4. Chapter 4
4
Konstantin
“ H old the Makarov like this.” I adjust Nikolai’s grip, moving his fingers off the barrel. His hands are still smaller than mine but steady enough for a twelve-year-old. “You’re not here to break your wrist. Keep it steady.”
His hands tremble—barely noticeable, but I see it. Nikolai’s gray-blue eyes, so much like my own, narrow as he focuses on the pistol. He’s overthinking, as always, analyzing every angle instead of trusting himself. Nikolai doesn’t argue; he nods, his jaw tightening as he refocuses on the target thirty feet ahead. The boy’s a thinker, not a fighter, but that won’t matter in the world waiting for him. Thought alone won’t keep him alive.
Lev, standing to my right, stockier and more muscular than Nikolai, has the same sandy blond hair, though his is tousled and wild, matching his restless personality. Bouncing on the balls of his feet, Lev’s eyes glint with impatience as he grips his pistol like it’s an extension of his arm, brimming with confidence he hasn’t earned yet. The smirk tugging at his lips is so familiar it might as well be a mirror of my own from a time long past.
“Let me go first. I’ll nail it.”
“Patience.” My voice is sharp enough to stop him mid-shift. “This isn’t a competition.”
Lev’s shoulders tense for a moment, but he recovers fast, rolling them back and smirking. He needs to learn control, but I can’t fault his instinct to dive in. That recklessness has its place—it’s just not here.
I step back, gesturing to Nikolai. “Whenever you’re ready.”
The boy breathes in slowly, raising the gun. His stance is solid, just as I showed him, but his aim wavers. He hesitates. A bead of sweat drips down the side of his temple despite the cool morning air. The gun doesn’t fire.
Lev exhales loudly, arms crossed. “He’s overthinking again. Just pull the damn trigger, Kolya .”
“Shut up, Lev,” Nikolai mutters, his eyes narrowing at the target.
I glance at Lev, raising a brow. He knows better than to interfere, but his restless energy can’t stay contained. It’s like watching a tightly wound spring ready to snap.
“Let him finish,” I say. “You’ll have your turn.”
Nikolai finally fires, the crack of the shot breaking through the quiet forest clearing. The bullet grazes the edge of the target, barely leaving a mark. His lips press into a thin line, frustration flickering in his eyes.
Lev snickers. “Barely counts.”
“Lev.” My tone drops, low and cutting. “Enough.”
He straightens, the smirk falling from his face. The twins may be different in every way, but they both know when to step back.
“Again,” I say to Nikolai. “Aim lower. Focus on where you want the shot to land, not on where it might go.”
He adjusts his stance, hands steadying as he takes another shot. This time, it hits closer to the center. A small improvement, but not enough. He doesn’t celebrate. He never does.
Lev steps forward, practically vibrating with eagerness. “My turn now?”
I nod and watch as he takes the position Nikolai just left. He doesn’t need instruction—not yet, anyway. Lev raises his gun, aims, and fires in one fluid motion. The bullet punches cleanly through the center of the target.
“Bullseye.” Lev grins, lowering the gun with a cocky tilt of his head. “Told you.”
“Again,” I say, crossing my arms. “Ten more. Hit the center every time, or it’s worthless.”
Lev huffs but obeys, raising the gun for another shot. This isn’t about their individual talents or what they think they can do. It’s about discipline—something they both lack in their own ways. Nikolai hesitates too much. Lev doesn’t think enough. Between the two of them, they could be unstoppable. If I can mold them.
But time… Time is always against me.
As Lev fires again, I glance toward the forest’s edge, my jaw clenching. The weight of the conversation from earlier this morning presses against my chest, as unwelcome as the cold air slicing through the trees. The council wants answers. My father’s legacy demands them. A wife. A fucking wife. As if that’s supposed to fix everything.
I run a hand over my stubble, exhaling slowly. My sons don’t notice—they’re too focused on the task at hand, as they should be. They don’t know the stakes. Not yet. But they’ll have to learn. If I fail to fulfill the terms of my father’s will, everything I’ve built will fall apart, and it won’t just be me paying the price.
“Lev,” I bark, snapping back to the moment. His last shot veered wide. “You’re rushing. Again.”
He scowls but adjusts his grip. “I’ll hit it.”
“You’ll hit it when you stop acting like you already know everything,” I say, stepping forward. I grab his arm, forcing it into the proper position. He flinches but doesn’t resist. “If you can’t control yourself, someone else will. Understand?”
“Yes, sir,” he mutters.
I step back, watching him fire again. This one lands just outside the center, and his scowl deepens. Good. He needs to feel the frustration. They both do.
“Enough for today,” I say after a few more rounds. Their arms are tired, their energy spent. “We’ll continue next week.”
Lev looks like he wants to protest, but Nikolai pulls him back, resting a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “It’s fine. Let’s go.”
I watch as they head toward the SUV parked at the edge of the clearing, their differences stark even in the way they walk. Nikolai is measured, deliberate. Lev strides ahead, restless and confident. Two halves of the same whole, but far from ready.
My hand tightens around the gun in my grip. The twins don’t know it yet, but everything I do here is to prepare them for the future. A future I might not survive if Tatiana gets her way.
I pull out my Glock this time, a weapon I know better than the back of my hand. The weight is comforting, familiar, a constant in a world of chaos. The forest is silent, save for the faint rustle of leaves in the morning breeze. I raise the gun, focus on the target thirty feet away, and let my frustration guide the shot.
Bang. The first bullet punches through the center of the target.
Bang. The second lands just beside it, splitting the first hole wider.
Bang. The third shot slams into the middle, perfect and precise. My jaw clenches as I picture Tatiana’s smug face, then Filipp, my half-brother, lurking in the shadows like the snake he is. Every shot is a message to them both. One I’ll deliver if they push me far enough.
The acrid smell of gunpowder fills the air, sharp and familiar. The birds scatter, their wings a flurry of motion against the treetops. Even the smaller animals flee, the forest surrendering to the sound of dominance. My grip tightens on the Glock as I lower it, the barrel still warm under my palm.
“Still perfect,” Timur’s voice rumbles behind me. I glance back to find him leaning casually against the SUV, his arms crossed over his broad chest. His shirt strains against his shoulders, muscles bulging beneath the fabric. Even in his forties, he’s a force of nature, a man you wouldn’t want to meet in a dark alley—or anywhere, for that matter.
I park the gun back in its holster and stride toward the vehicle. The twins are already in the backseat, Nikolai with his head buried in a thick book on Russian folklore, Lev glued to some action-packed video game on his phone. Their differences never fail to amuse me.
Timur straightens as I approach, his dark eyes scanning the treeline. “Anything else, boss?”
“No.” I open the SUV door, sliding into the passenger seat. “Let’s go.”
The drive back to the mansion is quiet at first, the hum of the engine blending with the rhythmic crunch of gravel under the tires. I glance at the twins through the rearview mirror.
Lev’s the first to break the silence. “So, can we practice shooting tomorrow too?” He sounds hopeful, like he’s already itching for another round.
“No,” I say, my eyes flicking to the mirror to meet his eager arctic stare. “Tomorrow, you’re in the studio for Muay Thai.”
He groans, flopping back in his seat with dramatic flair. “Why do we need all this stuff? Shooting, martial arts, fencing—it’s overkill! I’m already good at all of it.”
“You’re not good enough,” I reply, my tone firm but calm. “Not yet. Every skill you learn is another tool. If you don’t have control, you won’t survive. Do the work.”
Lev mutters something under his breath, crossing his arms. I let it go. He’ll figure it out when the time comes—when it’s no longer a training ground but life or death.
Nikolai, ever the observer, speaks without lifting his head. “We still have fencing in the afternoon tomorrow. Isn’t that enough?”
“Enough is when you stop questioning and start excelling,” I say, shifting my focus back to the road. “Holidays don’t mean laziness.”
Timur glances at me from the driver’s seat, his hands steady on the wheel. “You’re working them harder than some of your men.”
“They’ll thank me one day,” I reply, though the weight of my own words sits heavy in my chest. Am I pushing them too hard? Or not hard enough? If they don’t learn now, the world waiting for them will tear them apart.
Timur chuckles softly but lets the silence linger for a moment before speaking again. “Speaking of family,” he says, his tone lighter, “Alya was in the stables when I left. She’s got those horses eating out of her hand.”
A small smile tugs at my lips, brief and rare. “And you spoil her more than anyone.”
He shrugs, unrepentant. “She talks back more than anyone, too, but she does it with charm. Makes you feel like you’re the one in the wrong.”
Lev snorts from the backseat. “That’s because she’s got a strategy for everything. She gets what she wants without even asking. She’s a mastermind. Right, Kolya ?”
Nikolai doesn’t look up from his book, but a faint smile tugs at his lips. “She’s definitely smarter than you, Lev.”
Lev scowls, opening his mouth to retort, but I cut him off. “Enough. Alya’s not your competition. You two are supposed to protect her.”
“Yes, sir,” they mutter in unison, though Lev’s irritation is clear.
As their bickering dies down, my thoughts drift to Alya. My little girl. My Little Boss .
From the moment she learned to walk, she’s been running circles around everyone in the house. Confident, headstrong, and impossible to ignore. She’s the only person who can meet my gaze with the same authority I give the men I command. Alya doesn’t ask for attention; she demands it—and I can’t help but give in, even when I know I shouldn’t.
I don’t know how she does it. One moment, she’s bossing around the staff, barking orders like a pint-sized general, and the next, she’s climbing into my lap with one of her ridiculous stories about magical detectives or heroic queens. I see so much of myself in her—the determination, the fire—but it’s tempered by something I lost long ago.
She doesn’t just want control. She wants connection.
And I try to give her that, but… I don’t know if it’s enough.
Alya doesn’t ask about her mother—not directly—but I see the questions in her eyes. The way she clings to old stories, her fascination with clues and puzzles. She’s looking for something. Someone. And though she never says it, I know she’s trying to piece together the holes Irina left behind.
It makes me wonder if I’m failing her. If, no matter how much I give, it will never be enough to fill the void.
Timur shifts slightly in the driver’s seat, his sharp eyes scanning the road as the mansion comes into view. I follow his gaze to the sprawling estate that rises ahead, a blend of elegance and control.
The mansion is a restored Mediterranean villa, perched high on the hills, overlooking the California coastline. When I bought it, it was a crumbling relic—a forgotten jewel that needed work, much like my life at the time. I’d purchased it after marrying Irina. Not out of sentiment or love, but out of necessity. She’d wanted something grand, and I needed space.
It took over a year to renovate, to bring the old bones back to life. The marble courtyard, the wide verandas framed with wrought-iron railings, the terracotta roof—it’s tasteful, timeless, and perfect for someone like me. It’s a fortress disguised as a home.
The irony isn’t lost on me. I’d built it to put distance between us. Irina was a beauty, no one could deny that—her ash-blonde hair, those icy gray eyes that could cut through you—but beauty can be a cold thing. She had charm when she needed it, but there was nothing warm beneath it. Everything about her was calculated, from the way she moved to the words she chose, each one carefully measured.
I don’t think we ever had a real conversation. Not one that mattered.
Even sex with her felt like a transaction. A duty she tolerated rather than something she wanted. It wasn’t passion or intimacy—it was a task, a box to check. Sometimes, it felt like I had to work harder convincing myself to finish than I did with her. The house became my escape.
Now, it’s something else entirely. A reminder of everything she wasn’t. I glance at the boys in the backseat—Lev leaning forward, already eager to leap out, and Nikolai quietly tucking away his book. They’ve given this place more life than Irina ever did. Alya, too.
Timur slows the SUV, guiding it smoothly around the circular driveway, where the fountain at its center sparkles in the sunlight. The sound of hooves clopping faintly from the stables nearby signals Alya’s presence.
“Clear Shadow Hill tomorrow,” I say, breaking the silence. “No staff, no security, no interruptions.”
Timur’s hands tighten on the wheel. His brow furrows slightly, but he keeps his gaze ahead. “You sure? It’s not exactly—”
“I need time,” I cut him off, my tone leaving no room for argument. “Time to think. Alone.”
He exhales through his nose, nodding once. “I’ll handle it.”
The SUV rolls to a stop. As I step out, the fresh scent of hay and leather from the stables drifts toward me, mingling with the salt from the ocean breeze. Alya’s laughter rings out in the distance, carried over the manicured lawns. For a fleeting moment, the tension in my chest eases.
Timur watches me, his expression unreadable, but I know what he’s thinking. “You’ll come back ready?”
“I’ll come back,” I say, though I question myself as I say it.
The truth is, I don’t know what I’ll find at Shadow Hill. Clarity? Peace? Or just more questions? For now, all that matters is the quiet.