Page 19 of Kane
“Vodka. Double. Neat,” I tell the bartender. He nods without comment and pours.
The glass arrives, clear and cold. I raise it slightly in a private toast:
To William’s red ass and that defiant spark in his eyes.
The burn slides down my throat, warm and welcome. For the first time in weeks, the constant knot of grief and responsibility loosens just a fraction. Maybe there’s room in this new life for something soft after all. Something that fights back just enough to make claiming it worthwhile.
A heavy hand lands on my shoulder.
I freeze. Every muscle coils instantly. My free hand drops toward the holster under my jacket.This is it.Viktor finally decided to stop playing games and sent a hitman for me. One bullet to the back of the head in a shitty bar. It would be poetic, almost.
I turn slowly, ready to put a round through whoever’s stupid enough to touch me.
It’s Viktor Volkov.Alone. No muscle visible. Just him in a dark coat, expression calm, almost amused.
“Easy, Kamedov,” Viktor says, voice low. “Not here to kill you. Not tonight anyway.”
I stare at him for a long beat, heart still hammering. Then I exhale and gesture to the stool beside me. “You’ve got balls walking up on me like that.”
Viktor sits. “We needed to talk. Proper one-on-one. No soldiers. No egos. No reputations to protect.” He signals the bartender for the same. “Just two men who understand the weight on their shoulders.”
I study him.
No obvious tells.
No backup I can see through the grimy windows.
The Downtown Devil looks… tired. Human. And that means I can relax. Just a little.
“Alright,” I say. “Talk.”
We don’t dive into business. Not right away. The drinks come, and we sip in surprisingly comfortable silence at first. Then Viktor starts talking. Real talk. Not the coalition pitch from the diner. He tells me about his boy—Eddie. How he came into his life like a storm he never saw coming. A Little, through and through. How his trust, his vulnerability, forced him to look at everything differently. The endless cycle of violence. The paranoia. The way he used to measure success only in bodies dropped and territory taken.
“He makes me want to build something that lasts,” Viktor says, staring into his glass. “Not just empire. Legacy. Something he can be safe in.” A rare, genuine smile touches his lips. “Eddie changed me. Made me reassess the whole game.”
I listen. And I nod when it feels right. Viktor’s words hit closer than I want to admit. I think of William again—bent over, taking my hand, that mix of fear and arousal in his eyes. The way he didn’t fully submit but didn’t break either.Fuck.
Viktor glances at me. “You’re a Daddy too. I can tell.”
I don’t confirm it out loud. Don’t deny it either. Trust is a luxury I’m still learning to spend carefully. I simply nod once, slow and deliberate. He seems to understand.
We talk more. About the loneliness that comes with the crown. The way power isolates you. How rare it is to find someone whocan handle both sides of you: the monster and the man. Viktor doesn’t push the alliance again. He just shares. And for once, I let myself listen without calculating every angle.
The glasses empty. He stands, tossing cash on the bar. “Good talk, Kane. Think about what I said. Not just the coalition… the rest of it.”
As he heads for the door, I call after him.
“We should do this again,” I say. “One-on-one. No bullshit.”
Viktor pauses, gives a single nod of agreement, and disappears into the night.
I’m alone again. The bar feels quieter. I stare into the bottom of my fresh drink, the ice slowly melting. The high from William’s spanking lingers, but so does the weight. My brothers’ faces flash behind my eyes… Milo’s confident grin, Loren’s quiet wisdom.
But they’re gone.
I’m the last Kamedov standing. Pakhan. Alone at the top.
There’s no boy waiting at home to warm my bed. No soft Little voice calling me Daddy after a long night of blood and decisions. Just empty apartments, cold sheets, and the constant roar of responsibility in my head.
