Chapter 29
The Cost of Silence
—Maksym—
When the call finally came, I was in the courtyard, chain-smoking like a lunatic.
“Maksym,” Rothman said. “We might have something.”
My chest clenched. “Talk.”
“We ran facial recognition on the photos you sent—pushed them through old school yearbooks, adoption registries, even grainy newspaper clippings. Some hits came up. One face kept reappearing.”
“Bozhe moy (my God),” I cut in. “Slow down, man. Facial what?”
Rothman sighed on the other end. “Facial recognition. Computer matches faces in databases.”
“Da, da. I get it. Just… speak like normal person. You know my English not perfect.”
A quiet chuckle. “You should really work on that, by the way.”
“Shut up,” I muttered. “What do you have?”
There was a pause.
“I think I found her.”
I couldn’t breathe.
“Name’s Mila Harrington. Adopted at age three. Private agency. She’s in New York now. Studying architecture.”
My ears rang as if someone had slammed a door inside my skull.
Rothman didn’t stop. “I’m sending you a photo now—teenage years, from a charity scholarship event. School publication.”
My phone buzzed again. I opened the image.
And the world stopped.
My throat tightened as I stared at the screen, half-convinced my mind was playing tricks on me. For a second I couldn’t even breathe. My thumb hovered over the phone as if the picture might disappear if I moved too fast.
This girl in the photo was nearly grown. Her face softer, her features sharper, the roundness of childhood long gone.
But there was no world where I wouldn’t recognize those eyes.
My eyes.
My baby sister’s eyes.
I hadn’t seen that face since she was three—since the day I looked away to kick a ball and lost her. But it was her. No doubt in my mind. My knees nearly gave out.
My voice cracked, thick with disbelief. “She’s alive... she’s really alive.”
It hit all at once. Relief so sharp it carved through me.
Grief like a blade to the gut. My chest folded inward under the weight.
I had imagined this moment a thousand different ways, but I wasn’t ready for the actual ache of it.
Seeing her face. Knowing she was breathing, walking, living—somewhere out there, untouched by the filth I lived in.
I wanted to fall to my knees. I wanted to cry, to scream, to smash everything in sight and thank the universe at the same time.
“She was placed with a good family,” Rothman said quietly. “All records point to normal upbringing. No red flags. She’s safe, Maksym. She had a life.”
I didn’t speak. Couldn’t. My throat locked up, as if words would shatter the moment.
“I’m going to say this once,” he continued. “If you care about her—really care—you’ll stay the fuck away. Don’t drag her back into your world. You touch her life, you destroy it.”
“I just need to see her. One time,” I said, my voice hoarse, blinking the tears away.
“You don’t mean that.”
I didn’t. One look would never be enough. I already knew that.
But I said it anyway. “One time.”
He sighed. “I’ll send you everything we’ve got.”
The call ended. I stood there, holding the phone, staring at that photo until my hands shook.
She looked so normal. Like she had escaped the hell we came from.
And here I was—covered in blood, lies, and weapons—thinking about showing up in her life like some fucked-up ghost from the past.
Rothman was right. Barging into her life would be selfish—dumping a lifetime of horror on her doorstep just to ease my own damn soul. But still… didn’t she deserve the truth? Didn’t she have a right to know where she came from? Who left her behind?
No. That was bullshit. She was fine. Safe. She’d built a life. And that should’ve been enough for me. But it wasn’t. I knew the truth wasn’t for her. It was for me. For the boy who never stopped blaming himself. For the man who couldn’t find peace without facing her.
Even if it broke her heart.
Even if it shattered what was left of mine.
That meant the clock had started ticking.
I couldn’t afford to leave anything unfinished.
This wasn’t just about destroying Pakhan. It was about burning the entire trafficking network to the ground.
As his right hand, I had access to everything—shipment routes, names of drivers, the brokers who kept things moving, the warehouses, the handoff points, even the forged cargo manifests and inspection papers used to make the containers look legitimate at port checks. It was all right there in front of me.
I didn’t rush in like some bloodthirsty lunatic—though, God knows, I had the urge. No, I played it smart.
The first to go were the ones who enjoyed it. The men who laughed about the kids. Who called them cargo. Who treated them like meat.
I ended them quietly and left their bodies arranged like bad luck—crashed cars, botched deals, the usual excuses. Pakhan called it a rough season.
But eventually, he got suspicious.
And who did he send to investigate?
Me.
Naturally, I took the role seriously—by killing even more of them.
I wasn’t afraid of him anymore. Not even a little.
By the time suspicion started circling, I was already hand-picking allies.
Carefully building my little insurrection one cracked conscience at a time.
I tested which men had hearts still beating in their chests and which ones were just empty husks wearing human skin.
I didn’t want men like me. I wanted men who still believed they could be good.
Some joined. Some resisted. The ones who resisted didn’t get the chance to reconsider.
I was building a team. Quietly. From inside his own fucking house.
And every day, I got closer to the night I would end him.
Icouldn’t believe how smoothly everything was going.
For once, nothing was breaking. Nothing was slipping through my fingers. Even sleeping beside her felt… peaceful.
Life—usually so eager to fuck me over—was almost generous. Every piece was falling into place exactly where I needed it.
Which should have been my first warning.
Because nothing ever stayed perfect for long.
It broke at dinner.
The long table stretched between us, same as always—too much crystal, too much food, too many watchful eyes.
Kira sat directly opposite me, quiet and dangerous in that way that always fucked with my head.
Under the table her bare leg brushed mine, toes sliding slow and deliberate up my calf, teasing, pressing, driving me insane while she calmly sipped her wine.
When the others looked away she gave me a small, wicked smile that made the entire room disappear.
Just her. Just me. Just the growing ache to get her out of here and remind her who she was teasing.
Then Pakhan opened his mouth.
“Kira,” he said casually, cutting into his meat. “We need to talk about finding you a new fiancé.”
Her leg stilled.
Without sparing her a glance, he went on. “They’re dropping left and right these days. Inconvenient. But you can’t remain single forever. I refuse to let my daughter turn into some pathetic old virgin.”
The words landed like a slap.
Something inside my chest snapped clean in half. For one blinding second I saw myself lunging across the table, wrapping my hands around Pakhan’s thick throat and ripping his tongue out by the root for daring to speak to her like that.
I bit down hard and stayed exactly where I was, fists clenched beneath the table, jaw locked until it ached. I had a plan—tight, ruthless, perfect—and in a few bloody weeks, he would be dead. If I moved now, if I gave in to the urge clawing up my spine, I’d ruin everything. So I swallowed it.
Just a little longer, my love.
A few more weeks, and I’ll rip this piece of shit out of your life with my own hands.
But Kira had other plans. Playing the obedient daughter wasn’t on tonight’s agenda, not when her blood was boiling and her pride had been dragged through the dirt in front of everyone.
She shoved her chair back so hard it scraped against the floor.
“Can you stop?” she snapped, her voice shaking with fury.
“I’m not marrying anyone. I’m done with this. ”
The room went silent.
“It’s him,” she said to Pakhan, steady despite the tears rising fast. “It’s always been him.
” She turned to me, and time stilled. Her lips parted.
Her eyes locked with mine, wide and wet.
“I love him,” she said, her voice shaking like the rest of her.
“I love Maksym. And I’d rather die than belong to anyone else. ”
The whole room blurred. All I could see was her—this girl who should’ve run from me long ago but stood tall, heart open, while I stayed stone silent.
She was confessing her love to me. Out loud. In front of all of them. And I couldn’t give her anything back. I just sat there like the fucking traitor I was, letting the girl I loved bleed out in front of me.
Pakhan laughed.
Actually laughed.
“Maksym?” He turned slowly to look at me, amusement dancing in his eyes. “Is that so?”
Kira probably believed my new status changed things. That because I was standing beside him, he’d let me stand beside her too.
He never would.
Her future husband would have to be filthy rich, wired into the right circles—useful.
Someone who could tighten Pakhan’s grip on power, stretch his empire wider.
No matter how high I climbed, no matter how loyal I proved, I was still just a blade in his hand.
Meant to strike. Meant to follow. Meant to be put away. Never a man he’d offer his daughter to.
And if I supported her now—if I let even a flicker of truth shine through, if I said a single word in her defense—everything I’d built would fall apart.
The plan I’d bled for. The network I’d infiltrated.
All of it would burn. One declaration of love, and I’d lose everything—her, too.
Because if I failed, if I died, there’d be no one left to end this, to stop the rot at its core.
So I let her see a monster instead of the man who worships her—because monsters survive, and men in love get killed.
I broke her.
“Malaya,” I said coolly, forcing a laugh. “Stop. You’re embarrassing yourself. And me.”
She turned to me, eyes wide. Hope flickering.
I killed it.
“I don’t fall for kids,” I continued, each word deliberate. “And that’s what you are. Spoiled. Na?ve. Child.”
Her face drained of color.
I kept going, each word a knife I drove into my own chest. “And yeah, it figures you’d fall for one of your father’s soldiers. What did you think this was? Some twisted romance?”
Her breath hitched like I’d punched her.
“I don’t do feelings,” I said bluntly. “I fuck. I leave. That’s it.”
I gave a small, derisive shake of my head. “I don’t feel shit for you. I don’t even like you. So love? Don’t make me laugh.”
I jerked my chin toward the chairs. “Now sit down, dry your eyes, and stop making a fool of yourself in front of your father’s men.”
Pakhan let out a thin, humorless laugh. “Pathetic. But perhaps humiliation is the only language you understand.”
Tears flooded her eyes — bright, furious, and completely fucking broken.
She refused to look at me again. The silence between us snapped like a bone under my boot.
Then she turned and ran. Her sob caught in the air—raw, splintering—like a wound I couldn’t reach, let alone close.
Every violent instinct I owned screamed at me to chase her down, slam her against the nearest wall, and crush her trembling body to mine. To bury my face in her hair and growl the truth against her skin until she believed it:
I love you.
Everything I just said was a lie.
You’re the only thing stopping me from setting this whole fucking world on fire.
But I didn’t move.
I stayed seated.
Stared at my plate like it held the answer. Like it could anchor me through the storm I’d unleashed.
My jaw clenched so tight it ached. Fists knotted under the table until the bones creaked.
Just wait, Malaya, I pleaded silently, the words tearing through me.
Please, love. Just a little longer. Even if you hate every dark, rotten inch of me right now. Even if you wish I’d never touched you.
Don’t give up on me. I’m still yours. I’ll always be yours.