I pause, pulling it out. The screen lights up with a message from Ivan...
IVAN: One of your men found dead downtown. Stabbed. Body dumped near the old warehouse district. Looks professional. Call me.
The words hit like ice water.
Teddy’s laughter fades into the background as reality crashes back in. One of my men. Dead. Stabbed. This is not random street violence—this is a message. Someone testing the new pakhan. Someone bold enough to strike directly at the family so soon after my father’s murder.
“Fuck,” I growl. “This will not stand.”
Business mode snaps into place instantly, cold and unforgiving. The warmth I felt watching Teddy evaporates.
No more distractions.
No more slipping.
My jaw tightens as I type a quick reply to Ivan…
KIRILL: Details. Now. Meeting at the compound in one hour. Bring what you have.
I slip the phone back into my pocket and take one last look across the street. Teddy and his friends are still chatting, one of the boys linking arms with him as they start walking down the block. He looks so small, so bright against the night. Untouched by the darkness that follows me everywhere.
Crossing the road now would be selfish.
Dangerous even.
It would pull the young man one step closer to a world that would chew him up and spit him out.
I turn away, forcing my legs to move in the opposite direction. The walk back toward the apartment makes it clear to me. Each step reinforces the decision.
It is time.
Time to call together my top soldiers and advisors. Time to truly begin my reign as head of the family. No more mourning. No more consolidation in the shadows.
The city needs to see that the Antonov family is not weakened—it is sharper, hungrier, and far more ruthless under the new pakhan.
Whoever killed my man—and whoever ordered my father’s death—will learn that lesson in blood.
By the time I reach the SUV in my apartment’s basement parking lot, my driver is ready and waiting. And my mind is already mapping out the meeting: who to bring in, what questions to ask, which streets to lock down, which rivals to pressure first.
The fantasy from earlier, the warmth of the coffee, the sight of Teddy laughing under the streetlights—all of it locked away behind iron resolve. That’s gone now, and it’s not coming back any time soon.
“Compound,” I tell the driver as I slide into the back seat. My voice is steel again. “Fast.”
The engine roars to life, carrying me away from the quiet neighborhood and back into the night where I belong.
Teddy will train Bobby.
I will help with his acting dreams as promised—nothing more.
Distance is mercy.
Because in my world, closeness only ends one way.
And I refuse to let that sweet boy become another casualty of the Antonov legacy.
Chapter 7
Teddy
