Ivan has his Forever Boy. He has found balance in the darkness. Viktor too, if the rumors are to be believed has settled with his Forever.
Me? I have vengeance.
I have power.
I have a family legacy that demands every ounce of my strength.
Teddy is a distraction I cannot afford. A bright spark that will only get extinguished if I let him too close.
Yet as I sit there in the half-furnished apartment, glass in hand, the memory of his hand in mine refuses to fade. The way he said “deal” with that mix of wariness and hope. The electric tension that crackled between us.
I take another long sip, letting the vodka dull the edges.
Tomorrow I will refocus. Strengthen the hunt for my father’s killer. Solidify the pact with Viktor. Keep Bobby on the right path through Teddy’s training.
And I will keep my distance.
No more coffees. No more fantasies. No more slipping.
But even as I make the silent vow, a small, stubborn part of me wonders how long I can hold to it.
The city lights twinkle outside, indifferent to the lonely pakhan sitting in his empty apartment with nothing but vodka and forbidden thoughts for company.
The second glass of vodka does little to quiet the restlessness gnawing at my chest. Sleep feels impossible tonight. The sparse apartment, with its high ceilings and echoing silence, only amplifies the emptiness. I set the glass down on the side table, the crystal clinking softly against wood, and stand.
A walk.
Fresh air.
Anything to clear my head and push the lingering images of Teddy from my mind.
I grab my coat and slip out quietly, nodding once to the doorman who knows better than to ask questions.
The neighborhood is upper-class and hushed at this hour—tree-lined streets, elegant brownstones with wrought-iron gates, and the occasional luxury car parked under soft streetlamps. The kind of place where old money sleeps soundly behind heavy drapes, unaware of the violence that funded their comfort. My footsteps echo faintly on the sidewalk, the cool night air sharp against my face.
It helps, if only a little.
As I turn a corner, the glow of lights spills from a building ahead. A late-night actors studio, its sign discreet but illuminated. Laughter drifts out into the street—light, bright, unrestrained. I slow my pace, drawn by the sound despite myself.
Then I seehim.
“You have to be kidding me,” I mutter to myself.
Teddy steps out with a small group of boys, all in their early twenties, still buzzing from whatever scene work or improv they have just finished. He is in the center, gesturing animatedly with both hands, his face alight with energy.
Even from across the street, I can see the flush of excitement on his cheeks, the way his eyes sparkle under the streetlights. Teddy throws his head back and laughs at something one of the others says, the sound carrying clearly through the quiet night—genuine, infectious, full of that relentless optimism that defines him.
The boy looks… alive.Pumped. Completely in his element, far removed from the gym, the protein shakes, or the wary caution he showed me over coffee. This is the Teddy who dreams big, who fights for every audition and every client. The one who dared to confront a pakhan on a public sidewalk without flinching.
I hang back in the shadows of a brownstone entrance, watching.
My hand tightens on the railing.
He is beautiful like this—unguarded, joyful, his lean frame moving with expressive energy as he recounts some story, arms waving. Part of me wants to cross the road right then. To step into the light, say hello, see that flush appear on his cheeks again because of me this time. I want to feel that electric spark one more time before I force myself back into the cold reality of my world.
I take a step forward, already calculating the distance.
But then my phone vibrates in my pocket.
