Chapter 8
Viktor
Damn, he’s sweet.
Well, he’s trouble too.
But sweet all the same…
I leave Eddie on the play mat with the wooden blocks and picture books, his fingers already reaching for the bright covers as though curiosity has temporarily overridden suspicion.
He glances up at me once, eyes flickering with that familiar mix of wariness and something softer, but he says nothing. I give him a single nod—stay here, behave—and turn away before the moment stretches too long.
It’s not that I can’t do intimacy or friendship, or whatever the hell this is. I’ve done it before. But not for a long time. And perhaps not under these circumstances either. Maybe I should just relax and enjoy it for what it is. Yeah,right.
I take the short steps from the living room to the study and my mind flicks back into business mode. It’s what I know. It’s who I am. I’m pakhan, and it’s time to start leading…
The study door closes behind me with a soft, decisive click.
The room feels smaller in the morning light, the desk lamp still burning from last night, casting a warm pool across the laptop screen.
“Okay, assholes…” I say under my breath, my brain warming up to the task ahead.
I settle into the chair, the leather creaking under my weight, and open the encrypted email service.
My fingers rest on the keys for a moment, weighing the risks again.
Reaching out now is necessary, but every word is a potential trap. Enemies inside the family? Almost certainly. But are they involved in this? Now that is the question.
The only way forward is to appear calm, in command, and deliberately vague—enough to reassure the loyal, but enough to tempt the traitors into showing their hand.
I type slowly, deliberately…
Subject: Operational Update
Brothers,
There was an incident last night. Nothing that cannot be resolved in short order. I am handling it personally. All operations should continue as normal. I will contact individuals directly as required.
Remain vigilant.
No names, no locations, no mention of the gallery or the bodies. Nothing that could be used against me even if this message is intercepted. Encrypted or not, caution is habit and non-negotiable.
I read it once more, then hit send.
The message disappears into the secure network like smoke. Or perhaps a bullet.
I lean back, exhaling through my nose. The house is quiet except for Eddie’s voice drifting through the wall—soft, happy singing, some nursery tune about bunnies or stars by the sounds of the odd word I pick up.
The sound is unexpectedly gentle, almost domestic. It catches in my chest.
I saw the look in his eyes before I left him though. Has he already guessed that the toys were Tommy’s? The blocks, the train set, the picture books with their worn corners—they haven’t been touched in years.
I kept them boxed away in the attic until yesterday, pulled them down on impulse when I saw how tightly Eddie was clinging to his stuffie. A foolish gesture, perhaps. Or maybe not.
And then there is the question of Tommy…
Darling Tommy.
