Chapter 26
Maksim
The photographs spread across the kitchen table look like something from a horror film.
Three crime scenes. Three families. Three leaders who made the mistake of being even remotely sympathetic to my return.
All dead now. And not quickly.
Semyon points to the first set of photos. "Found in his warehouse three days ago. They took their time with him."
I force myself to look. To catalog the brutality. The dead man was sixty-three years old, a veteran of the bratva who'd survived four decades of violence. He was loyal to my father. And that loyalty would have transferred to me, assuming I even wanted the job.
I didn’t think I did. Not anymore.
“Did he make a move against Roman?” I ask.
“No. No one has but there are rumblings. People are talking about ousting Roman and installing you.”
I wince when Semyon moves to the next set of photos. "Found yesterday."
More photographs. More brutality. The man had a wife and three children. I know how this game goes. He’ll start with the head of the family, but the families will suffer next.
The third set is the worst. The man was an old friend. Someone who'd known me since childhood.
They tortured him for hours before finally ending it.
"They're sending a message," Semyon says, stating the obvious. "Submit to Roman's rule or this is what happens."
I study the photos, my jaw clenching so hard my teeth ache. These weren't quick executions to eliminate threats. These were torture sessions designed to break spirits before ending lives.
Performances. Warnings. Terror tactics.
If Roman wins this war, this is what waits for anyone who opposed him.
Including Kira. Including our child.
The thought makes my blood run cold.
"How many families are still with us?" I ask, forcing myself to think strategically instead of emotionally.
"Maybe ten, if we're lucky. And even they're wavering." Semyon pulls out a list. "Roman's message is effective. People are scared."
"How many men does that translate to?"
"Thirty. Maybe thirty-five if everyone shows." He doesn't sugarcoat it.
The odds are terrible. Worse than terrible.
But I've fought worse battles. The difference now is I'm not just fighting for revenge. I'm fighting for a future I never dared to imagine.
I start gathering the photos and putting them back in the envelope. I don’t want to leave them out where Kira might see them. The brutality would terrify her, and stress isn't good for the pregnancy. She’s already struggling with morning sickness. It kills me that I can’t take away that misery.
My burner phone buzzes, which is odd because only Semyon and a few of his guys have the number. And he’s standing right in front of me.
It’s a text message from an unknown number.
My stomach drops. I know it’s not going to be good.
The message is simple: We have something that belongs to you.
Then a photo loads.
My blood turns to ice.
Kira's father. Beaten, bloodied and tied to a chair. His face is swollen, one eye completely shut. Blood stains his shirt.
The timestamp shows it was taken an hour ago.
"Fuck." I show the image to Semyon. "They have him."
Semyon looks at the photo and shakes his head. "They're baiting you. Want you to come rushing in to save him."
"I know it's a trap." My mind is already racing through scenarios. "But we can't just leave him there. They'll torture him.”
Semyon doesn’t look all that concerned. “You’re upset about that?”
I’m not. Not really. The guy set me up to be killed. I only survived because some sick bastard enjoyed the idea of torturing me.
"He's Kira's father," I say quietly. "And our child's grandfather. Whatever his crimes, he doesn't deserve to be tortured to death."
"Sentimental."
"Maybe." I pocket my phone. "But Kira will never forgive us if we don't at least try to save him. And I can't—I won't—start our family by letting her father die when we could have helped."
He sighs. “Maksim. It’s. A. Trap. Period.”
I know it. I know it’s meant to draw me out. Kira and her father have a complicated relationship, but I know she wouldn’t want this.
"Is there a way to do this that doesn't get us all killed?" I ask quietly.
Kira and Anya are in the back room watching TV. Kira is resting after a particularly rough morning.
"Probably not. But we can try to stack the odds slightly less terribly in our favor."
I find Kira curled up in the bed, a thin blanket draped over her legs. The TV flickers with some Russian drama she's not really watching. Her hand rests on her stomach—a habit she's developed in the last few days.
"Hey, Semyon and I need to head out for a bit."
Her eyes sharpen immediately. "Out where?"
"Just picking something up. Supplies." I keep my voice casual. "Won't be long. Couple hours at most."
"Maksim." She sits up, the blanket falling away. "What kind of supplies?"
I hate lying to her. But the truth will only terrify her. The stress could hurt the baby.
"Weapons," I say, which isn't exactly a lie. "We're meeting with some people who can help us. Need to make sure we're properly equipped just in case."
She studies my face, looking for deception. I meet her gaze steadily.
"You're being careful?" she asks finally.
"Always." I lean in to kiss her forehead. "I'll be back before you know it. Just rest. Take care of yourself and the baby."
"I don't like this." Her hand catches mine. "Something feels wrong."
"It's fine." I squeeze her fingers. "I promise. Just a quick pick up and we're back."
Anya appears in the doorway; paint smudged on her cheek. "Everything okay?"
"Fine," I assure her. "Just running an errand. Keep an eye on your sister for me?"
"Always do." Anya moves to sit beside Kira.
I kiss Kira one more time—longer than necessary, like I'm trying to memorize the taste of her lips—then force myself to pull away.
"Be safe," Kira whispers.
"Always."
Semyon is waiting by the door, weapons already concealed under his jacket. We head down to the street where a different car waits. It’s stolen and untraceable.
"She buy it?" he asks as we climb in.
"Not entirely." I buckle up. "But she didn't push."
"Smart woman."
"Too smart sometimes."
The drive takes us to the industrial district again. I'm starting to hate this part of Moscow—too many bad memories accumulating in these gray streets.
The warehouse Semyon directs me to looks abandoned. Broken windows. Graffiti covering the walls. Exactly the kind of place you'd conduct illegal business.
Three cars are already parked outside. Men lean against them, smoking, weapons visible but not drawn. They watch our approach with wary eyes.
I recognize two of them—loyalists to my father who survived Roman's purge. The others are unfamiliar.
"Barinov." The older of the two I know steps forward. His name is Leo. He's been in the bratva longer than I've been alive. "Heard you came back from the dead."
"Rumors of my death were greatly exaggerated." I shake his offered hand. "Good to see you, Leo."
"Wish it was under better circumstances." He gestures to the warehouse. "Come on. Let's get this done quick. Too exposed out here."
Inside, crates are stacked against the walls. Leo's men pry one open, revealing assault rifles packed in foam.
"Quality merchandise," he says. "Everything you asked for. Rifles, handguns, ammunition. Even grabbed some body armor."
"Appreciated." I inspect one of the rifles.
"Question is, what are you planning to do with all this firepower?" One of the other men asks.
It’s obvious what we’re planning, but I understand they want to hear it.
"Take down Roman." I set the rifle back in its crate. "Expose him to the rest of the bratva and the other families for what he did to me and my father. I will end his reign."
Rumors spread through the Russian underground faster than old women sitting around a knitting circle.
Semyon made sure of that. It’s psychological warfare against Roman.
He doesn’t know who he can trust. Yeah, he’s using brute force right now, but he knows it only takes one man to turn on him.
Semyon already proved he can get access.
Everyone knows Roman orchestrated my kidnapping and imprisonment. They know he killed my father. While it’s not a total shock to have a pakhan taken out in a coup, it pisses people off. My father was loved and respected.
Roman will pay.
"You planning to take over? Claim your father's seat?"
The question hangs in the air. Everyone is watching me now, waiting for my answer.
And I don't have one.
A week ago, I would have said yes without hesitation. I wanted revenge. I wanted to destroy Roman and take back what he took from me.
But now there's Kira. There's our child. There's a future I need to protect. And I’m not sure I want to live a life full of violence. I don’t want my children to be forced to constantly look over their shoulders.
"That's not up to me," I say finally. "That's up to the families. I'm not here to seize power. I'm here to get revenge.”
"But if they offer it?" the young man presses. "If the families want you to lead?"
"Then I'll consider it." I meet his eyes. "But my priority is ending Roman. Everything else comes after."
Leo nods slowly. "Fair enough. Though I'll tell you now—people are ready for new leadership. Roman's methods are brutal even by our standards. The torture, the terror tactics. It's bad for business."
"I've seen the photos," I say quietly.
"Found another one this morning. Same pattern. Same message."
My jaw clenches. Four families. Four leaders tortured to death for the crime of not immediately submitting to Roman's rule.
"All the more reason to move fast," I say. "The meeting is in four days. We need to be ready."
"What's the plan?" another man asks.
"We crash the meeting. Present evidence of Roman's crimes. Force the families to choose sides." I look around at the assembled men. "It's risky. Probably stupid. But it's the only shot we have."
"You'll need backup," Leo says. "Security at those meetings is tight. You won't get in without a fight."
"That's what I'm counting on." I gesture to the weapons. "We come in strong. Make it clear we're not asking permission."
"That could start a war," the young man points out.
"We're already in a war," Semyon interjects. "Has been since Roman murdered Maksim's father and framed Kira's family. We're just finally fighting back."
Silence falls as everyone processes this.
"I'm in," Leo says finally. "My loyalty was to your father, Maksim. That loyalty extends to you. Whatever you need."
"Same," another voice. Then another.
One by one, the men declare their allegiance.
"Thank you," I say, and I mean it. "Load up the weapons. Distribute them to people you trust. Four days. That's all we have to prepare."
"What about Roman?" Leo asks. "He's not going to just let you waltz into the council meeting."
"I know."
"You really are your father's son,” Leo says. “He would fight anyone that threatened what was his.”
"And look how that ended for him," I say bitterly.
"He died with honor. With dignity. Can you say the same for Roman?"
No. I can't. Roman is a snake who murders from the shadows and tortures for sport.
If I'm going to die, I'd rather die like my father—trying to do the right thing—than live like Roman.
"Let's get these weapons loaded," I say, pushing away the dark thoughts. "Time's running out."
We spend the next hour transferring crates to various vehicles. The work is methodical, careful. No one speaks much. The weight of what we're planning hangs over everyone.
Finally, Semyon and I are back in our car, trunk loaded with enough firepower to start a small war.
"You really don't know?" Semyon asks as we pull away from the warehouse. "About taking over?"
"I really don't." I stare out at the gray streets. "Part of me wants to walk away. Take Kira and disappear. Raise our child somewhere normal."
"And the other part?"
"Knows that's not possible.” I glance at him. "My father wanted change. Wanted to modernize, make things less brutal. Maybe that's what I owe him. To finish what he started."
"That's a heavy burden."
"Everything about this life is heavy."
"We need to scout the location," I say finally. "Where they're holding him."
"Maksim—"
"I know it's a trap. Help me figure out a way to do this that doesn't get us killed."
He sighs, but I see the resignation in his eyes. He knows I'm going after the old man regardless. Might as well help me do it smart.
"Tonight," he says. "We scout tonight. See what we're dealing with. Then we decide if it's even possible."
"Deal."
We pull up outside the safehouse. I grab two of the smaller bags from the trunk—handguns and ammunition we can store in the apartment.
Inside, Kira is on the couch, but she sits up the moment I walk through the door. Her eyes immediately go to the bags.
"That's a lot of supplies," she observes.
"Told you we were picking up weapons." I set the bags down carefully. "Everything went fine. No problems."
She doesn't look convinced, but she doesn't push either.
I cross to her and sink onto the couch, pulling her against my side. She fits perfectly there, her head on my shoulder.
"I'm tired," she murmurs.
"Then sleep. I'm not going anywhere."
"Promise?"
"Promise."
It's a lie. In a few hours, Semyon and I will head out to scout the location where they're holding her father. But she doesn't need to know that right now.
She needs to rest. To take care of herself and our baby.
Everything else can wait.