Lucas sat in his car, his fingers drumming anxiously on the steering wheel as he stared at the rundown apartment building ahead. It had taken him weeks of searching, digging through records, bribing street informants, and dodging dead ends before finally tracking down the investigator.
The man had vanished after promising Carlos information about his mother. At first, Lucas thought he had simply taken the money and run. But now, he knew better.
Someone didn't want this truth getting out.
He stepped out of the car, the cold night air biting through his jacket. Pulling his hood over his head, he made his way toward the building, his boots crunching against gravel. The place reeked of damp mold and desperation.
Room 207.
Lucas knocked. No answer.
He knocked again, harder this time. "Open up, or I'll break this door down."
A long silence. Then, slow, cautious footsteps.
The door creaked open just a crack, revealing a bloodshot eye peering through. Lucas barely recognized the man. The once well-dressed investigator now looked like a ghost of himself—unshaven, paranoid, and reeking of whiskey.
Lucas shoved the door open and stepped inside before the man could protest.
"Lucas?" the investigator rasped, his voice hoarse. He stumbled back, looking around frantically as if expecting someone to follow.
Lucas shut the door behind him. "You've been hiding," he said, scanning the room. Empty takeout boxes. A loaded pistol on the table. An envelope stuffed with cash—hush money.
The investigator ran a shaky hand through his greasy hair. "You have no idea what you're messing with."
Lucas narrowed his eyes. "Who paid you off?"
The investigator let out a bitter laugh. "Who do you think?" He gestured toward the money. "Vivian Milton. She made it clear—if I talk, I die."
Lucas clenched his jaw. "So you'd rather take the money and keep running?"
The investigator hesitated, then sighed. He slumped onto a chair and buried his face in his hands. "It's not just about me, Lucas. They'll kill my family if I don't keep quiet."
Lucas exhaled, his patience wearing thin. "Tell me what you found."
The investigator hesitated before glancing at the door, as if expecting someone to burst in. Then, in a low whisper, he said, "Carlos's mother… she wasn't just some ordinary woman."
Lucas frowned. "I know. She was a Vasiliev."
The investigator shook his head. "Not just a Vasiliev. She was part of the Bratva."
Lucas froze.
The Russian mafia.
"She fled years ago," the investigator continued. "She was supposed to marry a high-ranking Bratva member, but she refused. So, she ran, changed her identity, and tried to live a normal life."
Lucas exhaled sharply. "And Vivian?"
"She had her killed."
Lucas gritted his teeth. Vivian Milton had murdered Carlos's mother.
"Vivian didn't know who she was," the investigator muttered. "She was just getting rid of a mistress—she was erasing a threat."
Lucas's mind raced. If Carlos's mother had lived, the Vasiliev family might have claimed him. He wouldn't just be an illegitimate heir to the Miltons—he'd be the heir to something even bigger.
Carlos had to know.
But the investigator wasn't done.
"There's something else," he whispered. "The Bratva never stopped looking for her."
Lucas's heart pounded. "What do you mean?"
The investigator swallowed hard. "They don't know she's dead."
Lucas's blood ran cold. If the Bratva found out… they would come for Carlos.
And when they did, hell would break loose.
Carlos sat on the edge of his cot, his fingers interlocked as he stared at the cold concrete floor of his prison cell. It had been a month since he last saw lucas.
A guard banged on the cell bars.
"Inmate 028, you have a visitor."
Carlos's head snapped up. Lucas.
Rising to his feet, he followed the guard down the dimly lit hallway to the visitation room. As soon as he stepped inside, Lucas stood up from his seat, his face tense with urgency.
Carlos took the chair across from him and leaned in. "Tell me you found something."
Lucas exhaled. "Yeah… and it's big."
Carlos didn't blink. "Go on."
Lucas lowered his voice. "Your mother was part of the Bratva."
Carlos's expression hardened. He had believed that his mother was just a woman caught in an unfortunate affair. Now, he was hearing that she had been a part of the most powerful criminal organization in the world?
Lucas continued. "She was supposed to marry one of them, but she ran. She changed her identity and tried to live a normal life, but Vivian didn't know who she really was. And she had her killed, in order not to threaten her position"
Carlos's fingers curled into fists. His blood boiled at the mention of Vivian, but now wasn't the time to let anger cloud his mind.
"And that's not all," Lucas added. "The Bratva doesn't know she is dead."
Carlos sat back, his mind racing. If the Bratva was still searching for his mother, that meant he—her only son—was a loose end.
Lucas hesitated before saying, "I think they might help you. I will go and tell them about you, If they know who you are and what Vivian did to your mother, they could take you out of here."
Carlos stared at him. "You think they'd just accept me?"
Lucas shrugged. "You're one of them. Whether you like it or not."
Carlos was silent for a long moment. Going to the Bratva was a dangerous gamble. If they saw him as an outsider, they could kill him on sight. If they believed him… he'd have an army at his back.
"Fine," he finally said. "But be careful. If they don't believe you, don't push it. Just come back."
Lucas nodded. "I'll leave first thing tomorrow."
Carlos exhaled, glancing at the prison walls around him. He had survived this long. Now, all he could do was wait.
---
The next morning Lucas travels to Russia.
Lucas had never been to Russia, but as he stepped off the plane, the sheer weight of what he was about to do settled on his shoulders. The Vasiliev family wasn't just some local crime syndicate—they were one of the most ruthless organizations in the world.
If they didn't believe him, he wasn't walking out alive.
He had done his research. The Bratva operated from multiple locations, but the Vasilievs' influence was strongest in St. Petersburg. He had managed to track down their inner circle to a private club—one that only a select few could enter.
Lucas approached the entrance, his pulse steady but his fingers slightly twitching. The guards at the door, towering men in black suits, barely glanced at him before stepping in his way.
"I need to speak with the Vasilievs," Lucas said calmly.
The guard gave him a cold stare. "Do you have a death wish, or are you just stupid?"
Lucas took a slow breath. "I have information about Yelena Vasiliev's son."
The air shifted. The guard's eyes narrowed.
"Wait here."
Lucas swallowed. This was it. Either he was about to get inside… or he was never walking out again.