54. Chapter 54

54

Leonid

“ M arcus Coburn.” The name tastes like copper on my tongue as I read from the passport. My blood-stained fingers leave prints on the gold-embossed leather.

Fitting. A name destined for death.

Two naked men slump in metal chairs before me, skin mottled purple where the zip ties bite into their flesh. Their possessions rest on the steel table beside me—clothes folded with military precision, two 9mm Glocks, two burner phones. A condom. A stack of passports with different names but the same faces. The same mistake.

I roll up my sleeves, watching dried blood flake onto the pristine floor. Vic’s basement has seen worse, but he watches me like I’m an artist painting outside the lines. His tech analyst stands a step behind him, hunched over a tablet. The screen’s blue glow reflects off Vic’s sharp features, lending him an eerie, aristocratic edge.

“Your employer invested in quality documentation.” I trace the watermark on Coburn’s passport, remembering how Clara’s blood had looked similar on my hands hours ago. “But they made one critical error.”

The larger one, Marcus, according to his papers, spits blood onto the floor. “We don’t know who—”

I silence him with my fist. The familiar crunch of bone grounds me, keeps the rage from consuming everything. They touched her. They dared to touch what’s mine.

“They sent you after Clara.” Another hit. My knuckles split further. “After my Clara.” I don’t recognize my own voice anymore.

In my peripheral vision, Vic checks his Patek Philippe. Always precise, even now. His tech analyst whispers something and he tilts his head to listen.

“Leonid.” Vic’s Swiss accent sharpens my name. “The payment traced back to Caldwell Industries. Caribbean holdings.”

The smaller one, James Wilson—probably another fake name—pisses himself. The acrid smell mixes with blood and sweat.

“Please… we didn’t know she was a Caldwell. Just told to make it look like a robbery gone wrong.”

I go still. My fingers find Wilson’s burner phone. “Call your employer. Tell them it’s done.”

“What?”

“Tell. Them. She’s. Dead.” Each word feels like ice in my veins. “Or I’ll ensure your actual death takes significantly longer than hers would have.”

The phone rings three times. Static crackles.

Wilson croaks out the words, terror making him surprisingly convincing. “Job’s done. The woman… she’s taken care of.”

A pause that stretches like a garotte wire. Then: “Good. Confirmation photo within the hour.”

The line dies. The phone cracks in my grip.

I look at Vic. He nods—call traced. His tech team never fails.

“Thank you for your cooperation.” My Glock feels heavy as I draw it. The weight of what’s coming settles in my chest. “Unfortunately, I can’t say the same for your employer.”

His eyes widen. “No, wait—”

Two shots. Clean. Professional. More mercy than they deserve.

Vic’s tech guy interrupts us, “Sir, the call we traced… it came from the same account we tracked earlier. Caldwell Industries. But—” He hesitates, clearing his throat. “There’s another call on the same line, sir. I’m patching it through now.”

Vic smirks, clearly enjoying himself. “Old school burner phones,” he says, casually slipping his hands into his pockets. “They underestimated you, Leonid. Big mistake.”

The recording fills the concrete room. An unfamiliar voice, deep and sleek as black ice: “Clara Caldwell’s been taken care of.”

A pause.

“What about the boy?” My stomach churns as the second voice takes its time.

“ Blyat ,” I hiss. My father’s most trusted man. Aleksei.

Just like the ones in the photo Dimitri sent to me.

Ice clinks against glass. A soft chuckle scrapes my nerves raw.

“Elijah is now orphaned. Leonid’s done playing nice. No more leverage. No more loose ends. That boy is dead weight.”

“Tsk, tsk.” The sound crackles through the speaker, and for a moment, I’m back in Papa’s study, watching Aleksei’s thin lips curl as he whispered poison in Papa’s ear.

“You’re one cold suka , Stephan. Thought you had a soft spot for that bastard boy. All those times playing uncle.”

“I should’ve put a bullet between her eyes when I took care of Jake. The stupid bitch doesn’t even know it was me, standing right in front of her at his funeral. Then again, she never met dear Stephan until after I put five bullets into her brother dearest.”

My knuckles crack as I clench my fists, the sound sharp as gunfire in the basement. For fourteen years. Fourteen fucking years Clara’s been hunting the wrong killer, while this svoloch played family friend. I force myself to breathe, to listen. To memorize every detail of how I’ll make him suffer.

“Remember when I sent her to The Viper’s Nest?” Stephan continues.

“The place has been so lucrative for us.” Aleksei chuckles from the other end.

“The whore was supposed to die that night, but the bitch got lucky. And wouldn’t you know it—” Stephan’s words slither through the speaker. “The slut ends up pregnant, couldn’t even tell us who the father was.”

My heart stops. The night at The Viper’s Nest. The club where I first saw her, where I—

Blood rushes in my ears. My fingers leave dents in the steel table edge as the pieces click into place. My son. They tried to kill my son before he even drew breath.

“I told her to get rid of it. Even arranged the clinic. But no—”

The room seems to shrink, the walls pressing closer as Stephan’s voice keeps coming. Vic’s basement smells of copper and revenge, and all I can think of is Elijah’s small hand in mine, how fragile his fingers felt. How close I came to losing him before I even knew he was mine.

“Clara fucking Caldwell had to play mother, acting all high and mighty about keeping some random bastard…”

I draw in a deep breath to center myself, but my lungs feel like they’re filling with ice. Every muscle in my body coils tight, ready to snap. My son. The child I’d dismissed as another man’s blood. The boy who has my mother’s eyes—

Aleksei’s laughter cuts off abruptly. “But what about Leonid? He’s getting smarter with his business deals. The expansion into Europe, the new alliances. He’s not the reckless boy we could easily manipulate anymore.”

There’s a pause as they both seem to consider this.

“ Suka blyad’ ,” Aleksei spits. “Always was an arrogant mudak. Just like his father. Andrei thought he was untouchable, and now his syn suki struts around like he owns everything.”

The mention of my father strikes a nerve so deep it reverberates in my bones. My grip on the table shifts, fingers splayed, grounding myself.

“Patience,” Stephan soothes. “Leonid and Ludis will do the job for us. They’ve been destined to destroy each other from the start. Andrei made sure of that.”

“Remember how beautifully this worked last time? Your position in the family made it so easy. That suggestion to Andrei about separating the twins—masterful. Nothing like a mother’s death to tear a family apart.”

I ball my hands into fists. I want to tear these men apart, to rip their throats out with my teeth.

Jebat’ eto der’mo.

“Six-month-old twins,” Stephan muses through the static. “Should’ve been an easy job.”

Aleksei’s grunt crackles over the line. “Who would’ve thought Sofiya had it in her? Diving in front of those bullets, using her own body as a shield.” His laugh scrapes like nails on concrete. “Both brats survived because of that stupid suka .”

My vision blurs red.

“But it worked out better than we planned, didn’t it?” Stephan’s voice drips satisfaction. “Watching Andrei break, thinking his precious wife died protecting their sons from outside enemies…” A pause. “The fool never suspected the man he trusted the most ordered the hit.”

“Love makes men weak. Pizdets .” Aleksei chuckles. “The fool wasn’t listening to me after he became a father. Blyat . He turned into a pussy. But convincing him to separate the twins? ‘For their safety,’ I said. The grieving father, so desperate to protect his remaining family, he’d do anything—even tear it apart.”

“Time to finish what we started.” Stephan’s voice fades into static. “Send confirmation when it’s done.”

“ Da .” The line goes dead.

The steel table crumples under my grip.

Vic’s hand on my shoulder stops me from crushing the speaker.

My jaw clenches so hard I taste blood. In the old days, traitors like these were fed to the dogs, piece by piece. But dogs are too quick, too merciful. I think of Elijah, Clara, of my mother, dying to protect her sons from a threat that came from within.

No. Dogs won’t do. I’ll take them apart myself, slowly, intimately. I’ll make them experience every moment of fear they inflicted on my family. And when they beg for death, I’ll remind them how they laughed about my son.

“Your move,” Vic says quietly, but I’m already reaching for my phone. It’s time to remind these svolochi exactly whose blood runs in Elijah’s veins.

The Vory v Zakone has old rules about traitors. But for men who target children? We have special protocols. Ones that make the old punishments look like mercy.