“He’s a good boy,” Bobby says softly. “Bright. Kind. Optimistic in a way that this life will try to crush. You need to open up to him. Let Teddy see the real you and decide if he can handle it. Or let him down gently and tell him you can’t commit. It isn’t fair to keep him hanging on, wondering where you are and what you’re doing.”
Bobby’s words land with uncomfortable accuracy. I turn away for a moment, staring out the tall windows at the Gothic building opposite, its spires cutting through the morning haze.
I do not like being given advice by my nineteen-year-old nephew. But I cannot deny he has a point. Teddy deserves clarity. The way I left him—cool, distant, playing the untouchable pakhan—was calculated to make him want me more. Yet it may have only deepened his confusion.
“You have a wise head on young shoulders,” I say finally, turning back to him. My voice is gruff but honest.
Bobby laughs, the sound light and unexpected in the heavy atmosphere. “I’ve had good teachers. You and Father both.”
He steps closer, his expression turning more serious again. “I want to help, Uncle. Not just with training or checking on Teddy. I want to move into the family business.Properly.”
I study him for a long moment. Bobby has always been sharp, resilient, and loyal. The last year has hardened him in ways I wish it hadn’t. Part of me wants to protect him from this life for as long as possible. Another part, the pakhan, knows blood is blood, and talent is talent.
“Soon,” I tell him. “When this situation with the cartel is resolved. Then we will talk about your place in the family.”
His eyes brighten with determination. “I’ll hold you to that.”
We stand in silence for a moment. Then Bobby tilts his head. “Come on. Let’s go see Teddy. Make things right in person. He deserves that much.”
I nod. He is right again.
As we head toward the door, I stop at the side table and pick up a compact pistol. It is small, reliable, easy to conceal. I check the magazine and hand it to Bobby.
“If you want to begin work today, we can call it a trial run,” I say, voice firm. “You can start by being my junior bodyguard on the way over.”
Bobby takes the gun without hesitation. He checks the chamber and safety with practiced ease, then tucks it into his waistband. A small, confident smile curves his lips.
“Less of the ‘junior’, Mr. Pakhan,” Bobby says, echoing my own authoritative tone back at me with surprising precision.
I allow myself a rare, brief smile. “We’ll see.”
We leave the apartment together, descending to the garage. The drive to Teddy’s building is quiet but not uncomfortable. Bobby sits beside me, alert and watchful, the gun a subtle weight at his side. For the first time in days, I feel a small measure of reassurance—not just from the alliance with Viktor, but from the knowledge that my own blood is stepping up when it matters.
Teddy’s apartment building comes into view. I park the car and kill the engine. Bobby glances at me.
“Ready?” Bobby asks.
I nod once.
Whatever happens next—whether Teddy chooses to stay or walk away—I will face it directly.
No more games.
No more distance.
Only truth.
And the hope, however slim, that the bright, stubborn boy who has worked his way under my skin will decide that I am worth the danger and uncertainty that a life with a pakhan will bring.
Chapter 18
Teddy
Skeet and I are sitting at our usual corner table in the little café near my apartment, the one with the mismatched chairs and the best strawberry smoothies in the neighborhood. I’m halfway through my protein bowl, poking at the granola while Skeet chatters about a new song he’s working on, when the bell above the door jingles.
I look up out of habit.
My spoon freezes mid-air.
