Chapter Two
Aleksei
The antiseptic smell hits me first.
It’s that clinical, sterile scent that promises both healing and death. It clings to everything in this private medical facility.
I stand motionless before the glass partition, watching my son’s small body nearly disappear among the tubes and wires. The harsh fluorescent lights cast shadows across his pale face, making him look like a ghost. My hand presses against the glass—the closest I can get to touching my boy.
Moy syn.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this.
He was supposed to come out better. Stronger. Ready to run out and take on the world on his own two feet. Not be in here, facing death.
I should have done something. I shouldn’t have allowed Malhotra to talk me into this fucking operation.
The steady beep of the monitors punctuates the silence.
Each sound confirms he’s still alive, still fighting.
But he looks so fucking small. Too small for all this medical equipment to invade his fragile body.
The ventilator pushes air into his lungs with mechanical precision, a rhythmic whoosh that makes my chest tighten.
The sterile hospital air burns my nostrils.
I’ve spent my life surrounded by gore, death, dealt it with my own hands, yet nothing prepared me for this— watching my own son hover between worlds, unable to reach him.
This was supposed to fix him.
Give him a normal life.
I press my forehead against the cool glass. The experimental AI spinal treatment was his best chance— his only chance— to walk. Now it might cost him everything.
Footsteps approach from behind. The soft shuffle of expensive leather shoes against linoleum.
I don’t turn.
Dr. Malhotra’s reflection appears beside mine in the glass, his face drawn with exhaustion. His white coat rustles softly as he clutches his clipboard to his chest.
“Mr. Tarasov.” His voice carries that distinct Oxford polish. “I wish I had better news.”
Now I turn. Malhotra looks exhausted— dark circles under his eyes, his normally immaculate appearance rumpled from hours of emergency surgery. The dim hallway light catches on his wire-rimmed eyeglasses as he consults the clipboard in his hands.
“What the fuck happened, Malhotra?”
The doctor sighs, adjusting his glasses. “The neural interface triggered an autoimmune response we couldn’t have predicted. His body rejected the implant violently.” He pauses, choosing his words carefully. “We’ve induced a medical coma to reduce brain activity and inflammation, but…”
“But what?” The words scrape against my throat.
“His system has been severely compromised. We’re doing everything we can to save him.”
A muscle twitches in my jaw. In my world, failure has consequences. People pay with blood. But here, in this sterile prison of beeping machines and antiseptic, I am powerless.
The doctor’s face reveals more concern than his words, triggering a wave of cold fear in my gut.
“Will he—?” The question dies in my throat. I can’t bring myself to finish it.
“The next twenty-four hours are critical.” Malhotra’s voice softens. “His body has undergone significant trauma, but children are remarkably resilient.”
I nod once, jaw clenched so tight that the muscles in my throat ache. I picture Bobik as he was a week ago, his face alight with joy as we played badminton together. A game he played from a fucking wheelchair, and yet he did it with a smile.
My boy’s a warrior.
He’ll make it.
He’s going to make it.
“The surgical team is on standby if his condition changes. I’ve called in specialists from three countries to consult on his case.” The doctor hesitates. “I’m not giving up on him… on his case. I will never give up. I need you to know that.”
I give another wordless nod. What’s there to say right now?
His hand lands on my shoulder—a gesture that would normally warrant breaking fingers, but I barely register it. “Mr. Tarasov, perhaps you should rest. We’ll alert you immediately if—”
“No.” I bark the word out. The doctor visibly flinches but doesn’t back away. Most men would. But he’s the one person who holds my son’s life in his hands. I give him leeway.
“I’ll return shortly with the latest results,” he says quietly before walking away, his footsteps fading down the corridor.
As Malhotra leaves, I remain frozen, a storm of contradicting emotions raging inside me— rage at my own helplessness, fear I haven’t felt since childhood, and an overwhelming need to inflict violence on those responsible. Except no one is responsible, aside from fickle fucking Fate.
The beeping monitors become a torturous rhythm marking each moment my son fights for life.
He’s going to make it.
Fight, Bobik!
I lean against the cool glass once more. My breath fogs the surface, obscuring my son’s face for a moment. I wipe it away with my sleeve, desperate to keep him in sight.
I should have protected you better, synok.
Heavy footsteps approach from behind— Sasha’s distinctive gait. I don’t turn, just rasp out “Stella?” My voice is hoarse, revealing more vulnerability than I’m comfortable showing, even to my most trusted man.
“Still unconscious.” Sasha stands at my shoulder, his reflection appearing in the glass beside mine.
He’s been keeping me updated since I rushed back to the hospital.
It was a fucking shitshow in that place after I left.
Blood has dried on his shirt sleeve where a bullet grazed him.
“Doctor says it’s a severe concussion. She’ll need to stay a few days. ”
The words hit me hard, each one a reminder of my failure to protect what’s mine. My chest constricts, making it hard to breathe.
“The baby?” My voice cracks slightly.
Please, God.
Please…
“Unharmed. A miracle, considering what happened.” Sasha shifts his weight. “They’re monitoring both closely.”
I release a breath I didn’t know I was holding.
“Good.” I exhale. My shoulders drop a fraction of an inch, the only outward sign of my overwhelming relief. Not that their well-being had anything to do with me. Both of my children faced death today, and I did nothing to help either of them.
I’m a fucking useless parent. Just like the pathetic piece of shit who fathered me.
Pizdets!
I mentally shake myself and get my head out of my ass.
This is no time for self-pity. My children needed protection, and I failed them both.
The taste of bile rises in my throat, bitter and familiar.
I swallow it down with the rest of my weakness.
Later, I’ll punish myself properly—hours in the gym until my muscles scream, or perhaps target practice until my hands bleed. For now, I need answers.
“Gianni?” I ask, though I already suspect the answer. My jaw clenches at the mere thought of his name, a burning hatred building behind my sternum.
“Dead. Two chest shots. One to the head.” There’s a clinical detachment in Sasha’s voice that I appreciate. He glances around us before turning back to me. “His body’s been disposed of. The others, too.”
Cold satisfaction washes through me. One threat eliminated, at least.
“And you said Sofia got away?” Her involvement was a complication I hadn’t expected. Another loose end dangling before me, threatening to unravel everything. My jaw tightens as I consider the implications— she knows too much, has seen too much.
“During the gunfight.” Sasha’s tone hardens, a rare crack in his professional demeanor. “Probably scuttled back to her father.”
I suppress a growl of frustration. Sofia running to Novikov changes the equation entirely.
The old man has always been a problem, but with his daughter feeding him information about tonight’s bloodbath, he becomes an immediate threat.
I run my thumb along my jawline, feeling the tension building there.
“ Yebanaya suka! ” I snarl. My jaw clenches as I imagine what I’d like to do to her. Pure rage circles inside me as I process that the woman who hurt Stella— my Stella—is still breathing.
“You want to get rid of her?” Sasha asks. “I could send a team.”
I jerk my head. “No. That would start a war.” One I’d be quite happy to finish, but I need to consider the consequences. Taking out the daughter of a family boss will cause a shitstorm that even I don’t want to get caught up in. Not now, at least.
My fingers tighten into a fist, knuckles straining with the force of my restraint. Every instinct in my body demands retribution for what she did to Stella.
“The Novikov family has too many allies,” I growl, rolling my shoulders to release some tension.
It doesn’t work. “We move against them directly, half of the East Coast families will align against us.” I run a hand through my hair, considering our options.
“For now, we watch. And when the moment is right…”
I don’t need to finish the thought. Sasha understands. Patience has always been one of my most lethal weapons. But right now, it’s stretching my nerves to snapping point. Rage boils within me, threatening to explode.
Fucking Novikov!
Without warning, frustration boils over, and I slam my fist against the wall, startling a passing nurse. The pain radiates up my arm, but it’s nothing compared to the agony tearing through my chest.
“I should have been there,” I growl, self-loathing evident in each word. Images flash through my mind— Stella bleeding, calling for me, while I was nowhere to be found. The Pakhan , the protector, absent when it mattered most.
“You couldn’t have known—”
“I should have,” I cut him off. “This is on me, Sasha.”
He falls silent, knowing better than to argue. I see the resignation in his eyes, the subtle shift in his posture. Sasha knows me too well— knows when I’ve made up my mind. After a moment, he speaks again, his voice lower, more measured.
“The men are waiting for orders. We should return to the manor, boss. You need—”
“ Nyet! ” My response is immediate and final. “I can’t. I’m staying here with my son and my… with Stella.” My voice is unyielding—I will be here for them. For perhaps the first time in my life, I choose to sit with my fear rather than destroy its source.
Sasha studies me for a long moment before nodding. “I’ll have security tripled and bring you a change of clothes.”
“And have Diana bring Bobik’s books.” I don’t take my eyes off my son. “The ones about space. I want to read to him when he wakes up.”
“ Konechno . Of course.” Sasha retreats, his footsteps fading down the corridor.
I remain standing guard between the two hospital wards containing my entire world. My face settles into a mask of grim determination.
I’ll be here.
When they open their eyes… I’ll be exactly where I should be. Between them and any threat, ready to burn the world down to keep them safe.