fueled by the image of Maranzano’s smug face. Left, right, hook. The bag shudders under the impact, chains rattling above. My breath comes in sharp bursts, muscles coiling and releasing with each movement.
“ Ty dumayesh’, chto mozghesh’ igrat’ so mnoy? ” I growl between hits. “You think you can play with me?”
I push harder, my fists connecting with brutal force. The leather bites back, the friction burning through the wraps and into my skin. Warmth trickles down my fingers — I glance briefly to see blood seeping through, staining the white cloth red.
Good.
The pain sharpens my focus, blurs the line between body and mind. Sweat drips into my eyes, but I don’t stop. Can’t stop. Not until every ounce of this rage is spent.
Gianni’s treachery is more than just business. He tried to humiliate Stella, to use her as a pawn. The memory of her eyes when she told me about his threats ignites a protective fury I haven’t felt in years. No one harms what’s mine. No one.
I throw a final, devastating punch, the force sending the bag swinging wildly. I step back, chest heaving, the room spinning slightly from exertion. The ache in my hands pulses, but it’s a welcome distraction from the storm in my head.
Wiping my brow with the back of my arm, I turn away from the battered bag. The adrenaline begins to ebb, leaving behind a restless energy. I need to keep moving.
As if on cue, my phone buzzes in the pile of discarded clothing. I grab it, noting Dr. Malhotra’s name flashing on the screen.
“Dr. Malhotra,” I answer, attempting to steady my breathing.
“Mr. Tarasov, I hope I’m not disturbing you,” he says politely.
“No. What news do you have?”
“I wanted to update you on the preparations for Bobik’s operation,” he begins. “Our team has secured the necessary equipment, and we’re finalizing protocols for the AI integration.”
“Good,” I reply, pacing the length of the room. “And the facility?”
“Secured and private, as per your specifications. We’ve ensured that anonymity will be maintained throughout the process.”
“See that it is,” I warn. “I do not want any mention of my son’s involvement leaking to the media.”
“Of course,” he assures me. “Discretion is paramount. I also wanted to discuss the financial arrangements.”
“Ten million, as discussed. If there are more expenses, tell my people. They will settle anything extra.”
“Thank you, Mr. Tarasov. I’ll keep you informed of any further developments.”
“Do that.”
I end the call, a flicker of hope breaking through the darkness. Bobik’s surgery is a risk, but it’s a chance for him to have the life he deserves. A life without limits.
But with that hope comes anxiety. The what-ifs gnaw at me — the potential complications, the slim margin for error. I can’t lose him. I need to ensure that every possible precaution is taken.
Scrolling through my contacts, I find Vasya’s number and hit dial. He answers immediately.
“Bratok.”
“Vasya, reach out to our contacts in media and cybersecurity,” I instruct. “I want a complete blackout on any information regarding a high-profile surgery in the next month. Monitor for any leaks.”
“Understood,” he replies. “I’ll put in more firewalls and keep a close watch.”
“ Spasibo .”
“Anything else?”
“That’s all for now.”
I hang up, the weight on my shoulders only slightly eased. It’s late but I already know that I’m not going to sleep. The mansion feels too small, walls pressing in.
I decide on a night run. The air outside is crisp, the scent of pine and the distant ocean carried on the breeze. I take off down the secluded path that winds through the estate, my feet pounding against the earth in a steady rhythm.
The physical exertion clears my mind, thoughts falling into place with each stride.
As I loop back toward the main house, a lingering thought surfaces — Stella.
I slow my pace, eventually coming to a stop beneath the shadow of an old oak tree. Pulling out my phone, I access the secure surveillance app. A few taps bring up the live feed of her room.
The camera reveals her asleep, the soft rise and fall of her breath visible beneath the thin sheet. The moonlight filters through the curtains, casting a silvery glow across her bare skin. She’s shifted in her sleep, the fabric draped low over her hips, exposing the gentle curve of her belly.
Seeing her like this — a mix of strength and vulnerability — stirs something alien within me. A protective instinct, yes, but also a much deeper pull. An attachment I hadn’t anticipated.
“ Zaychik, ” I murmur softly. My little rabbit.
Her hand rests lightly on her stomach, as if subconsciously acknowledging the life growing within her. Our child. The thought sends a jolt through me.
I’ve kept people at arm’s length for so long; in my world, these things are necessary. But with Stella, those barriers waver. She challenges my control, stirs emotions I’d long since buried.
I watch as she moves, a small frown creasing her brow. Is she dreaming? A pang of guilt hits me when I think of how upset she was about Gianni. She shouldn’t have to feel that way. She shouldn’t have to deal with the bullshit that come with this world.
Resolute, I make a silent vow. I’ll eliminate the threats to my family, secure our future. Whatever it takes.
The weight of responsibility settles over me, but this time, it’s coupled with an unexpected warmth. Perhaps, with Stella and Bobik, there’s a chance for something more. Something beyond the cold dealings and calculated moves that have defined my existence my entire life.
But then again, perhaps a man like me doesn’t deserve it.