But the worst day wasn't the pain. It was the visit from the Elders.
They stood at the foot of his hospital bed—old men in expensive suits whom my father had led for decades. They studied his broken body and the tubes. They didn't see a friend. They saw a liability.
"A Pakhan must be strong, Viktor,"the eldest had said. "A man who cannot protect his wife cannot protect the organization. You are crippled and weak."
They stripped him of his title and our money. They cast us aside.
My father died three days later. Not from the wounds, but from the shame. He gripped my hand with his dying strength. His eyes burned with a feverish hate.
"Take it back, Kostya," he had rasped, his final breath rattling in his chest. "They think we are weak. Show them. Burn them all. Take everything from Arthur Blackwood. Leave him with ash."
Kostya was my father’s name for me. No one else used it.
At thirteen, they threw me onto the streets.
While Helena Blackwood grew up in that mansion, playing with ponies and going to private schools paid for with my family’s blood, I lived in the slums of St. Petersburg, fighting rats for bread.
I’ve dedicated every second of my life to this moment.
I didn't marry or have children. No vacations or educational pursuits.
I became a weapon and joined the Bratva organization at the bottom and killed my way to the top, one broken finger at a time, fueled by my father's dying wish:"Burn them all, Kostya."
My father knew the truth in his gut. But I needed it in black and white.
A King does not start a war on a whisper. Even a whisper from a man he loved.
I needed proof. Absolute, undeniable proof.
If I were to destroy the Blackwood line, if I were to punish a child for the sins of her father, I needed to know they deserved it beyond a shadow of a doubt.
It took five years to find the paper trail.
I hunted down the Moretti family’s old accountant—a man hiding in a basement in Naples. I broke him.
Three hours in that damp cellar, and he confessed, all but begging to give me the ledger and make it stop.
That day, I saw the transaction with my own eyes.
Date:August 12th.Two days before the explosion.
Amount:Five million dollars.
Recipient:Blackwood Holdings.
Reference:'Cleanup'.
It was all there, black and white, as requested. A brutal truth labeled cleanup. As if my family were nothing more than dust to be swept into a bin.
Arthur didn't stop at betraying us. He sold my mother and sister for the price of a yacht.
That was the day the last of my mercy died. That was the day I stopped being a boy seeking answers and became the executioner.
For twenty years, I’ve tracked the Blackwoods. I watched from the shadows as Arthur drank away the profits.
I know where Helena went to school. Her favorite flowers. The name of her first boyfriend.
I stalked them like a wolf waiting for the winter to set in.
