Chapter 47

Chapter

Forty-Seven

"All I was afraid of is saying good-bye."

― Mitch Albom

Alexsei

A month's passed since Caia last visited her father. The day after our sextape — which I've watched more than once because, fuck, she was mesmerizing — I made a little visit to Mankiev's filthy dump. The look on his face was priceless, fear swallowing him as he scrambled behind his dining table like a rat.

My fist crashed into his face, my final warning. Caia didn't want him dead, just gone, but I was done playing nice. If Mankiev dares cross me again, he'll wish for death before I'm done with him. Slow and brutal.

Things had been smooth since then, slipping back into our usual rhythm. Even Lukyan stopped teething, so we finally got some sleep. But then Igor called for an emergency meeting.

"Fucking Vlad!" Igor roared, smashing his phone against the wall. We watched as it shattered, just like Igor's patience. He paced, sweat pouring down his face.

I didn't blame him. If someone I considered a brother screwed me over like Vlad did him, I'd be out for blood too.

For months, Vlad's been poaching clients from Silas, and the fucker's been successful. Seems people want quantity over quality these days. But today, Vlad crossed the line. Igor found out he's been sweet-talking the Las águilas in Colombia, trying to pull them from under us. That was our bread and butter and losing it would gut our business.

"Don't worry, boss," Volk said, lounging on the couch. "I'll kill him for you."

"Death's too kind for this snake," Igor snarled, rubbing his temples, looking like he was one step away from snapping.

I leaned back, smirking. "Let's not rush to kill him yet. Besides, if Vlad dies, who's gonna be our punching bag?"

They all stared at me, deadpan.

I sighed.

Then Volk rolled his eyes, and we both stood. Time for a hunt. If we couldn't catch Vlad just yet, we could at least figure out his next move.

I steered Volk's Porsche through the city as he closed his eyes, trying to catch a break, while I vibed to some classical tunes on the radio. I knew we'd likely be up all night, so he should grab any shut-eye he could, even if it was only three in the afternoon.

But with me around, he should've known his nap wouldn't last.

"You hungry?" I jolted him awake with a hard pinch on his left nipple.

"What the hell?" He retaliated with a sharp backhand to my stomach. "That fucking hurt, you asshole!"

"What? Can't focus, let alone kill anyone, on an empty stomach," I shrugged.

He gave me a hard look. "Touch my nipples again and I'll cut yours and feed them to you."

I rolled my eyes. "So, you hungry?"

I parked near one of Igor's Italian joints, craving some serious triple cheese pizza.

Volk crossed his arms, closed his eyes, and leaned his head against the window.

"Just grab me a large pepperoni pizza," he yawned.

I smirked at Volk's drowsy state before I got out of the car and swaggered into the restaurant.

The scent of garlic and pizza sauce hit me like a punch to the gut, but in the best way possible.

I headed to the counter and placed our order for a large pepperoni pizza and a cheesy garlic bread, knowing we could use the extra carbs after our long day ahead.

Waiting for the food, I grabbed a seat at a nearby table, pulled out my phone and dialed up Caia on FaceTime.

As her face popped up on the screen, I was greeted with a scene straight out of chaos.

She was in the midst of changing Lukyan on our bed after giving him a bath.

My jaw dropped as I took in the scene – her once pristine white mini dress was now splattered with an orange sticky liquid.

"What happened?" I finally managed to sputter out.

As she sighed and grabbed the phone and pointed it at my son, who was giggling and saying "papa" with his two little front teeth poking out.

He was so cute that I couldn't help but giggle along with him.

"Hey, buddy," I grinned. "Driving your mama up the wall again, huh?"

Lukyan giggled trying to hold the phone.

"This little guy decided to turn his bowl of coral lentils soup into a splash zone because he wasn't a fan," she chuckled, tickling his stomach. "Can't stay mad at him though, he's just too adorable, even though he managed to ruin my new Chanel dress that his papa got me just last week, didn't you, buddy?" She spoke in that high-pitched voice we both use when talking to him.

Our son was a clever one.

Whenever he misbehaved, all he had to do was bat those big blue eyes at us, just like Puss in Boots, and we both would swoon and forget about it all.

"Don't worry, love. I'll buy you a hundred more. He can ruin them all he wants."

Caia chuckled, setting the phone down on the bedside table to ensure they were both still in the camera's frame.

"What are you up to?" She turned Lukyan onto his tummy to fasten his black onesie, all the while calling out to me.

"Gonna grab some pizza and then I've got a meeting," I sighed, intentionally keeping my response vague, not wanting to worry her with our plans. "I'll probably be home late again, thanks to fucking Vlad, so don't wait up for me."

As she finished with Lukyan's onesie, she glanced back at the phone, her eyes softening. "Okay, don't work too hard. And be safe, okay?"

I smiled at her concern. "Always for you, baby. "

"Oh, and before I forget, I'm going to take Lukyan to the gallery later. I want to take some pictures of him because he's growing up too fast," she added with a smile, her eyes shining with excitement. "I'll send them to you."

"Can't wait. I knew they're gonna be great. Lukyan's already a little model. He doesn't look like me for no reason; my baby is gonna be the biggest heartbreaker of Russia," I joked.

Caia rolled her eyes. "Hope he won't be as vain as you."

A waitress timidly approached me and set down the two pizzas, offering a shy smile before scurrying off to attend to other customers. My stomach growled in anticipation as the enticing aroma filled my nostrils.

I chuckled. "Gotta go, love. Have fun at the gallery, love you both so fucking much."

Caia gently lifted Lukyan so he could face the phone.

"Say I love you, papa," she cooed, prompting a delighted giggle from Lukyan as he babbled in his adorable baby talk.

"I love you, papa," Caia repeated on Lukyan's behalf, her voice overflowing with warmth.

She blew a kiss to the camera before ending the call.

"You are forbidden to ever enter these doors again, Mr. Romaniev! I thought I made myself clear last time."

Feigning hurt, I placed a hand over my chest. "Why, Father, you can't possibly forbid a lost soul from finding God again."

Father Mokanski scoffed, clutching his Bible tighter, the sleeves of his black robe trailing like a funeral procession. "There's no redemption for a soul like yours, Romaniev. Killing one of our messengers was one thing, but mocking God relentlessly is another."

I sighed.

Isn't it funny how our sins have a miraculous way of throwing a wrench into life's grand plans?

"So much for ‘forgive thy neighbor,'" I muttered.

After all, I did decapitate Father Pasha years ago under Igor's orders. He was a client of my mother's, and trust me, no one missed him. The church, unsurprisingly, blacklisted me after that. Fine by me.

For years, I'd let the idea of living on my terms slip away—until Lukyan was born. A heavy black shadow clung to me like a second skin, so I figured, what the hell? Maybe I needed a little confessional time with Father Mokanski, Pasha's replacement. It became a routine—confess, get scolded, rinse, repeat.

Twice a month, like clockwork.

Until two weeks ago, when I confessed about the sextape I made with my wife, because she did something I didn't like. That seemed to be the final straw for dear old Mokanski. Apparently, fucking Leila the love of the Sadiek's life then burning him alive and working for the Silas were acceptable. But filming my wife naked? That's where the good Father drew the line. Go figure.

He sighed heavily, the sound echoing through the empty, dreary church as he made his way toward the confessional. I followed at a lazy pace, strolling through the dim aisles of empty benches. The look of guilt was plastered on his face—a priest burdened by his helplessness to save me.

Guilt. It's like a sickness, gnawing at you until there's nothing left. Makes you feel like the devil himself has taken up residence inside you, whispering that you're too far gone. Funny how that works—sometimes guilt drives us to do things we never thought possible, and other times, it makes us give up on ourselves completely.

I slid into the confessional, the door creaking behind me, sealing us in. Dim light filtered through the screen, casting a shadow over Father Mokanski's worn face. He looked older. Tired.

"Father, I know you must think poorly of me," I said, my voice laced with thinly veiled annoyance. "But I'm doing better than I used to! I even pray now and then."

A long, heavy pause hung between us before he finally spoke, his voice thick with resignation. "My son, redemption is possible for even the most wayward souls. But it takes true repentance. Are you truly willing to change?"

I glanced at my Rolex and swore under my breath. Already late.

We'd spent the last few hours wringing out rats for any trace of Vlad. One of his clients, just before Volk put a bullet in his head, mentioned seeing Vlad at this very church a few weeks ago. The irony wasn't lost on me.

Leaving Volk to sulk in the car, I assured him I had a plan. That's why I was here.

"Yeah, yeah, we can discuss that in the next session, Father," I dismissed. "But right now, I need a little favor."

Father Mokanski's jaw tightened. "I cannot condone actions that bring harm, my son. I offer guidance, not vengeance."

I smirked. Vlad needed plenty of guidance —guidance right to his grave.

"What does Vlad want from you?"

Without warning, Mokanski flung open the confessional door, moving so abruptly that even I was caught off guard.

What the hell ?

His hands trembled as he looked around, clearly rattled. His gaze finally locked onto mine.

"You should not seek out the darkness," he said, voice wavering. "Prepare yourself for the darkness that will tear your world apart."

His words hit me like a cold slap. But before I could press him, he hurried away, disappearing into the hollow silence of the church. Fucking useless priest.

Before I could give it much more thought, my phone buzzed. I fished it out of my pocket and smirked when I saw the message.

It was from Caia, and when I opened it, a series of photos of Lukyan appeared, each one more perfect than the last. He was dressed in his little blue Dolce & Gabbana onesie, his blond hair slicked back, eyes bright as the summer sky. In another picture, Caia held him in her lap, her blue dress matching his outfit perfectly. My grin spread wider than I thought possible, cheeks aching with the force of it.

They were perfect.

"Told you he wouldn't spill shit," Volk grunted. "Should've roughed him up, scared the truth out of him."

He wasn't wrong. Some people only understand pain.

Peaceful protests don't change shit.

But chaos, blood, and violence? That makes people listen. That makes them beg.

Still, I've killed enough priests in my life. Gotta draw the line somewhere.

"He knows something, but he's too fucking scared to say it," I muttered, dragging my fingers through the rough stubble on my jaw.

What the fuck are you hiding, Mokanski?

I needed a shave—Lukyan hated when my face wasn't smooth. He'd cry every time he touched my cheeks if I didn't.

"Yeah, well, I'm out. Two in the damn morning," Volk grumbled, shaking his head. "Let's get you home."

He drove through the dead streets, silent houses, and dark shops flying past the window. Everyone else tucked away, safe, not a clue about the filth that slinks around at this hour.

When I was a kid, I used to dream about having a home —just somewhere I could breathe, somewhere the old man's fists couldn't reach. Fought like hell to make that dream real.

And I did.

As we pulled into my driveway, I stepped out.

"We're headed to Saint Petersburg next," I said, already knowing I'd just fucked up his morning plans.

Volk groaned but drove off without another word.

Smirking, I headed for the elevator. I needed a shower, and to crawl into bed next to Caia. If I was lucky, maybe we'd both end up naked. Just the thought made me grin.

After Lukyan was born, Caia became so damn self-conscious, hiding behind loose clothes, always switching off the lights before we'd fuck. But me? I couldn't get enough of her. I loved the bones that cracked, the skin that stretched—her body, the same one that brought my son into this world. And I made damn sure she knew it.

Every single day, I'd tell her she was the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen. Sexy as hell, no matter what she thought. Sometimes she'd roll her eyes, but other times she'd tear up, like she needed to hear it more than she'd ever admit.

My beautiful Caia .

When I reached our floor, I stretched, ready to slip into the warmth of our bed, but stopped when I noticed something off.

The door was ajar. Not open, not wide, just barely cracked.

Something twisted in my gut.

I frowned, pushing it open wider, my hand hovering over the wood like it might burn. I stepped inside without a sound.

Caia must've left it like that. Distracted with Lukyan maybe, or she'd forgotten to close it.

But the moment I shut it behind me, something cold, something wrong , slithered down my spine. My pulse stuttered, then spiked, thundering so loud I could hear it in my ears. My throat tightened, each breath coming slower, harder, like the air had thickened.

The hallway light flickered, casting long, warped shadows that moved—No. That seemed too damn alive. Too wrong.

My heart kicked against my ribs as I crept forward, every step feeling heavier, like I was wading through some invisible force trying to stop me. The tension in my chest coiled tighter, wrapping around my lungs, squeezing until every breath hurt.

Something was wrong. So fucking wrong .

The air grew thick, pressing in on me, suffocating me, like the walls themselves were closing in, like something was waiting—just ahead.

As I reached the living room, my eyes darted around, scanning, searching. Looking for something—anything. Yet, everything looked untouched. Furniture sat neatly, the soft glow from the lamp casting a warm light across the room. Nothing seemed out of place, not a chair, not a pillow. It was all too normal.

And yet…I could feel it.

Something wrong, something heavy, pulling tight in my chest like a fist around my heart. I swallowed hard, my mouth dry, and took another step. Each one felt like it was leading me straight to something I didn't want to see.

The kitchen door loomed ahead, and I moved toward it, my legs sluggish, as if gravity had doubled. My heart hammered in my chest, each beat slamming against my ribs.

And then I saw him.

Lukyan.

He was on the floor. Not moving. Just... still.

For a second, my mind refused to process what I was seeing. No.

I blinked. No.

I blinked again. This wasn't ? —

"LUKYAN!" I roared, my voice tearing out of me like an animal, like something primal. I threw myself to the ground beside him, my knees cracking on the hardwood. I scooped him up, his body limp, his head lolling unnaturally in my arms.

Too cold.

Too fucking cold.

I pressed him to my chest, clutching him like I could force the warmth back into his tiny body, as if I could make his heart start beating again.

But there was nothing. No breath. No pulse. No life.

Panic. It hit me like a freight train, slamming into my chest, ripping the air from my lungs. This wasn't happening.

It couldn't be happening.

No. No, no, no, no?—

"Lukyan, come on, baby, wake up," I whispered, the words trembling, barely making it past my lips. My hands shook, my voice broke. "Please, wake up."

Nothing.

I shook him, harder this time, my hands trembling with the force of it, with the desperation.

"Lukyan! "

His tiny body flopped, limp, lifeless.

No.

Tears blurred my vision, stung my eyes, hot and fucking burning, but they couldn't fall, couldn't move past the choking, suffocating thing in my throat.

And then it ripped out of me?—

A scream.

Raw, jagged, tearing through my throat like a knife, splitting me wide open.

"LUKYAN! NO!"

I clutched him tighter, my hands fisting in his tiny clothes, my body trembling as I rocked him back and forth, back and forth, like I could somehow soothe him into coming back.

But he didn't move.

He didn't stir.

He didn't fucking breathe .

My boy. My beautiful, perfect boy.

Gone .

I sobbed, the sound breaking, cracking like glass, until my throat burned, and my chest felt hollow, like something had been scooped out of me.

This wasn't real.

It couldn't be real.

But the cold weight of his body, the stiffness creeping into his limbs—it was real.

Too real. Too final.

I rocked him, back and forth, my heart splitting open, bleeding out into the silence, the crushing fucking silence.

He was gone. And I was left holding his body—this shell, this tiny, lifeless shell—rocking it like that would somehow undo the nightmare.

But I couldn't fix it.

I couldn't fucking fix it.

"Caia!" I cried, my voice cracking as I tore through the apartment, stumbling over my own feet, desperation clawing at me like a rabid animal.

Where the fuck was she?

Why wasn't she here?

"CAIA!"

Nothing.

No answer. No sound.

Just the silence.

That thick, choking silence clawed at my throat like a ravenous beast, scraping my skin raw and gnawing at my bones, suffocating me with its relentless, insatiable hunger.

My legs barely carrying me as I sprinted down the hallway with my son's body still in my arms.

Where was she?

She couldn't be gone too. She couldn't be?—

No. No.

I shoved open the office door, my breath catching in my throat, and then?—

I froze.

Blood.

So much fucking blood.

My stomach dropped, my vision blurred, but I couldn't tear my eyes away from the sight before me.

Caia.

My Caia.

She was lying there, lifeless, drenched in blood. Her white dress?—

The dress she'd been wearing this morning?—

Soaked, drenched, sticky with it, the crimson pooling around her like a sickening halo. Her hair, once golden, now matted, tangled in the blood, her face pale. Too pale.

I fell .

Not knelt. Fell to my knees, the breath leaving my lungs in a shuddering gasp, the world spinning around me.

"Caia!"

Her name ripped from my throat, but it wasn't a name anymore. It was a cry, a scream, a raw, broken sound that shattered the air.

I reached for her, my hands trembling so violently I could barely grasp her.

" No —no, baby, wake up. Wake up." My voice broke, the words falling from my lips like shattered glass. "Please, wake up. Please… I can't do this without you. I can't."

I shook her, gently at first, then harder, my hands desperate, frantic.

But she didn't move.

She didn't fucking move.

Gone.

Just like Lukyan.

Gone. Both of them.

Ripped from me in the blink of an eye, leaving me alone in this fucking nightmare.

I cradled her, my hands slipping in the blood as I pulled her into my arms, still holding Lukyan's tiny, lifeless body against my chest.

The two of them.

My everything. My world. My fucking heart.

Gone.

I sobbed, my chest heaving with it, tears burning down my face, mixing with the blood, her blood, as I held them both.

This wasn't real. It couldn't be real.

But it was.

It was my reality, and it was tearing me apart piece by piece .

"No. No, no, no." I whispered, my voice barely a sound, just a broken whisper in the stillness. "I can't… I can't…"

I was breaking.

I was fucking breaking.

I wanted to wake up. I needed to wake up.

But this wasn't a dream.

This was my reality. My fucking reality.

Alone. Broken. Destroyed.

I clutched them tighter, like if I held on hard enough, I could keep them here. Like I could stop them from slipping away from me entirely.

But the cold, the stillness—it was too real. Too fucking real.

I lost everything. Everything that ever mattered. My boy. My wife.

And all I had left was the emptiness. The memories.

My mama had been right. You never know how much someone means until they're gone. And the void they leave? It fucking swallows you whole.

Caia. Lukyan. They had filled that void once. They had given me hope. They had given me a reason to fucking live. Now, that hole was bigger than ever, a black pit, bottomless, endless, devouring me.

And I was stuck.

Drowning in it.