Chapter 18 – Kaz
I sit beside her as she sleeps—finally calm, finally quiet.
The rise and fall of her breath is slow, even. Her lashes flutter slightly, but there’s no fear there now. Just exhaustion.
She’s curled into my side, one hand still tangled in my shirt like she needs the contact to stay grounded. And maybe she does. God knows I do.
I brush a strand of hair from her face, fingers grazing the soft heat of her skin. She looks so small in this bed. Small and breakable. And yet, somehow, she’s withstood more than most soldiers I’ve known.
Violet.
Mine.
She’s mine now. For good.
I lean back against the headboard, eyes on the shadows dancing across the ceiling as the weight of everything presses in again.
Milo. The bounty. The betrayals.
It has to end.
The sooner I finish this war, the sooner I can take her to a doctor. Get her checked. Make sure everything is okay—with her, with the baby.
Our baby.
I still don’t know what it means to be someone’s father, but I know I’m willing to try. I’ll do everything in my power to be a father worthy of the title.
She was right. About all of it.
This world I’ve built—this violent, blood-soaked empire—it was never made for someone like her. And now she’s carrying something so pure, something that shouldn’t be touched by any of it.
She doesn’t want to raise a child like this. In fear. In violence. In hiding.
And I don’t want that either.
I want to give her more. I want to give them more.
I want to grow old with her. See her laugh in the sunlight.
Watch our child take their first steps—hear them call me Papa in that clumsy baby voice.
And if Violet is willing, if she wants more children, I’ll give her a house full of them.
A future that doesn’t include bloodshed. Just love. And peace.
I press my lips to her forehead and close my eyes.
“Someday,” I whisper to myself.
I wait until I’m sure she’s asleep—deep enough not to stir if I shift away. Then I ease myself off the bed, careful not to wake her. She makes a soft sound, a breathy sigh, and curls deeper into the pillow.
I brush my fingers over her arm and step back. One last look. One last breath.
Then I turn and walk out of the room.
The door clicks shut behind me. I head straight for the office. There’s still a war to end.
As soon as I get into the office, I close the door behind me and lock it.
Then I reach into my pocket and pull it out—the burner phone.
The same one I saw with Violet earlier. The one she said Arina gave her. The one that only lets her send messages out…but blocks anything coming back.
I roll it in my palm, turning it over, every muscle in my jaw tightening. Something about this doesn’t sit right. I don’t jump to conclusions. Arina has always had my back. But even with the people you trust, there’s always room for curiosity. For questions.
Maybe Arina thought they were helping. Maybe it was just a precaution. Or maybe it was something else entirely. I don’t know.
I slip the phone back into my pocket and sit down behind the desk, grabbing the landline and dialing Maxim’s secure line. It rings once before he picks up.
“Boss.”
“Is everything sorted at the estate?” I ask without preamble, still staring at the burner phone on the desk.
“Yes. Everything is under control now,” Maxim says, calm and sure. “We’ve swept the entire place. No more intrusions. Security’s tight again. And….” He pauses for effect. “Milos has been captured. He’s in the basement.”
A flicker of cold satisfaction rushes through me.
Finally.
“Good,” I say. “Send a team to the holding facility. I want a full perimeter lockdown to keep Violet safe.”
“On it.”
“I’ll come deal with Milos myself.”
Maxim doesn’t ask questions. He knows the tone in my voice well enough to know that it means someone’s not walking away.
“Understood.”
I hang up and sit back for a moment, rubbing my jaw.
Milos. My trusted guard. One of the few men I never doubted. Since Maxim named him the rat, something in me hasn’t sat right. The facts point his way. The betrayal fits.
But my gut—my gut is loud.
And unsettled.
Still…I’m not leaving any stone unturned when it comes to Violet’s safety. If Maxim and Arina say it’s him, then maybe….
But maybe it isn’t enough.
I grab my personal burner and dial a number I haven’t touched in a year.
Nikolai Volkov-Rusnak. Head of the Volkov Bratva in Chicago. One of the only people I’ve ever called a friend.
The line clicks once.
“Funny you call now after a year,” Niko says, his voice smooth and amused. “What a coincidence. I’m in your city. Flew in this morning.”
Relief courses through me like a shot of whiskey.
“Meet me at my estate,” I say.
“I might be busy.”
“Nothing more important than what I’m going through. See you in an hour.”
He chuckles—low and lethal. “I’ll humor you.”
The call ends. I set the phone down, staring at the black screen for a long second. If there’s one person who can sniff out the truth buried under all this chaos, it’s Niko.
And I need the truth. Now more than ever.
At that moment, the door swings open and Arina walks in, one hand still pressed to their earpiece. “The security detail just arrived.”
I nod once. “Good. They're here to guard Violet. Brief them and wait for me in the garage—we’re heading back to the estate to deal with Milos.”
They give me a sharp nod and disappear down the hall without another word. I reach for a notepad and tear off a clean sheet. My handwriting is quick, messy.
“I’ll be back soon. You’re safe here. I promise. —K”
I fold the note and head to Violet’s room.
She’s still curled up beneath the blankets.
She looks so small. So damn breakable. I step in quietly and slip the note underneath the table lamp.
My eyes stay on her longer than I should allow myself.
I shouldn’t wake her. She needs rest. Peace.
Everything I’ve never known how to give.
Leaning in, I press a kiss to her cheek—light and lingering. She stirs a little but doesn’t open her eyes.
“I’ll be back,” I whisper. “I swear it.”
Then I walk out of the room and close the door behind me. I head for the garage. The air feels heavier now, like everything is on the edge of snapping. Arina is already waiting, behind the wheel of the black SUV. Their eyes meet mine, but I don’t say a word. Neither do they.
I get in the backseat, and the car pulls out.
The ride to the estate is silent. Just the hum of the engine and the storm building in my chest.
When we pull into the estate gates, Maxim is already outside, arms crossed, posture rigid.
He doesn’t speak, just nods once and turns on his heel. We follow him into the house. Downstairs. Into the cold, reinforced basement. The light buzzes overhead. The air smells like blood and concrete.
Milos is there—tied to a metal chair, ankles and wrists secured. He’s bloodied but awake. His head lifts when we enter, and his eyes lock on mine.
I stare at him like I’m trying to understand how the hell it’s come to this.
The man I trusted with everything.
Maxim steps aside. “He’s been quiet. Thought it best you do the talking.”
I step forward, slow and deliberate, until I’m right in front of Milos.
He doesn’t look away.
Neither do I.
“You’ve got one chance,” I say quietly. “One shot to tell me the truth. Make it count.”
“I don’t know what the hell you think I did,” he says. “But it’s not true. I’ve served you for as long as I can remember. And this”—his voice cracks—“this is how it ends? With accusations and no proof?”
My jaw ticks. He looks at Maxim. “You know me. You really believe I’d sell us out?”
Maxim’s face is stone.
Then Milos turns to me again. “Boss? After everything—after I’ve stood by you in every war, every bloodbath—you think I’d betray you like this?”
I’m not in the mood for emotional manipulation.
I glance at Maxim. “Untie him.”
Maxim walks over and cuts the ropes binding Milos’s wrists and ankles. Milos rubs his wrists, wincing, and slowly stands, bloodied but proud.
“You want to beat me? Kill me?” Milos says, lifting his chin. “Do it. But know this—I did nothing. And whatever hell you put me through, I’ll take it. But I won’t lie to save myself. I didn’t betray you.”
I look him in the eye. And then I strike. I don’t warn him. My fist slams into his jaw, sending him crashing back against the wall.
He groans but doesn’t fight back. He just spits blood on the floor and looks at me again with defiance. “Go on, Kaz. Do your worst. But when you’re done, you’ll have to live with the truth.”
My fist crashes into Milos’s face over and over—bone meeting bone, skin splitting under my knuckles, the sickening crunch of cartilage echoing off the stone walls. Blood sprays from his mouth as he collapses against the chains behind him.
He doesn’t scream. He grunts. He bleeds. He takes it.
“Tell me the fucking truth!” I roar, grabbing him by the throat and slamming him against the concrete again. “You leaked her location. You sold us out. Admit it!”
“I didn’t,” he rasps, breath wheezing, blood running from his nose. “Boss…I swear to you, on my life…I didn’t do it.”
My boot drives into his ribs. He curls inward with a groan, but doesn’t break.
Behind me, I hear Maxim inhale sharply. His eyes are dark, his jaw tight—but he doesn’t move. I glance at him briefly—just enough to register the pain in his gaze, the hesitation. The slight flinch every time my fist lands.
But not Arina.
Arina stands there with arms folded, face unreadable, watching like it’s just another Tuesday. Their eyes don’t narrow. They don't look away. Their lips don’t even twitch. They watch the blood pour like water from a faucet and don’t blink.
I store that away.
Another punch. Another grunt. Another denial.
“I have been loyal to you since,” Milos chokes out. “I will never betray you. You’ll have to kill me because you’re not getting a confession from me.”
Something is off.
Very off.
My instincts tell me that Milos isn’t a traitor, and I wouldn’t be here today if I had a habit of ignoring my gut feelings. But I keep hitting Milo. At this point, I’m just putting on a show.
I raise my hand again—one more blow and maybe I’ll stop. But then I hear it. That deep, slow voice I haven’t heard in over a year.
“Easy now, Kazimir. You’re gonna kill the poor bastard before you learn anything useful.”
I freeze. The room turns with me as I pivot slowly, blood dripping from my knuckles, chest heaving with restrained rage.
Nikolai Volkov-Rusnak stands at the doorway, cool and unbothered, dressed in all black with his hands in the pockets of his long coat. A faint smirk dances on his lips.
“Niko,” I mutter.
“Don’t stop on my account,” he says, stepping further into the room and glancing at Milos’s broken body. “But something tells me you might want to let him breathe.”
For a moment, Niko and I simply stare at each other, then I flick my fingers at Maxim. “Take him away.”
Without another word, Maxim hauls Milos up by the shoulder. The man stumbles, blood dripping from his nose and split lip, eyes dazed but still burning with something—pain, betrayal, confusion. I don’t know. I look away from him.
“Get him patched up,” I add. “But keep him locked down.”
“Yes,” Maxim mutters.
Arina follows behind them, silent as always, their expression unreadable. Even the guards that had been posted around the edges of the basement peel off with them, moving like shadows into the hallway, boots echoing on the concrete floor.
One by one, the room empties—until the heavy basement door creaks shut and clicks into place behind the last man. Then, finally, it’s just me and Niko.
I walk over and pull him into a tight, brotherly hug.
“Thank you for coming,” I murmur against his shoulder.
He pulls back with a crooked grin. “You look like hell.”
I laugh. It’s tired, strained. “You should see the other guy.”
Niko chuckles, that signature Volkov drawl slipping through. “Word’s gotten out, you know. They say Kazimir Rusnak’s lost his damn mind over a girl.”
I run a hand through my hair. “I probably have.”
“Had to see this mythical woman myself.” He shoots me a sharp glance. “But I know you didn’t call me here to gush. What’s going on?”
“I need your eyes, Niko. Your gut. Something’s not adding up, and I can’t afford to miss the mark.”
He folds his arms. “Talk to me.”
I nod toward the hallway. “Come upstairs. I’ll brief you properly.”
The hallway is dark when we return. I barely catch myself before tripping on something near the foot of the stairs. Niko reaches out to steady me.
“Fuck,” I mutter, switching the wall light on. It buzzes to life. I see a flash of color, wedged beneath a pile of concrete dust and fractured stone. Doesn’t belong here. Someone obviously stuffed it there in a hurry.
I bend down and tug it loose. It’s a tote bag—cloth, soft, handmade maybe. Bright, too damn bright, it adds to my frustration.
“The fuck!” Niko laughs. “This yours?”
“Shut up.” The contents spill across the floor—scattered papers, a broken pen, what looks like an empty granola bar wrapper—and then a small, rectangular weight hits the ground with a dull thud.
I stare at it for a long beat.
A burner phone.
Just like the one I found with Violet.
My blood runs cold.
“Something wrong?” Niko asks, coming to stand behind me.
I don’t answer right away. I grab the burner, turn it over in my hand. The same model. Same color. It’s the same fucking phone. My jaw clenches.
I shove everything back into the tote and stand.
“We’re going to the safe house,” I say briskly, already heading for the door.
Niko frowns. “What’s going on, Kaz?”
“I’ll explain when we get there.”
He raises an eyebrow but doesn’t press. “Your woman’s there?”
“Yes.” I open the door and step into the night. “And I need to make sure she’s still safe.”
We pile into the car, and I slide into the driver’s seat, placing the tote beside me like it might explode.
Like I said, I’m not one to jump to conclusions.
But the phone is exactly the same as Violet’s burner.
And the bag…it’s definitely Arina’s style.
I’ve seen them with similar ones a dozen times.
They’re the only one who would carry something this colorful in this world of black leather and tactical gear.
I look down at the burner again, still in my hand. There’s no doubt now. But I’m going to take things slow because people like these are like eels; you only have one chance to grab them.