I stand over him, breathing steady, not even winded. Pit fighter training, Klaus's voice in my head, my own cold calculation—they've all merged into something sharper. Deadlier.
"Zaplatit'. Seychas."Payment. Now.
He nods through blood. "Z-zavtra—"Tomorrow—
"Sevodnya."Today.
He pays. In full. Cash pulled from a safe with shaking hands while I watch, expression blank.
As we leave, Viktor falls into step beside me. "You're getting colder," he says quietly in Russian. "Bolshe pokhozhim na Klausa kazhdiy den'."More like Klaus every day.
I don't respond. Because he's right.
And that's exactly what I need them to think.
• • •
That night, I sit in the penthouse staring at my laptop. Two windows open. The horror theme park plans on one side—blueprints, renders, timelines. My firm. My project. The thing I built with Alena before everything went to hell. Now it's a front, laundering millions through "international projects."
On the other side: the hacker's files. Money flows. Shell companies. Offshore accounts. Names. Faces. Who's loyal. Who's ambitious. Who's just waiting for Klaus to die so they can make their move.
I'm building a map. A web. Every connection, every vulnerability, every piece of leverage I might need when the moment comes.
The USB drive sits beside the laptop. Klaus's medical records glow on a third window. Treatment schedules. Drug names. Doctor appointments. His lifeline, laid bare.
I could end him tomorrow. Cut off his supply. Watch the cancer come roaring back. Watch him wither and die while I consolidate power.
But that's not enough.
I don't just want Klaus dead. I want his empire dismantled. Every lieutenant who ever hurt someone for him. Every operation built on blood. I want it burned to ash so thoroughly there's nothing left to rebuild.
And then I want to walk away. Back to London. Back to Alena.
If there's anything left of me worth saving by then.
My phone buzzes. Klaus. "Uzhin sevodnya. 8 PM. Ne opazdyvay."Dinner tonight. Don't be late.
I text back in Russian. "Budu."I'll be there.
I close the laptop. Pour a drink—vodka, straight, the way they taught me. Stare out the window at the city below, lights glittering like stars in a sky that doesn't give a fuck about the blood on my hands.
I look down at my knees. The stars itch under the bandages. "Ya ne klanyayus' nikomu."I bow to no one.
Except I do.
Every day.
For her.
Because if I don't, she dies. And I can't let that happen. Even if it means there's nothing left of me when this is over. Even if she'll hate me for what I've become.
I down the vodka. Feel it burn.
Viktor was right. I am getting colder. More like Klaus every day.
But where Klaus enjoyed the violence, I weaponize it.
Where Klaus built an empire to rule, I'm building one to destroy.
