Their replies come quickly. Short, grim acknowledgments. We all know what this means. The net is tightening.
I pull back onto the road and continue toward the city, the morning sun now bright in my rearview mirror.
Teddy’s face flashes in my mind again—his bright eyes, his soft submission, the way he looked at me when I left him at his door. For a moment, the violence of my world feels even heavier.
But I push the thought aside.
Right now, survival comes first.
Everything else, including the boy who is quickly becoming my greatest weakness, must wait.
* * *
I step back into my apartment and lock the door behind me with a heavy click. The silence is immediate and welcome after the long drive and the paranoia that clung to me the entire way.
I move through the rooms methodically: checking windows, confirming the additional security measures I had installed are still intact, and scanning for any sign that someone followed me here.
Nothing.
I was not followed. The location remains secure. I’m safe for now.
Still, the tension in my shoulders refuses to ease. The cartel is moving faster than we anticipated. Weapons are already in the city. A traitor may be sitting at my own table. And recent events have only confirmed how fragile the balance truly is…
Who knows what would have happened had that car kept pace with me.
I remove my jacket and roll up my sleeves, preparing myself mentally for the next phase of the plan. Viktor and Ivan will handle their parts. I will coordinate from here, directing my most trusted men to strike the secondary stash while we draw the cartel’s attention elsewhere.
Precision is everything. One mistake and we lose the initiative.
A sharp knock at the door cuts through the quiet.
My hand moves instinctively to the gun holstered at my side. I draw it smoothly, thumb flicking off the safety as I move toward the door with silent, measured steps.
No one is supposed to be here. Not without prior warning.
I position myself to the side of the door, gun raised, and peer through the peephole.
Bobby.
I exhale slowly, lowering the weapon but keeping it in hand as I unlock and open the door.
He steps inside without hesitation, his eyes flicking immediately to the gun in my grip. My nephew doesn’t flinch. He has seen enough of this life to know what tension looks like.
“Uncle Kirill,” Bobby says, voice steady but laced with concern. “You look like you’re expecting the devil himself.”
I close and lock the door behind him, then holster the gun. “Better to be prepared than dead. What are you doing here?”
Bobby walks further into the apartment, glancing around at the sparse but elegant furnishings. He has always been perceptive, even as a child. Now, at nineteen, that perceptiveness has sharpened into something almost unnerving. He’s an Antonov, that’s for sure.
“I came to check on you,” Bobby says simply. “And to talk about Teddy.”
The name hits me harder than I’d like. I gesture for him to sit, but he remains standing, arms crossed in a way that reminds me too much of myself.
“He’s worried,” Bobby continues. “Confused. And it’s affecting him. He’s trying to hide it during our training sessions, but I can see it. He cares about you, Uncle. A lot. But he doesn’t understand your world.Ourworld. He’s not built for it the way we are.”
I bristle at the gentle reprimand coming from my own nephew. The pakhan in me wants to shut this conversation down immediately. No one lectures me, not even family—and especially not a junior member.
But Bobby holds my gaze without flinching. There is no disrespect in his tone, only honesty.
