I find myself in a quieter district, near parks and older buildings. My feet carry me without direction until I spot a small café with outdoor seating. I sit, order a strong black coffee—no hipster bullshit—and watch the world move around me.
People laughing, couples walking hand in hand. Normal life. Something I’ve never really had.
Whatever.
The coffee burns going down. Good. Pain keeps me sharp.
I pull out my phone and start going through reports from my soldiers. Numbers. Territories. Weak points. Viktor’s offer echoes, but I push it aside.
I won’t concede. I’ll expand. Consolidate.
I’ll make the Kamedov name feared again, stronger than before.
Hours pass as I sit there, planning, scheming, letting the city’s pulse feed into me. By the time the sun starts to set, painting the buildings in orange and red, I feel clearer. Harder.Ready.
I stand, leave cash on the table. Tomorrow I’ll meet Padraig, start making moves. No coalitions that put me second. No compromises that weaken the bloodline.
The pakhan is awake now. And the city better fucking watch out.
* * *
Later that evening, I find myself at the bar of the Meridian Hotel, the kind of place my brothers used to drag me to when they wanted to impress suppliers or intimidate rivals.
Crystal chandeliers drip from the high ceiling, casting warm golden light over dark wood and velvet upholstery. A pianist in the corner plays something soft and classical, each note floating through the air like it’s trying to soothe the savage beasts in the room.
And it’s doingnothingfor my mood.
I swirl the vodka in my glass, the ice clinking softly. Another double. The burn down my throat is familiar, almostcomforting, but it doesn’t touch the restlessness gnawing at my chest. I’ve been here almost an hour, nursing drinks and staring into the amber liquid like it holds answers.
Around me, the bar is full of happy couples. A man in a tailored suit leans close to his date, murmuring something that makes the boy laugh and touch his arm. Another pair at a high-top table shares a dessert, feeding each other bites with that sickeningly sweet intimacy. They look relaxed. Content. Like the weight of the world isn’t balanced on a knife’s edge.
How the fuck do they do it?
I watch a man rest his head on his partner’s shoulder, his fingers tracing lazy circles on his guy’s thigh. No tension in his body. No constant scan of the exits. No wondering if the man beside him is about to get a bullet in the back of the head. They have jobs—normal ones, probably.Mortgages. Weekend plans that don’t involve body counts or territory disputes.
How do people build something real when every day could be their last? When trust is a luxury most of us in this life can’t afford?
I’ll be damned if I know.
I finish the vodka in one sharp swallow and slam the glass down harder than I intend. The bartender glances over but says nothing. Smart man.
Enough of this.
I toss cash on the bar and push through the heavy revolving door onto the sidewalk. The night air hits me… cool, sharp, carrying the distant rumble of traffic and the faint scent of rain on asphalt.
The sky above is a deep indigo, stars faint against the city glow.
No plans. No soldiers waiting for orders. Just me and the streets I’ve bled on for years.
I start walking. No destination. My dress shoes click against the pavement, suit jacket open, hands in my pockets.
The city pulses around me: neon signs flickering, late-night food carts steaming, groups of young people laughing too loud. I move through it like a shadow, unseen but seeing everything.
My mind churns with the day’s events: Viktor’s slick offer, the phony diner, the way my finger had itched for the trigger. The pakhan title still feels like borrowed clothes. Too big. Too heavy.
Blocks blur together. I cross into an older part of the city, where the buildings stand taller and older, their stone facades carved with gargoyles and forgotten saints.
Thankfully, the crowds thin out. Streetlights cast long shadows. My pace slows when I spot it ahead… an old gothic library, the kind you see in movies about haunted academics. Massive arched windows glowing with warm interior light. Stone steps leading up to heavy oak doors etched with intricate patterns.
