1. Chapter 1

1

Leonid

M eow?

I toss my phone onto the desk, annoyed as hell. Why does it even matter that the kid called me like I’m a cat?

Suka, why am I even thinking about it?

He’s what? Three? Four?

Pizda. Four?

I freeze, my mind grinding to a halt.

Four … That’s… the time. That night. The one I’ve shoved deep into the back of my mind. Her. Red. Clara. Govno .

I can still feel how her body trembled as my cock moved inside her, her eyes filled with lust behind her mask. She eagerly licked her lips, craving more.

Yob tvoyu mat’.

I shake my head, trying to clear the memory, but it sticks to me like smoke.

No. It can’t be.

It’s impossible. I shouldn’t care. I don’t care.

But the timing. The way the kid looked at me. The way he looks like… Damn it. I can’t even finish that thought.

I stand up, pacing. Patience —it’s what I’m good at. It’s how I survived this long. But when it comes to this? Chyert , I’m not used to this feeling. All questions, no answers. And I’m not the type who waits for answers to come on their own. Fuck that.

The door creaks open behind me. Dmitry’s heavy boots barely make a sound as he walks in. “The kid’s sleeping now,” he says, voice low, quieter than usual. I glance up at him.

On the monitor, Clara is still out cold, lying on the bed, unmoving. The kid is curled up next to her, his small body pressed close against her, his little hand gripping her shirt like it’s his lifeline. He’s holding some toy—something weird-looking—but his fingers tremble, even in his sleep.

Dmitry’s massive hand hovers over the screen, fingers twitching like he wants to reach out, but he doesn’t. He just stands there, staring at the kid with something that looks too much like… regret .

Blyat’.

I grunt, trying to shake off the weight that’s pressing down on my chest.

“Good,” I mutter, though it doesn’t feel good at all. Not with that kid lying there, clutching onto her like he’s got no one else in the world.

Kayla’s voice echoes down the hall, a mix of panic and Spanish curses. She’s freaking out. I can picture her, eyes wide, pacing the kitchen. Dmitry scratches his head, looking at me. “Kayla’s… not handling it well. When she saw the kid, her eyes were as big as the fucking full moon.”

I huff out a breath, leaning on the desk.

Of course she’s panicking.

My eyes flick to the clock—2 AM.

I didn’t expect a fucking kid either, but here we are.

“Tell her to calm down,” I mutter, waving it off. My jaw clenches. My fingers drum against the wooden table.

A kid. I didn’t sign up for this.

But no one— no one —gets a free pass for trying to poison me. Not even Red.

Dmitry shifts his weight from one foot to the other, his gaze still fixed on the monitor. His shoulders relax just a fraction, as if the tension is bleeding out, but his eyes keep darting back to the kid. A flicker, too quick to catch, then he shrugs, turning to move toward the table. He doesn’t say anything else, but he flicks a glance at me before refocusing on the kid.

I notice, but I don’t say anything.

“Kayla’s making something for them tomorrow,” he says, his eyes lingering a little longer than usual. The words are there, but the space between them feels heavy.

The door swings open with a muted thud . This time, Maksim strolls in, holding a plate of something. His mouth is half-full, and he’s chewing like he hasn’t eaten in days. “This… blin , whatever Kayla made… it’s good,” he says, crumbs falling from his mouth as he speaks. “You should have some.”

I take a deep breath, feeling the tightness in my chest. Suka, it’s almost two in the fucking morning, and Maksim is sitting there like he’s watching a damn comedy show—completely relaxed, legs stretched out, ass sunk deep into the leather chair. His chewing is slow, deliberate, as if he’s savoring every bite.

I clench my jaw, fighting the urge to toss something at his head.

“So,” Maksim begins, the last bit of food swallowed, “am I the only one… or does the kid look awfully familiar?”

I glance at him, annoyed, my hands gripping the edge of the desk. “You’re the only one talking,” I mutter, my jaw tight.

Maksim’s smirk widens, a glint of mischief dancing in his eyes. “Come on, you’ve noticed it too. The little guy’s got the same attitude as—”

“Shut up,” I cut him off.

He doesn’t know what he’s poking at. No one does.

“Just saying.” Maksim pushes the last bit of whatever the hell he’s eating into his mouth, chewing like it’s the best meal he’s ever had. His eyes lock onto mine. “You may want to get a DNA check,” he adds with a wink.

Before I even realize it, my hand twitches toward my gun.

Shoot this mudak in the head or the dick? Can’t decide.

Maksim catches the look and bursts into laughter, nearly choking on his food. He leans back, completely unfazed.

“Relax, boss, I’m just messing with you.”

Dmitry shifts his weight, the heavy soles of his boots scraping against the floor, pulling our attention.

He clears his throat, breaking the silence between us. “Elijah thinks you…” he hesitates, eyes flicking between Maksim and me, then looks straight at me, “look like one of the Pokémon.”

I blink. Elijah. That’s right. Clara— Red —called him that earlier.

My head tilts, confused. “The Poke-what ? ” I shoot him a bewildered look, not sure if I heard him right.

“It’s a cartoon,” Dmitry says, glancing toward the monitor, his hand sliding into his pocket as he checks if the boy is still asleep. “Kids’ show. Pokémon.”

I stare at him. “You’re telling me the kid thinks I’m some cartoon character?”

Dmitry nods, his massive arms crossed, looking uncomfortable. “Yes, it’s the villain.”

I stare at him, my mind struggling to connect the dots . A cartoon series? You must be fucking kidding. Me? Leonid Kuznetsov, a cartoon character?

“Meowth,” the big guy says, dead serious. “He’s the villain. But… kinda dumb.”

I narrow my eyes, incredulous. “And how the fuck do you know?”

Dmitry shifts, stuffing his hands into his pockets. He’s quiet for a moment, long enough for Maksim to start chuckling again.

Dmitry finally speaks, his voice low. “My sister’s kid… It was his favorite.”

Sister? I didn’t know Dmitry had a sister… There’s more to this, but he won’t say.

Dmitry doesn’t look at me, doesn’t say anything more. Just stands there, staring at the ground like he doesn’t want to talk about it.

Mudak Maksim clears his throat, breaking the tension. “So, boss,” he says, his eyes still glinting with amusement but more subdued now, “what are we gonna do with them?”

I glance at Dmitry, his eyes now back on me, waiting for my answer.

They both want to know the plan.

The fucking plan .

The one I thought I had, the one where Clara was just another piece on the board, another problem to solve.

But now?

Now I’m looking at a kid who wasn’t supposed to exist, and I’m not sure how to play this hand.