Two of my enforcers are already inside, waiting.
Viktor leans against the back of one of the leather couches like he’s trying to play it casual, but the slight tic in his jaw gives him away. Stephan, the younger of the two, is pacing near the fireplace, a stray dog itching for trouble. The moment Lev and I enter, they both stiffen and turn.
“Pakhan.” Viktor nods respectfully. His shoulders stay square, his posture tight. “We have some… unfortunate news we must inform you of.”
Of course they do. What else is new?
I lift a hand, stopping him before he can ruin my mood further. Without a word, I stride to the wet bar installed into the far wall. Lev doesn’t follow, choosing instead to perch himself on the armrest of the nearest couch, one leg crossed loosely over the other. His silence says enough, waiting for the hammer to finally fall.
I pour two fingers of vodka into one glass, then another. The soft glug of the bottle is the only sound in the room for a beat too long. I walk back and hand one of the glasses to Lev, who takes it and braces it on his knee without a word.
Mine disappears in one long, steady pull. The burn is welcome. It grounds me just enough to meet Viktor’s eye. “Well?”
Stephan steps forward this time. “The Petrovs were found dead this morning.”
For a second, I don’t move. The words hang above us like a fog rolling in, cold and heavy.
“What?” I finally say.
“Slaughtered,” Viktor adds. “Every last one. Their estate was hit sometime overnight.”
Another silence. I stare down at the empty glass in my hand, then back up at them both, letting out a slow exhale through my nose.
The Petrovs weren’t just business associates. They were legacy. My father’s allies. My goddamn godparents in all but name. They’ve been with us since before I was born, through regime changes, turf wars, and police crackdowns.
Old blood.Loyalblood.
This isn’t some robbery gone wrong. This is a message.
“How?” I ask.
Viktor and Stephan exchange a look. It’s never a good sign when my enforcers hesitate.
When he finally clears his throat, Viktor says, “We’re not sure. CCTV was wiped clean. Looped or deleted before the hit. The guards were down. Some of the staff tried to fight back, but they didn’t stand a chance. The time they were hit seemed quite calculated.”
Stephan rubs the back of his neck. “A couple of grandkids were also there.”
I stare past them for a moment, trying to picture the scene. The blood, the screams, the helplessness. I press my tongue to the roof of my mouth, trying to settle the bile rising in my throat.
“Any survivors?”
Viktor shakes his head. “None.”
Another slow breath escapes me. I set the glass down carefully on the nearest table. My fingers flex once, then curl into a fist. The Petrovs weren’t involved in any petty disputes. They weren’t liabilities like many of my family’s other contacts. They weren’t weak. They were a force to be reckoned with.
“What else?” I ask, already bracing.
Stephan doesn’t flinch under my gaze. He’s used to pressure. Still, his tone is cautious. “We’re looking into who their last contacts were with. We’ve pulled whatever data that we can. Matvey is combing through existing footage from the past few days to see if anything stands out.”
“Did they have any visitors in that timeframe?” I ask.
“No logs of any, but…” He shifts his weight, uncomfortable. “No alarms were triggered. Whoever it was came straight through the front door.”
My jaw tightens. No breach from the outside. Just a quiet walk into a house full of trusted loyalists, and a slaughter that followed.
An ally, then. Not good.
The Petrov estate was as fortified as my own compound. Someone close to them had either turned or was bought off.
