7 years later...…
The metallic scent of blood clings to my gloves as I step out of the shadow, my boots hitting the pavement with quiet thuds.
The night air is sharp, laced with the stench of blood, gasoline and gunpowder, and somewhere behind me, a body grows cold.
Another mission completed.
Another loose end tied.
The Bratva doesn't tolerates betrayal, and neither do I. It was a clean kill. Quick. Efficient. I gutted the Bastard like the filth he was, his final breath was music to my ears
I strip off my leather gloves, slick with blood and toss them into the fire pit behind the warehouse. Watching the flames devour them, swallowing the last evidence of the life I just erased.
The alley is dark, the air thick with smoke and the distant sound of sirens.
They're too late.
They're always too late.
Stupid fools.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. fishing it out, I glance at the screen before answering. "Yes?"
"I got something on the governor." the voice on the other end of the line says
My grip on the phone tightens "Go on"
"He has a son."
I frown, unimpressed "I know he has a son Mabel, try telling something I don't already know."
I met Mabel during my training years
She was just a desperate, broke and reckless girl, thinking she could take a sliver of money from the Yakuza without them knowing. A few thousand, maybe less just enough to keep herself alive and fed. But the Yakuza don't care about the amount or the reason,A thief is a thief. And thieves don't get second chances.
They found her fast, ripped her from whatever life she had, By the time I was able to track her down, she was barely human
Blood pooling around her tiny frame
For a moment, I saw my sister.
The same helplessness but one difference was clear.
Mabel was breathing
They had broken her, piece by piece, and if I had come a day later, there wouldn't have been anything left to save.
I didn't save her out of charity or pity.
I saw potential and value.
Someone with enough skill to crack into the Yakuza's system, even by accident, was worth keeping.
Freedom, in exchange for loyalty.
She would work for me, no questions asked. And in return, she got to keep breathing.
Now, Mabel works for me, she has been my shadow in the digital world, feeding me everything I need to take down the governor. Bank records, hidden transactions, private messages she uncovers it all.
Every wire she taps, every encrypted code she cracks, every secret she drags from the governor's world. she belongs to me
She knows better than to go against me
She was once the Yakuza's prisoner.
Now, she's bound to me.
She owes me her life. And I intend to make sure she earns every second of it.
"Sorry, ghost. what I meant is that he has another son, from what I found, he's the last child"
I go still
We've dug through every inch of the governor's life, every record, every transaction, every filthy secret. He has three children. No bastards. No hidden affairs.
My grip tightens around the phone. "Are you certain?"
I already know the answer.
Mabel doesn't deal in mistakes or uncertainty.
"One hundred percent," she says, her voice flat. "But his identity is erased. No public records, no photos, nothing. It's like he was never born."
A ghost.
Just like me.
"How the hell did we miss this?" My voice is low, cold.
Why was he hidden?
Silence lingers, thick and heavy, before Mabel finally speaks. "Because someone wanted us to."
I inhale slowly. Exhale even slower.
My voice drops even lower, laced with something lethal. "And who might that be?"
That's a question neither of us can answer.
Mabel hesitates. "I don't know yet. But I'll keep digging."
I drag a hand down my face, forcing down the irritation simmering beneath my skin. I hate loose ends. And this? This is the kind that unravels everything.
"Find out," I order. "I don't care how deep you have to go."
A beat of silence. Then Mabel speaks again, her voice quieter. "There's something else."
I don't like the way she says it.
I grip the phone tighter. "Spit it out."
She exhales sharply. "Whoever hid him... didn't just erase his existence. They buried it so deep it's like he was never meant to be found."
Something twists in my gut. A hidden son. A secret so well-kept, even I, with all my resources, didn't see it.
And if someone went through that much trouble to erase him—
Then he's either a threat.
Or a weapon.
Either way, I need to find him first.
"I need eyes on the governor," gripping the phone tightly, I continue. "Now. I want to know who comes in and out of his house. I want cameras hacked, schedules disrupted, every single gap in his security exposed."
"Will do so, ghost."
"Good." The line goes dead
________________
The air inside the Bratva's meeting hall is thick with smoke and tension. The scent of cigars lingers, mixing with the faint burn of vodka. Dim chandeliers cast flickering shadows over the long, polished mahogany table where the highest-ranking men of the organization sit in silence. The Pakhan at the head, Sergei to his right. And me, the enforcer, across from them.
I step in, my boots echoing against the marble floor, my coat still heavy with the stench of blood and gasoline. A reminder of the night's events.
I feel their eyes on me.
Some indifferent. Some waiting. And then there's him_Viktor popov
"Look who finally decides to grace us with her presence" his voice is smooth laced with amusement. A sly smirk spreads across his face "Our little krovavaya printsessa finally returns."
Blood princess.
I don't react, denying him the pleasure of a reaction.
"Men, pakhan." I greet, taking my seat
"Report Diana"
"You know I always get the job done pakhan, I lean forward, unrolling the details with practiced efficiency. "The target was silenced. No loose ends.
No witnesses. Clean work."
A few approving murmurs pass through the room.
The older man chuckles, shaking his head. "Our princess works faster than most of the boys we've trained for so many years, you amaze me ghost."
But then, viktor scoffs mockingly "Of course she does. Women are good at cleaning, aren't they?" He exhales smoke from his cigar, eyes glinting with
amusement.
The room stills. A low chuckle from one of the underbosses, but no one speaks. They're waiting.
I tilt my head, letting the silence stretch. Letting Viktor drown in it.
"Da," I murmur finally, in a smooth voice . "We are.
Which is why I'm here cleanina up the mess men like you are too too weak to handle."
The pakhan chuckles, lifting his glass in my direction. "Molodets, Diana." Well done.
Viktor's fingers tap against the table in rhythm. His smile returns, but it's sharper now. "A woman at this table…...nekogda ne budet nastoyashchim bratkom." She will never be a true brother.
Sergei speaks then, his voice quiet but cutting.
"And yet she sits here, while many stronger men rot in the ground."
"I meant no disrespect, sergie." He raises his glass, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. "Some of us recall a time when standards mattered. When the Bratva was a brotherhood, not a mockery." His gaze drifts, his voice heavy with disdain. "A time when men ruled the table and whores warmed their laps not their seats"
Silence.
The tension in the room rises in tenfold
My knife is in my hand before I even register the motion. A single, deadly flick—
THUNK.
The blade sinks into the table, inches from Viktor's wrist. The impact rings out like a gunshot.
The room holds its breath.
I lean forward, slow and deliberate, my voice quiet but razor-sharp.
"Careful, Viktor. The last man who called me a whore didn't live long enough to regret it, if you are so eager to test your luck, go ahead. Say that again."
The tension is thick enough to strangle.
Then, the Pakhan speaks. "Enough."
His voice is steel, cutting through the tension. Viktor leans back, smirking.
"Viktor," the Pakhan continues, his tone sharp, final. "Maya is Bratva. Questioning her is questioning me. Do you have something to say to me?"
Viktor holds the Pakhan's gaze for a long moment, then exhales, shaking his head. "Of course not." He takes another slow sip of his drink. "Just… reminiscing."
I pull my knife from the wood, flipping it between my fingers before sliding it back into its sheath. I don't take my eyes off him.
The Pakhan moves on, dismissing the meeting. As the men start to leave, Sergei catches my eye and motions for me to follow him.
He leans against a desk, arms folded as I give him my second report of the night.
"The governor has another son," I say. "One no one knows about. No public records. No pictures. It's like he doesn't exist."
Sergei doesn't react immediately. He exhales a stream of smoke, his expression unreadable. "Someone buried him."
I nod. "Deep. This wasn't just oversight—someone wanted him invisible."
He taps his fingers against his desk, thoughtful. Then, his cold gaze meets mine. "Find him."
His tone leaves no room for discussion. No hesitation. No mercy.
I nod once. "Already working on it."
Sergei takes another drag of his cigarette, then exhales, watching me. There's something unreadable in his eyes. A warning. A test.
"Watch your back," he says finally, his voice lower now. "Viktor isn't just barking. He's waiting for a moment to bite."
I smirk slightly. "Then I'll make sure to cut his throat before he gets the chance."
Sergei exhales another slow breath, something close to amusement flickering in his eyes.
"Good," he says