Chapter 34 The Last Supper
The Last Supper
—Maksym—
Three weeks later
It was just another one of those dinners.
Pakhan at the head of the table, drunk on power and vodka.
Kira was across the table, looking devastating.
She wore a black satin slip dress, barely-there straps sliding off one shoulder, the neckline plunging low enough to stir heat in my blood every time she leaned forward.
Her hair was pinned up in that messy, elegant way that made me want to ruin it with my hands.
Legs crossed, eyes bored, face impassive—like a painting with a hidden weapon beneath the frame.
Just looking at her made my cock twitch with the urge to drag her to bed and fuck her senseless until morning. But I had other plans tonight.
Everyone was in a good mood. Pakhan had invited more of his old cronies tonight—men with too much money and too few morals. They were talking business, sipping from expensive glasses, waiting for the real entertainment to start.
Then Pakhan glanced at Kira, fork still in hand. “Speaking of business,” he said, smug. “I found you a fiancé.”
Kira didn’t even blink.
“This time,” Pakhan added, chewing, “try not to fuck it up. He’s the son of one of my partners. You’ll go on a date with him next week.”
Her lips parted slightly. Then she lowered her gaze. “Yes, father.”
I stilled.
No backtalk? No glare? No fire?
But then her hand moved to her lap, and I saw her unlock her phone. A second later, my own vibrated.
This time I’ll kill the bastard myself.
I smirked, kept my expression neutral as I typed back:
Good. I was getting bored doing everything for you.
Her reply was instant.
You’re not going to stop me?
I don’t stop good decisions.
You’re corrupting me.
You were never innocent.
I huffed a laugh into my glass. God, I love her.
By the time dessert was served—chocolate something, I didn’t care—half a dozen women, dressed in designer coats and not much else, floated into the dining room. Models. Escorts. Who the fuck knew.
Pakhan didn’t even look up from his plate as he muttered, “Ah. The real dessert has arrived.”
I stayed still. I’d been expecting this.
Tonight was one of those nights. One of his private orgy parties. Booze. Girls. Sex on silk sheets while his men pretended to be gods.
Which is why tonight was perfect. For what needed to be done.
A handler led the women into the lounge, where they’d be offered drinks, told to change into barely-there lingerie, and paraded around like a menu.
I saw Kira’s phone light up again. A moment later, another buzz.
You’re not going to that fucking zoo, are you?
Not a fucking chance.
Good. Because if you do, I’ll cut your dick off.
Miss Reaper, relax. My dick desires only you.
Smart dick.
Wait for me in bed. I’ll come show you how loyal it is.
The dinner dragged another ten minutes before it mercifully ended. Kira disappeared down the hallway to her room without a word, but not before shooting me a look I felt all the way to my spine.
I stood, ready to follow, when Pakhan clapped a heavy hand on my shoulder. “Stay,” he said. “Drink. Join the fun.”
I gave him a slow look. “Not tonight. Already had my fill of whores.”
His grin faltered. “Come on, Maksym. Don’t play coy. You’ve joined before.”
“I don’t fuck on command,” I said coldly.
He snorted. “Your loss. The girls were asking about you.”
I didn’t respond. Just turned and walked away.
Outside on the terrace, I lit a cigarette with steady fingers and stared out over the grounds. Smoke curled into the night as I thought to myself that tonight, it ends.
The plan had been set in motion for days. I’d chosen the right men—quiet and loyal. We would move like shadows, no gunfire, no shouting, no alarms. Just blades in the dark and the wet thud of bodies collapsing mid-moan. No one ever expects to be stabbed while their dick’s being sucked.
This estate wasn’t just going to fall—it was going to be erased.
Every stain left behind by the filth inside, every sin that seeped into the walls, would go up in smoke.
When the dust settled and the whispers began, my name wouldn’t be on anyone’s lips.
Moscow’s feud with Pakhan was already ancient history.
This would look like their work. Let them take the credit. It only made things easier.
I crushed the cigarette under my boot and stepped back inside.
Kira was waiting.
I walked into her room and locked the door behind me.
She was already in bed, sprawled across the sheets like a fucking dream, bare shoulders glowing in the low light. Her eyes met mine, heat and mischief dancing beneath the calm.
I dropped my shirt to the floor and joined her.
She didn’t even get a hello. I just pushed her knees wide and dove in.
Her taste was all over my tongue as I made her fall apart, gasping, writhing.
I didn’t let up. I made her come twice before I even touched my cock.
When I finally slammed into her, folded her in half, she was already begging.
I grunted, hips snapping forward, lost in the wet, pulsing heat.
Tomorrow, no more secrets. Only truth—and her.
Later, when her breathing slowed and she lay boneless against my chest, I stared at the ceiling and counted my heartbeats.
Then I slipped out of bed, dressed silently in the dark, and left her sleeping.
I had a job to finish.
It was 3:05 a.m.
I strapped one knife to my thigh, slipped another into my coat pocket. In the hallway, Sashko leaned against the wall with a lazy grin, flanked by two others. All three wore the look of men ready to kill. I gave them a small nod.
“You ever kill a guy mid-orgy?” Sashko asked, voice casual like he was making small talk.
I snorted. “Gonna check that off the list tonight.”
He grinned. “Finally, a legacy I can be proud of.”
“You’re unstable.”
“Thanks, boss.”
The air outside was thick with fog and quiet. Just the low hum of crickets and the crunch of gravel under boots. One of the guards stood by the corner of the property wall, smoking.
I approached casually, hands tucked into my coat. “Evening,” I muttered.
He turned, surprised. “Boss? You’re still up?”
“Couldn’t sleep.”
He barely had time to blink. I slipped behind him, hand over his mouth, blade sliding up between his ribs with surgical ease. He sagged into me, gurgling. I eased him to the ground and moved on.
Two more guards. Same routine. Friendly greeting. Quick stab through the kidney. One of them looked me dead in the eye before the life drained out of him.
My men took the others—no noise, no mess. Just corpses in the dark.
Afterward, I stepped into the staff bathroom and washed my hands, scrubbing under the nails. Blood swirled pink into the basin.
I dried my hands. Straightened my collar.
Time for dessert.
The door to the lounge opened and the scent hit me first—sweat, perfume, sex.
Sashko and the other two waited just outside, unseen.
They hadn’t been invited to the party, so barging in would’ve raised alarms. I left the door cracked—just enough for them to see, to know exactly when to strike.
Loud music pulsed through the floor, bass like a heartbeat.
The room was red-lit and hazy, silk curtains swaying like ghosts.
Girls draped themselves over sofas and laps. Thighs spread, lips parted. Some wore lingerie; others nothing but heels and collars.
Pakhan’s men were already deep in it. One had a girl riding his face while another stroked himself lazily, watching. A third bent a blonde over a low table and fucked her in slow, brutal thrusts as she moaned into the cushion.
A few girls were on their knees, taking turns with cocks in each hand, like a choreographed act of worship. Champagne dripped down cleavage, onto the floor, pooling in sticky patches.
My men were in the thick of it too, cocks out and hands greedy. No one questioned them. They looked like part of the filth—and that was the point. No one suspects the man moaning into a whore’s throat is two heartbeats from murder.
I scanned the room—half of them were too high to notice anything but flesh and noise.
Pakhan was halfway to a heart attack—lounging shirtless, drenched in sweat, with one girl grinding into his knee and another spitting in her palm as she jerked him off, both soaked and pliant like he hadn’t just trafficked half their friends. Disgust curled in my gut. It made what came next easy.
I walked toward him, slow and steady.
He looked up and grinned. “You came. Good. Pick any girl you want. They’re wet and obedient tonight.”
I didn’t smile. “I already have what I want.”
Then I struck—backhanded him across the temple with the hilt of my knife. His head snapped to the side, and he collapsed, unconscious, cock still twitching.
That was the signal.
Behind me, shadows moved.
My men rose from their positions mid-fuck and started slitting throats.
One sliced a man’s neck from behind while still buried inside a girl. Another drove a blade straight through the temple of a moaning guard.
For a few seconds, no one noticed. The music throbbed. The girls kept moaning. Blood sprayed onto bouncing asses, onto sweat-slick chests.
It only changed when one of them screamed. Her client went slack beneath her, choking, blood bubbling from his mouth and spilling over her breasts as she tried to pull away too late.
Then the chaos began.
Girls shrieked, heels slipping in puddles of blood. They stumbled, covered in gore, mascara streaked with terror. One tried to run and tripped over a body. Another fainted on the spot.
A girl still crouched by Pakhan, lips trembling, eyes wide.
I pointed. “Fix his pants. Zip the bastard up.”
She blinked like she didn’t hear me.
I stepped closer. “Now. Before I lose my patience.”
Hands trembling, she obeyed—stuffing his limp cock back into his underwear, zipping up his pants with a choked sob, crying like a calf led to slaughter.
Then one of my men killed the music.
The silence hit like a bomb.
“Shut your fucking mouths before I shut them for you.” I barked.
They froze.
“If any of you breathes a word about what happened here tonight, I’ll personally hunt you down and toss your corpse into the same pit as these fucks. Got it?”
The girls nodded, trembling.
I kicked the doors open and pointed toward the hall. “Get dressed. Then get the fuck out. My men will take you to town.”
They scrambled for their clothes, pulling them on with shaking hands while I signaled two of my men to escort them. If they tried walking from here, it would take hours—and they’d freeze before they made it halfway in what they were wearing.
Look at me. Practically a fucking saint.
The room was empty now—except for the bodies and my men. Blood soaked the carpets, slicked the walls, pooled under twitching limbs, while the last of my men stood over the wreckage, breathing heavy, their blades still wet.
I turned to them, nodded toward Pakhan’s crumpled form. “I’ll take care of him now.”
A beat of silence.
Then I smiled, slow and mean. “I’m about to turn this house into a bonfire. There’s cash stashed everywhere. Help yourselves, boys—just try not to act like you were raised by wolves while you do.”
The reaction was instant. A burst of rough laughter rolled through the room, followed by firm, approving claps. Heads dipped in sharp nods, shoulders squaring as the mood shifted upward in one disciplined surge.
“Hell of a night,” I added. “You did good.”
“Thanks, boss,” one of them said, still catching his breath.
“And sorry,” I added, deadpan. “Next time, I’ll give you a minute to come before we start the executions.”
Another one wiped blood off his knife. “It’s fine. But you owe us. Big time.”
“Drinks on me,” I said.
“Make sure the drinks come with tits,” someone muttered, and the room broke into grim laughter.
Sashko wiped his blade on a rag. “Time to head home. If I’m not at the door by dawn, my wife starts digging a grave—just in case.”
The others started filtering out too, still grinning. I kept a few of them behind—just in case any of Pakhan’s friends decided to drop by unexpectedly.
I turned back to the task at hand.
Pakhan was still out cold.
I grabbed him by the ankles and started dragging him out of the room.
His arms flailed limply behind him, his head cracking against chair legs, doorframes.
His shoulder clipped a cabinet hard enough to knock over a glass ashtray that shattered on the floor.
I didn’t slow down. He was dead weight, and I hauled him like trash, careless and cold, leaving behind a trail of blood and bruises as we went.
If he was anywhere close to coming around, that would’ve put him right back out.
After I dragged him into the study, I hauled him up and dropped him onto the heavy oak desk like he weighed nothing.
Then I slid off my blood-smeared jacket, reached into the inner lining, and pulled out the folded photo of Mila. The last thing he’ll see before his final breath… will be her face. Let that haunt him.
A knock at the door.
I tucked the photo into the back pocket of my pants.
“Boss,” one of my men said, stepping in. “Got what you asked for.”
He tossed me a coil of rope and a roll of duct tape.
“Perfect,” I muttered.