"Don't worry… I won't do anything," Bach said in a broken voice.
Kuba found the photo and pulled it out. A woman in her forties, with golden blonde, wavy hair, a strand falling gently over her face, and hazel eyes.
"Who is this?" Kuba asked.
"The woman who gave birth to me… and threw me away."
Kuba remained silent as Bach continued, voice trembling with anger:
"Selfish and desperate… how could she leave me the same day she gave me this picture? Because of her, I became what I am. She shouldn't have had me just to burden me with her mistake!"
Kuba studied the photo. It was old, its edges worn like time itself had gnawed at it. A naturally beautiful woman, sad-eyed, wearing an ivory blouse with no jewelry or makeup. Above the image, in shaky handwriting, it read:
"I've never loved anyone… nor hated anyone like her."
Kuba said softly:
"The emptiness inside you made you see salvation in that little girl. Are you trying to make up for what you lost… in her?"
"What are you implying? That I'm insane?" Bach whispered, his voice heavy.
"Maybe you need to accept that you're mentally unwell, Bach. And that won't help you in the world of gangs. You'll only make more mistakes."
Kuba moved to hand him the photo. Bach didn't take it — it fell in front of him… or perhaps he let it fall.
Silence fell.
Kuba knelt to pick it up, unaware that a storm was brewing right in front of him.
Bach didn't blink. His eyes were frozen, as though time had stopped inside them. Then.....
[! WARNING]
This scene contains strong elements of violence and emotional distress.
WHAM....
Bach slammed his bound hands against Kuba's head like a hammer. Kuba staggered, breath catching — but Bach didn't stop.
He grabbed his hair violently, slammed his head to the floor, and with trembling knees, pushed himself upright. Then he pressed his knee against Kuba's neck.
He pressed… and pressed harder. In that moment, all the hatred, all the pain, poured out of him.
Then — a crack. The sound of a neck breaking.
Kuba gasped faintly, a terrified breath… then nothing.
Stillness.
Bach remained still, breathing heavily. His eyes still drowned in a cold, empty void.
Something in him had broken, too.
"I'm sorry, Kuba…"
Bach finished off the last men in the factory. It had been a brutal fight—but he was the strongest. Yet, he didn't stop there. He stormed through the place like a madman, killing anyone he found, searching relentlessly for Jerzy.
Jerzy was on the top floor, inside the control room, unaware of the chaos unfolding below. He smoked aggressively, eyes fixed on a soccer match playing on the dusty screen.
Suddenly, a thunderous sound echoed through the building. The cup in his hand trembled.
Jerzy (alarmed): "What the hell…?"
He moved toward the door and opened it—only to find a shadow standing in silence.
Jerzy (backing away): "Hey, you! What's going on? What are you doing here?"
Bach (in a chilling calm): "I couldn't leave… without saying goodbye."
Jerzy grabbed whatever he could find and hurled it at Bach—until his hand reached the pistol.
But Bach was faster. He lunged, grabbing the weapon.
They wrestled for it, until Jerzy slammed his head into Bach's face.
Bach howled—then retaliated, smashing his forehead into Jerzy's face again and again, until Jerzy swayed, blood dripping from his nose and brow.
Bach seized him by the throat. His voice like frozen steel:
"I'd love nothing more than to gnaw your bones... but I'll leave you the life you deserve, rat."
He flung the pistol aside and dragged the bloodied Jerzy by his collar across the floor—until they reached a narrow metal pipe descending into the factory's buried levels.
Jerzy (staggering, pleading): "Please… forgive me… what are you going to do?"
Bach (low, grim): "I promised… your death would be slow."
With all his strength, he lifted him—and shoved him in, headfirst, into the narrow shaft.
Jerzy (screaming): "No, please—noooo! I'll do whatever you want… Bach, you bastard!"
Boom. Krak.
His body plummeted to the ground floor. Even if the fall didn't kill him, he'd decay in silence.
No one would ever be able to get him out...
***At the orphanage, I was watching,waiting for Szymon. It was nearly impossible to eavesdrop with Mir around. She came and went like a ghost, as if she were watching us, just as we were watching her.
Time passed.
Then the phone rang.
A sharp, sudden sound.
Moments later, Magda burst out of the office—running. Her face pale, as though she'd just seen a ghost.
Mir (concerned): "Where are you going, ma'am?"
Magda didn't answer. Her eyes welled with tears as she rushed past her and disappeared.
Mir smirked—just slightly. A hidden, wicked smile.
We didn't know what had happened.
She returned to her room, then stormed back out—grim-faced—and went into the office.
She brought Szymon out but remained inside herself.
Szymon looked broken. In disbelief.
For a moment, I wanted to go to him.
But Filip stopped me—standing at my side, holding a small knife.
I was shocked.
He told me he'd cut Mir's phone line.
It made sense now—why she had returned to the office. Probably to make a call… or to search for something.
I crept toward the door to listen in.
Szymon (whispering): "Karina… was Zuzanna really okay?"
I glanced at him quietly and kept walking.
Not now—my answer would be clear soon enough.
Szymon dropped to his knees, devastated.
He knew none of their relatives lived in this region.
He didn't want to believe that Magda's only goal was to protect Zuzanna…
Mir (on the phone):
"Yes… the old lady left in despair. I hope you'll keep your word… Don't let her come back."
"I just got excited… I'm sorry, sir."
I looked at Filip and nodded.
Our suspicions had been right. She was involved—and not alone.
***At a quiet, dimly lit hotel,Master Rafał sat smoking, speaking on the phone.
Rafał:
"I told you—I need anything you can find on him."
Caller:
"I'm doing what I can. But our interests are tangled. If he gets hurt, I'll feel it too."
Rafał:
"We've talked about this. I'll compensate you—everything,once this ends.
It's for my father. You know I don't care about politics."
He hung up and threw the phone onto the table.
Rafał (muttering):
"Damn it. Why does Father always drag me into his mess?"
A man across from him spoke calmly:
Man:
"You seem like a loyal son."
Rafał:
"Just like you, Mr. Kazimir."
Kazimir smirked,disgustingly (in a low, cold, emotionless voice):
I didn't kill my father…
Not until he had already destroyed everyone else before me.
(His eyes are still, devoid of any warmth. A faint, twisted smile forms on his lips, as if it doesn't belong to a human.)
That day, when I came back…
They were all gone.
My grandmother.
My mother.
And my older brother.
He wiped them out like they were nothing.
Because, simply, he was a junkie piece of filth.
(He pauses for a moment, as if the memory gives him some sick satisfaction.)
So I ended him.
With a hammer.
Piece by piece.
(A long silence. Then, in a tone as cold as ever—without regret, without feeling.)
That story is over.
The dead… no longer matter to me.
(He lifts his eyes to Rafal, his gaze sharp like shattered glass.)
And now… that man, Mikael,
Is he really the one you want?
Rafal (opens his eyes after a long silence): Yes. He's exactly the one I've been looking for.
Kazimir: You truly intend to invest with him? To put your money in his hands?
Rafal: It'll just be the beginning. Just enough to gain more of his trust.
What I truly seek… is the position he holds over there.
Kazimir: So… you're planning to take him over little by little?
Rafal (with a sly smile): Your way of expressing things is always so harsh.
I'm not taking him… I intend to inherit him—quietly, gradually. Especially since he has no heir.
Kazimir: Hm... so he'll get what's coming to him eventually.
Rafal: What do you mean?
Kazimir: There's still much you don't know about him. Rumor has it he killed Joe Redgrave, his adoptive father… just to inherit him.
Rafal (thinking): Hmmm… No, that's impossible. I don't believe he's that type. Not necessarily a killer—but a traitor? I doubt it.
Kazimir: Your view of people doesn't always reflect the truth. There are things we constantly overlook.
They say he even killed the love of his life… and her father, Joe, on the same day. So don't give him your full trust.
Rafal: Tell me something else… Why is his group so small? Has it always been like that?
Kazimir: I'm not sure for certain. But the word is that he has plenty of men stationed in England.
The ones around him now are said to be more like close friends than mere followers. They often travel together…
Rafal: Have you ever met them? Or him?
Kazimir: No, our business never crossed paths... but if you'd like, I could accompany you next time. I'd be happy to.
I've seen their photos though… Hmmm… one of them looked familiar—sharp jawline, intense face—but I can't quite place where I've seen him.
Rafal: You must be talking about Luca. His presence alone is enough to draw attention.
What about the one named Malik? What do you know about him? They say he handles their finances and accounts… a genius, apparently.
I'd really like to have him on my side.
Kazimir: A man like that doesn't need to launder his money.
And if he really got his hands on Joe's hidden treasure… then he's hit the jackpot.
Rafal: Treasure? What treasure?
Kazimir (with a knowing look): Are you telling me you picked Mikael by coincidence? How innocent of you...
Rafal: Come on, speak. You're testing my patience.
Kazimir (chuckling lightly): Fine, fine... There's a rumor about Joe's wealth.
Some say he hid a legendary fortune—so vast, they claim it rivals the Rothschilds'.
Rafal: You're exaggerating… His fortune might've been large, but that big?
Kazimir: Not exaggerating at all. The strange part?
They say even Mikael himself doesn't know where it is.
Rafal (grinning, eyes lighting up): Wow… I really appreciate this.
You just gave me a whole new reason to keep going.
You know me—I don't just crave money. I crave thrill.
And this? This is perfect. Absolutely perfect.
Kazimir: I'll look into it further and keep you updated. But...
Rafal (cutting him off): I know what you want. You'll get your share.
Just… do what I asked.....
Suddenly, someone burst through the door.
Man:
"Sorry, Master… the guest has arrived."
Rafał stood, fixed his collar in the mirror, and smiled slyly.
He walked out, Kazimir watching with a devilish grin.
He entered another room.
Inside sat Mr. Henryk—with Zuzanna beside him.
Guilt weighed heavy on Henryk's face.
They both stood as Rafał entered.
Rafał (smiling darkly):
"So… you're Mr. Henryk Kaminski?"
Henryk (hesitating, glancing at Zuzanna):
"Y-yes, sir. I am…"
Rafał interrupted, turning his gaze to Zuzanna،scanning her from head to toe.
She stood almost at his height.
Rafał:
"And you must be Zuzanna, right?"
Zuzanna (gently):
"Yes, sir."
She extended her hand.
Rafał grabbed it tightly—then kissed its back.
Rafał:
"How rude of me… This is how princesses should be greeted."
Zuzanna flinched, uneasy—but sat down.
Rafał's gaze was strange… unreadable.
Henryk (nervously):
"Sir… do I get to know why I'm here?"
Rafał:
"Well… come with me.
Some matters aren't meant for lovely ears."
Henryk stood, uneasy. He held Zuzanna's hand and said:
Henryk:
"Wait for me here, alright?"
Zuzanna:
"Are you okay, sir?"
Henryk:
"I hope so…...."
***They left the room, the door clicking shut behind them.
Zuzanna remained seated—staring at the door, heart pounding.
There was something wrong. She could feel it.....