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The night didn't pass quietly for everyone, and neither did the days that followed. In the dimly lit back office of his private quarter, Viktor sat alone with the low hum of the city night faint through the soundproofed walls. A half-empty glass of vodka rested on the polished mahogany desk.

The door opened without a knock. Two of his most trusted men stepped inside—Marco and Rico—their faces serious but relaxed after a long day of watching.

"Boss," Marco said, closing the door behind him. "We got an update on Kyle."

Viktor leaned back in his leather chair, gesturing with his massive hand. "Talk."

Rico stepped forward.

"He's been busy the last few days. We think he is tying up loose endl." He paused. "But boss... he's also planning to leave the country."

Viktor's eyebrows rose slowly. He picked up his glass, swirling the vodka once before taking a measured sip. "Leave country? Go vere?"

"England," Rico said. "Him and a whole group. Passports are ready. They're heading to the airport in a few hours."

Viktor set his glass down. His metal teeth caught the lamplight as his expression darkened.

"England." He rolled the word around like something foul on his tongue.

"Kyle got no reason to leave country. None that I know. Vat hell he running to England for?"

Marco shrugged. "Doesn't look like running, boss. Looks like a trip. A group thing. He's not going alone."

Viktor leaned forward, elbows on the desk. His massive frame seemed to fill the room. "Not alone? Who going vith him?"

Rico allowed himself a small smirk. Three women, a child and a baby, boss."

Silence folllwed soon after.

Then Viktor laughed. A low, wet, throaty sound that crawled through the room like something dying. His metal teeth glinted as a grin spread across his face—wide, hungry, wrong. He ran his tongue over the sharp edges, a slow scraping sound that made both men shift uncomfortably.

"Three vomen for one man?" Viktor said, his accent thick, each word deliberate. "Around Kyle? You shitting me."

Marco nodded, grinning now. "Swear on my life, boss. The kid doesn't look the type at all. Pretty boy face. Innocent vibe. Quiet. Clean-cut. But he's got these women wrapped around him like nothing. They're all over him. Hugging and fucking like rabbits,"

Viktor leaned back, staring at the ceiling. His grin stayed fixed, predatory, almost hungry. Not warm. Not curious in any gentle way. This was the Butcher's interest—the kind that came before teeth sank into flesh.

"Impressive," he muttered, accent thickening. "I had him pegged as quiet type. Kind who keep head down. Not kind vith whole damn harem following him to England." He shook his head slowly, cold eyes glittering. "Pretty boy on outside... but he got three vomen ready to fly across ocean vith him. Da."

He ran his tongue over his metal teeth again. "Very interesting."

Marco nodded. "That's not even the best part. We followed him and it looks like he is involved with the actress known as Calista Wave,"

Viktor chuckled again, the sound wet and broken. "American puppy got teeth after all. Maybe not so innocent." He waved his hand. "Alright. You two did good. Take the rest of the night off. Get some rest, grab a drink on me downstairs. I handle next steps."

Viktor knew he was an unpredictable man but this was one thing he hadn't expected.

Marco and Rico stood, nodding gratefully. "Thanks, boss," Rico said. "You need anything else tonight?"

"No. Go." Viktor's tone was blunt, final.

The door clicked shut. Viktor sat alone in the quiet office, his grin lingering like a scar.

He knew what he was supposed to do. Pick up the phone right now. Call Marcello. Give the full report: Kyle was leaving the country, heading to England with these people. Marcello would want every detail.

But Viktor didn't reach for the phone.

Instead, he poured himself another finger of vodka and stared at the clear liquid.

This wasn't the cold, calculated side of Viktor—the one that compiled reports and weighed leverage. This was the Butcher. The violent, cruel, ruthless part that lived in his skin. The part that understood people the way wolves understood prey. The part that noticed cracks in facades, moments when masks slipped.

And right now, the Butcher was curious.

Not because he cared but because of the similarities Kyle shared with his deceased brother.

Viktor wanted to see what happened when those teeth came out.

He took a slow sip, the vodka burning down his throat.

"England, huh?" he murmured to the empty room, his grin returning—sharp, metal, hungry. "Alright. Let's see what you really hiding."

Viktor couldn't shake it off that it had to do with what made Marcello see him differently.

He set the glass down and leaned back, deciding—for now—to keep the information to himself.

Marcello could wait. The Butcher wanted to watch first.

-

The morning came gray and quiet. Suitcases lined the hallway of the apartment—five rolling bags, two backpacks, and a diaper bag slung over Cassandra's shoulder. Junior gurgled in her arms, tiny fists waving at nothing.

Kyle did one last sweep of the rooms. His own car keys sat on the kitchen counter. He left them there.

"You sure you don't want to drive?" Jane asked, zipping her hoodie. "We could all fit. Barely."

"Too much hassle at the airport," Kyle said. "Parking's expensive, and I'd have to leave the car there for days. No one to watch it. Easier to Uber."

Cassandra adjusted Junior on her hip. "Makes sense. This place is yours too, though. You know that."

Kyle glanced around the apartment. It had been his for a while, but now Jane and Cassandra lived here. Ella could basically move in whenever she wanted to. The walls held all of them.

"It's fine. Car stays. I'll deal with it when we're back."

Ella grabbed two suitcases and headed for the door. "Uber's three minutes out. Big SUV. Should fit all of us and the bags."

Jasmine stood by the door, clutching her worn backpack to her chest.

"You okay, kiddo?" Kyle asked, crouching down.

"Never been in no Uber before," she said softly. "Or no plane. This is a lot."

"That's okay," Kyle said. "Stick close to me. We've got you."

She nodded, a small smile breaking through.

They filed out of the apartment. Kyle locked the door, then paused. He looked down the hallway, then out the stairwell window. Nothing. No one.

But something felt different. He could no longer feel those eyes on him.

The Uber arrived—a black SUV with a driver who helped load the bags without a word. Cassandra climbed in first with Junior, then Jane, then Ella. Jasmine squeezed in next to Kyle.

As the car pulled away from the curb, Kyle stared out the back window. The apartment building shrank. And then he realized.

For days he had felt them. That prickling at the back of his neck. The sense of being watched. In the apartment. On the street. Even in his sleep, maybe. But now—nothing. The weight had lifted like a hand finally letting go.

He should have felt relieved. He did, mostly.

But the absence reminded him of something.

Months ago, when Jane had been taken. When her stalker had grabbed her, and attacked Kyle.

Kyle had felt something similar before it happened. That same crawling awareness. And then he had killed the man to save Jane.

"Maybe I'm just paranoid," Kyle thought.

"The mafia, the meeting. Marcello. Viktor. It's gotten in my head."

He exhaled slowly.

Jane leaned over. "You're quiet."

"Just thinking," Kyle said.

"About?" Jane asked.

"Nothing important." He forced a smile. "Excited for England."

Cassandra bounced Junior on her knee. "He's never been on a plane either. First time for everything."

Jasmine perked up. "The baby too?"

"The baby too," Cassandra laughed.

The SUV merged onto the highway. The airport signs appeared. Kyle looked back one more time.

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