Finally, Viktor speaks. “There’s a possibility we could work together. Form something controlled. Structured. A coalition across the city. My people, Zorin, Antonov, and now you. Less inter-family bloodshed. Coordinated territories. Supply lines that don’t overlap and get messy. Ultimately? More power. More money for everyone who plays ball.”
I let the offer hang in the air.
It sounds clean on the surface.
Tempting, even.
No more watching my back every second for a knife from supposed allies. But I can read between the lines. Coalition means Viktor wants to lead it. He wants me under his thumb…
“Might be interesting,” I say, keeping my voice even. “But I won’t take orders from you. Or anyone else, for that matter. The Kamedov family doesn’t kneel.”
Tension ramps up again. Viktor’s men shift. Padraig’s hand moves closer to his weapon. I can feel the eyes on us from every corner of this phony diner.
My shoulders tighten, ready to explode into motion.
I picture it: the quick draw, the shots, the chaos.
It would feel good. The rage unleashed. Burning this place to the ground.
Viktor exhales slowly. “Cooperation requires compromise sometimes, Kane. You’re young for a pakhan. New to the topspot. I’m offering stability. A way to honor your brothers’ legacy without painting the streets red every other week.”
I stand up abruptly, the booth creaking under the sudden movement. My full height towers over the table.
“I’m not interested in conceding any of my family’s control,” I say. “Not one inch. You want to talk real alliance later? Fine. But on equal terms. Not this.”
I turn and head for the door.
Behind me, Viktor calls out, voice carrying across the diner.
“The offer won’t stand forever, Kamedov. Think about it. The city’s changing. You can change with it or get left behind.”
I don’t look back. I push through the glass door, the bell jingling like some cheerful fuck-you. Padraig falls in step beside me as we cross back to the SUV. The sun feels harsher now, the street noise louder. My blood is still up, muscles wired from the near-miss of violence.
In the car, I start the engine but don’t pull away immediately. Padraig glances over. “You think he’s serious?”
“Doesn’t matter,” I mutter. “I’m not bending the knee to Volkov. Not today. Notever.”
I drum my fingers on the wheel, mind racing. The meeting replays in my head… every micro-expression, every calculated word. Viktor’s not stupid. He sees the power vacuum.
But so do I.
And I’ll fill it my way.
Brutal. Uncompromising. Like my brothers taught me, only without their patience for diplomacy.
“Drop me across town,” I tell Padraig. “I’m heading the rest of the way alone. Clear my head. See you tomorrow.”
Padraig hesitates but nods. “Watch your back, pakhan.”
We drive in silence for twenty minutes, the city blurring past—gritty blocks giving way to taller buildings, then older neighborhoods with their own secrets. Padraig gets out near one of our safe drops. I watch him disappear into a side street before I keep moving.
Alone now, I head deeper into the part of the city I know best. The places where the Young Menace once ruled the nights. I park the SUV in a shadowed lot and start walking. The afternoon stretches long, sun dipping lower. My thoughts churn.
Milo’s voice in my head:Strategy first, little brother.Loren’s quieter wisdom:Strike when they least expect.
I miss them both.
The grief hits fresh sometimes, sharp as a blade. But grief is a luxury I can’t afford anymore. I’m pakhan. Every step I take now echoes for the whole family.
