Here goes.
It’s time to talk to the pakhan.
And it ain’t a social call…
I slide into the seat across from Viktor, the vinyl creaking under my weight. He's nursing his own coffee, black as his soul, and he looks up with that half-smile that's equal parts warmth and warning.
"Ivan," he says, his voice gravelly from years of barking orders. "Good to see you. You look rested. Or as rested as a man in our line of work can be."
I nod, signaling the waitress for a cup of the same sludge.
"Pakhan,” I say. “Always a pleasure. Though meeting at this hour usually means it's not just for the company."
He chuckles, low and rumbling. “Ivan, please. We’re friends. But you… straight to business, as always. First, pleasantries. How's life treating you? Still playing the lone wolf?"
The waitress drops off my coffee, and I take a sip—bitter, scalding, perfect for shaking off the last dregs of sleep. "Life's the same. Jobs come, jobs go. Men fall. Money arrives. And I have no complaints."
Viktor leans back, studying me over the rim of his mug. "You know, Ivan, I've been thinking. A man your age should consider settling down. Find a boy, like I did with my Eddie. It changes things. Grounds you. Gives you something worth protecting beyond the next paycheck. Come on, you know what I say is true."
I humor Viktor with a wry smile.
Eddie is his Forever Little, the one who softened the edges of the Downtown Devil without dulling his claws. I've seen how he looks at him, like he’s the only light in this dark world we navigate.
"Sounds nice, Viktor,” I answer. “But me? I'm better off focusing on the business. Relationships complicate things. And in our world, complications can get you killed."
I watch as Viktor waves a hand dismissively, but there's a glint in his eye—like he's planting a seed he expects to sprout later. "Ah, but that's the beauty of it. The right boy doesn't complicate. He clarifies. Makes the risks worth it. Think about it."
I nod again, noncommittal.
We've danced this dance before.
Viktor's got his domestic bliss; I've got my solitude. It suits me. No one to worry about when I'm out on a job, no one to explain the bloodstains to. And no one to hurt me either.
We finish our coffees in companionable silence for a moment, the security guys behind us shifting subtly, ever vigilant. Then Viktor's expression hardens, the pleasantries evaporating like steam from our mugs.
"Alright, enough bullshit," Viktor says, lowering his voice even though the diner's empty save for us and a half-asleep cook in the back. "The real reason we're here. The Galkin family. Word is, they're plotting to break the peace treaty."
I lean in, my interest piqued.
The treaty's been holding for years—a fragile truce between our outfit and theirs, keeping the streets from running red again.
"Galkin?” I ask. “Mikhail's been quiet. Reforming, last I heard. Going legit. Or maybe that’s just the front. A play to make us all relax a little too much."
Viktor snorts.
"Indeed. Reforming my ass. Mikhail wants one last shot at the crown. Thinks he can be the undisputed pakhan of the city. My sources say he's planning hits on my top generals. Maybe even me."
I process that, the implications unfolding like a bad hand in poker.
Mikhail Galkin's a legend—ruthless, cunning, but aging. If he's gunning for Viktor, it's suicide. Or genius. Either way it could change the whole landscape for everyone—including me.
"You want me to take him out?” I ask, my voice low and gruff. “Clean, quiet? Or I could try something a little more elaborate, just to make sure all the other pakhans know what happens to those who push the wrong buttons."
Viktor shakes his head, a predatory smile creeping across his face.
"Maybe” he answers. “But not yet. Killing him outright starts a war. No, I want to break him first. Show the other families what happens when you cross the Volkovs. Make a real example. An example that the world will never forget."
I wait, knowing there's more. Viktor's not one for half-measures.
