Chapter 44
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Maksim
I want to see red. And honestly, I doubt there’s enough blood left in Aleksandr’s body to satisfy this hunger, but I’ve always been persistent.
My blade plunges deep, right where his spleen should be.
I hope he feels every cell unraveling, every fiber tearing under the steel.
His screams are everything I expected—high-pitched, pathetic.
I’ve seen children endure more pain than this man, and it doesn’t surprise me that, faced with the same cruelty he inflicted, he can’t last five minutes.
“I know you like to cut them,” I murmur with a smile, letting him see exactly what’s coming. He won’t leave this place alive, and I want my face burned into his memory, one of the last things he ever sees.
I thought about calling Andrea in, but after our last call, it was clear she never wanted to look at him again. All she said was, “Cut him, and if you have to, sew him back up just to do it again.” That’s exactly what I intend.
When I’m satisfied he’s felt enough, I twist the blade as I pull it free, making sure I’ve ruined everything inside.
The knife leaves shallow cuts tracing his skin, just deep enough to let the blood run.
He deserves to be drained dry, but I want his death to be personal.
I drag the blade higher, toward his chest.
Before the steel touches him, he spits out a final taunt, voice raw and broken. “Too bad I never got to cut Vera. She would’ve looked divine with my blade on her thighs.”
He said her name. He dared to stain her memory with his mouth.
Without hesitation, I slice off his nipples, watching the flesh drop to the floor.
His scream is sharp enough to rattle my bones, but it’s not enough.
Not after he stood by and let her be abused.
Not after Andrea begged him to stop. Not after he exploited Zoya’s illness for information.
I keep cutting, carving deep lines down his back and arms until he’s nothing but a fountain of red. Time blurs. No one stops me. He’s already slipping into shock, his body trembling, his skin ghostly pale. I step back, the knife heavy in my hand, watching as his blood pools around him.
He deserves exactly what Andrea wished for—to be stitched up and torn open again. But looking at him now, all I see is a pitiful shadow of a man, someone who preyed on innocence and never understood what it meant to have a soul.
All I want now is to leave this place and force myself to forget. To forget every insult, every moment I could barely breathe, every second my lungs burned as I begged for mercy.
I sense Julia before I see her, her scent cutting through the metallic tang of blood and bringing a breath of fresh air into this suffocating space. She slips the knife from my hand and steps forward.
“Julia…,” I start, but she’s already in front of him.
She grabs Aleksandr by the hair, forcing his battered face up. His eyes barely open, glazed and unfocused.
“I made myself a promise years ago,” she says, her voice steady, cold.
“You don’t know what it is, but I’ll tell you now, because you’re going to make sure it comes true.
I swore I’d take your eyes out. And now that I know you looked at my sister, cabrón, you’re lucky I’m not tying you to a hospital bed just so Max can start all over again.
So do us both a favor and hold still for a few seconds. ”
She raises the blade, the edge glinting in the harsh warehouse light. Aleksandr coughs, blood flecking his lips, and spits out his last words, defiant even now.
“Lupe will never forget me.”
“Maybe so, but she’ll have a long life—you won’t. She’ll get the love she deserves, while you rot in some unmarked grave. There’s nothing sadder than being forgotten, and that’s all you’ll ever be. Forgotten. Just a grain of sand that once passed over this earth.”
“Lupe’s going to ha—”
Julia’s hand drives the blade through his eye. She doesn’t care about the blood splattering her skin. She doesn’t care about his thrashing. All she cares about is that he dared to say her sister’s name again. That he came close enough to seduce her. That he dared to break her heart.
Aleksandr’s scream is cut short, replaced by ragged, desperate breaths. His body sags, finally spent, with his venom and his legacy leaking out onto the cold concrete.
When she steps back, I know it’s over. Not everything—there are still circles to break, still children to save—but today, the world is rid of another viper, and that’s the only comfort I have.
I close my eyes and, for a moment, think of her. For you, Vera. For the wings they broke when you could have soared.
When I turn to Roman, I signal that it’s time to bury him. I could have left it to the soldiers, but I need to be the one to throw the first handful of dirt. I need that certainty, when I close my eyes tonight, that he’s six feet under and he’ll never hurt anyone again.
Julia leaves to take Lupe home. Even if her sister isn’t my favorite person right now, I get it. They need time to find each other again. Amalia’s already there, and I think this time together will help them heal.
Behind the warehouse, there’s a patch of woods. It takes us ten minutes to haul the body to the right spot. A soldier brings us shovels, and I glance at Roman in his expensive suit and leather shoes.
“I can do this myself, you know,” I tell him because he doesn’t exactly look ready to dig a grave.
Before he can answer, I hear footsteps behind us and frown when I see Niko jogging over, dressed in a dark blue suit just like Roman’s.
“Can you two never wait for me?” he calls, and I’m too surprised to answer.
“If you’d finished that negotiation an hour ago, you might’ve caught the show,” my twin shoots back.
“I had a…personal issue,” is all Niko says, and even I know better than to ask for details.
I look at my brothers, both of them looking like they’re about to take over a boardroom, not bury a body in the woods, and I can’t help but laugh. They both glance at me, and I wonder if they have any idea how ridiculous they look in thousand-dollar suits, ready to dig a grave.
“I swear, neither of you has ever held a shovel in your life. Careful not to ruin those perfect manicures.”
For a second, I can see the curses on their tongues, but in the end, it’s Niko who grins and says, “I’ve had my hands on a stripper pole before, and honestly, it’s not that different.” He jams the shovel into the dirt and tosses the first load aside.
“You sure you’re not the adopted one?” Roman snorts.
“Please. Someone had to bring style and charisma to this family. No offense, Max, but you’re like Roman’s Chucky-on-a-motorcycle version, and Roman’s Hannibal Lecter when Luna’s having a bad day. Lucky for you both, I’m here to save the family’s reputation.”
For the first time in ages, I feel something lift off my chest and start to laugh—real, shaking laughter, tears stinging my eyes. I can’t remember the last time that happened.
By the time the moment passes, we’ve dug one foot down. We pick up the pace so night doesn’t catch us.
The three of us finish in about an hour. When I lower Aleksandr into the grave, I look down one last time at the man who could’ve been an ally in hell but chose to become a demon instead.
“He deserved to die slower,” Roman mutters.
Maybe. But that would’ve meant more time in his presence, and I’ve had nearly three decades of that already.
“I think even the devil has a score to settle with him, after all the innocence and purity he’s devoured.”
It doesn’t take long to cover the grave. When we’re done, I look at my brothers, who didn’t have to be here but are anyway.
We survived. We endured. We made it through.
Today, we’re all still standing, and right now, that’s all that matters.