Chapter 12 #2
By the time I arrive at the casino, my mind has cleared.
I scan the room, taking in every exit and watching the clients mingling around the poker tables.
This isn’t a place for small bets; just walking through the door costs one hundred thousand dollars, and no one here plays for pocket change.
Ivan’s entry fee is set at a million dollars, but mine is two—just to provoke him.
In one corner of the room, sipping on cognac, sits the man I came here for.
“Ilya,” I murmur as I approach him discreetly. He knows time is short; Ivan can’t catch me talking to Moscow’s pakhan.
“My informant is dead,” he says quietly but firmly. “All we found was his head in a forest outside the city.”
Damn it.
For over a year now, Ilya and I have been trying to infiltrate Ivan’s inner circle.
Despite being his heir, I’m not privy to everything he does, and something tells me his operations have expanded significantly in recent years.
Too many children are falling into his grasp, and my adoptive father’s unnerving calm only fuels my suspicions.
I glance at Ilya, the youngest pakhan in decades, and think about his father’s legacy.
His father was deeply involved in auctions organized by Ivan years ago, a grim revelation that recently came to light for Ilya.
He’s been trying to intervene ever since but has run into the sheer power of Ivan’s network.
When Ilya took over his father’s position last year, he reached out to me, and we’ve been working together ever since, searching for ways to gather intel and dismantle this operation from within.
Killing Ivan outright isn’t an option, at least not yet.
If his death looks suspicious, I’d be the first person questioned.
That wouldn’t be the real problem; losing access to his inheritance would be catastrophic.
All the documents, accounts, and connections tied to his empire will fall into my hands after his death, and I need them if I’m going to end this nightmare.
“I hear you’ve taken on a new project,” Ilya remarks casually, though there’s an edge of irritation beneath his calm tone. “A bit reckless, don’t you think?”
He doesn’t need to spell it out, because I know what he means: Julia was an impulsive decision.
If Ivan starts noticing that I’m growing attached again, all the ground I’ve gained over the years could slip away in an instant.
It took countless bodies and beatings to prove I have what it takes to take the reins.
As long as Ivan sees blood on my hands, I doubt he’ll care about anything else.
Still, he’s been having some private meetings with the family doctor, and I need to figure out what’s going on with him.
Maybe, if I’m lucky, I won’t have to find another way to deal with him after all.
Ilya swirls the cognac in his glass, silent for a few moments. Finally, he speaks.
“I’ll see what I can find out about the doctor. And Maksim?” He levels me with a sharp look. “Try not to die in the meantime. I’d keep an eye on that cousin of yours.”
With that, he walks off toward his brother.
When Ilya first contacted me, I was convinced it was one of Ivan’s loyalty tests. It wouldn’t have been the first—or the last. If he hadn’t confessed his real motives, I wouldn’t have believed him. But everyone has their reasons for doing what they do.
He’s looking for someone. I’m looking to burn that entire house of horrors to the ground.
“Aaaah, Maksim,” a familiar voice interrupts my thoughts. Pavel, Aleksandr’s right-hand man, draws my attention as he approaches.
Like his boss, Pavel is a waste of oxygen, and nothing would bring me more satisfaction than driving all four of my knives into him at once. Soon, Maksim. Soon.
He stops just short of me, taking a cautious step back. He knows who he’s dealing with, he knows everything he’s done, and he knows that, one day, his time will run out. But that doesn’t stop him from talking.
“Ivan reserved a poker table for the family,” Pavel says with an irritating enthusiasm that makes it clear he considers himself part of that “family.”
I don’t respond, just follow him inside. Ivan and Aleksandr are already seated at a table with a few businessmen.
My adoptive father acknowledges me with a subtle nod, and immediately, I know something’s wrong. He has that look, the one that tells me someone is going to die tonight and I’ll be the executioner.
The game drags on for about twenty minutes, everyone trying to read the room as much as their cards. Then Ivan’s voice cuts through the murmur of conversation like a blade.
“Fiodor, what’s the update on my gold?”
Fiodor, a wealthy oligarch who deals in precious metals and stones, looks up in surprise.
“It’s waiting for clearance to enter the country,” he stammers.
Ivan’s eyes lock onto mine, and I already know what’s coming: this man is going to suffer.
Without hesitation, I pull a knife from my jacket and drive it into Fiodor’s shoulder in one swift motion.
“WHAT THE HELL?! IVAN, CONTROL YOUR FUCKING DOG!” Fiodor screams, his voice breaking through the tense silence at the table.
The murmurs around us grow quieter as everyone waits for Ivan’s response. Calmly studying his cards, he speaks.
“A little bird told me you handed my gold over to the Italian mafia.” He pauses before adding with chilling precision, “And that dog is my heir.”
How twisted do you have to be to say something like that out loud after years of abuse, after draining every ounce of light from your so-called heir ?
Ivan glances at me again, and without missing a beat, I throw another knife into Fiodor’s opposite shoulder. The spectacle is enough to momentarily distract me from the darkness Ivan drags me into every time we share the same space.
Fiodor’s screams are pathetic now, but his men don’t dare make a move; they know better than to intervene while their boss is still breathing. One wrong step could change everything.
“You have two hours,” Ivan says coldly as he lays his cards on the table: a Royal Flush. “Get me every ounce of gold I bought from you, or you’ll see just how rabid Maksim can really be.”
With that, Ivan rises from his seat, Aleksandr following closely behind him. He gestures for me to join them as they head toward a corridor at the back of the casino. The noise from the gambling floor fades away as we step into a private lounge.
The room is lined with plush couches draped in velvet, each occupied by women lounging idly, like decorations on display. The air reeks of coconut and tobacco—a nauseating combination after what just happened at the table.
Not this again.
If I turn around and leave now, it’ll plant suspicion in Ivan’s mind, especially with Julia back at the house. The lounge opens into several private rooms for those seeking "privacy" with the girls, but choosing that option would only raise more questions.
Ivan heads toward a couch, predictably settling near two girls who don’t look like they’ve even turned eighteen yet. Aleksandr follows him, so I move in the opposite direction.
I hear footsteps behind me and glance back to see Ilya trailing after me.
“Fix your face,” he says quietly. He’s trying to help in his own way, but what I’m about to do makes my stomach churn.
A woman, probably around twenty-five, stands up to make room for me on the couch. She has blonde hair and wears a tight pink leather dress that clings to her like a second skin. If she leans forward even slightly, it would be as if she weren’t wearing anything at all.
Ilya takes the opposite end of the couch, already pulling a redheaded woman into his lap as she kisses his neck.
For Vera. For all those kids who’ve been beaten, Maksim.
The blonde settles herself on top of me, and every muscle in my body stiffens instantly.
“What’s your name?” she asks in a voice that’s sickeningly sweet.
“It doesn’t matter,” I reply coldly.
My answer doesn’t faze her; if anything, it seems to excite her more. Her hands push my jacket aside, and when her skin brushes against my chest, a shiver runs through me. I close my eyes for just a second.
One second too long. A fatal mistake.
In that instant, my mind floods with memories: the feeling of his hands grabbing me, his breathless moans echoing in my ears.
I couldn’t move back then, because he used to tie my wrists down.
He never gagged me; my screams only fueled his excitement.
That’s how I learned not to scream anymore.
I can still feel his breath against my ear, that fucking stench of tobacco and decay overwhelming me.
Get out of my head.
“Maksim.”
One word, just one, and it’s enough to pull me out of the vortex I’ve fallen into.
Ilya is staring at me with concern, his eyes darting to my hand wrapped tightly around the girl’s neck as her face begins to turn purple. I immediately take my hand off her neck and push her aside, seeing tears well up in her eyes.
Damn it.
Ilya gestures toward one of the private rooms without saying anything further, and I follow him without looking back at the girl gasping for air behind me.
“Too ashamed to let us see you with a woman, Maksim?” Aleksandr’s voice cuts through the air like a knife, stopping me dead in my tracks.
I can’t kill him, not yet, not without creating problems with Ivan, who still relies on him for his legal dealings. But God knows how badly I want to end him right here and now.
“If I were you, Aleksandr, I’d pay more attention to the girl clinging to you for the past five minutes. It’s painfully dull to watch from here,” Ilya says, his tone light but laced with sarcasm.
The other men burst into laughter, but my eyes instinctively dart to Ivan. His gaze is locked on me, sharp and calculating.