The Cost of War

POV: Dima

The smell of burnt meat lingered over the stove, absolutely ruining whatever appetite I had left.

I braced my hands against the kitchen island. "Remind me why I gave Oksana the night off?"

"Because tonight is about us," Katya said, aggressively scraping the charred mess from the frying pan. "We never do normal things anymore."

"I'm looking right at you. You've been over here every Saturday this month."

"To eat, yes," she countered, dropping the spatula into the sink with a metallic clatter. "But actually doing activities? Dima, ever since you moved operations to Miami, work is all you care about."

Her tone fractured on the last syllable, a raw vulnerability that pierced straight through my chest. I closed the distance between us, pulling her slight frame into a tight hug.

"I know," I muttered against her hair. "I'll carve out more time. The transition down here requires my attention, but once the dust settles, things will go back to how they were. I promise."

"Sure. But I'm not holding my breath." She forced a lighter tone, attempting a smile, but the disappointment was thick enough to touch.

The quiet resignation in her voice made me feel like complete garbage.

"I gave you my word a long time ago," I told her, making sure she looked up at me. "It's been just the two of us against the world, and I swore I wouldn't turn into our father. Disappointing you is the last thing I want."

"You don't disappoint me." She gave a small, forgiving nod. "I just miss my brother."

I pressed a kiss to the crown of her head. "The chicken is officially a disaster, by the way."

"You distracted me! Now we have to start all over."

"I'll have Oksana prep a spread for us instead. While we wait, we break out the Scrabble board."

She glanced at the smoking stove, then back at me, weighing her options. "Fine. That beats starvation."

For the next two hours, the cartel didn't exist. There was only the clatter of wooden tiles on the board and Katya dominating the score. I still had trouble wrapping my head around the fact that she was already nineteen. These rare, insulated stretches of normalcy were the only things I genuinely cherished.

We were clearing the board to start a fresh game when heavy footsteps echoed in the hall. Dawid stepped into the living room, his posture unnervingly rigid. The moment our eyes locked across the space, the temperature in the room plummeted. Something was severely wrong.

"Hey, Dawid," Katya chimed in, oblivious to the silent alarm.

"Hey, kid. Didn't realize you were over here today."

"Obviously." She grinned, playfully rearranging her letters.

I pushed my chair back, the wooden legs scraping sharply against the floor. "Looks like I'm tapping out. Game over, I guess."

"You were losing horribly anyway," Katya pointed out, completely unapologetic. "There was zero chance of a comeback."

"She's right," I said, trying to soften the abrupt shift in my demeanor. "You were wiping the floor with me."

Katya laughed, glancing at her phone. "It's getting late anyway. I should probably head back."

I opened my mouth to arrange a driver, but Dawid cut in before I could speak.

"Don't run off yet," Dawid told her, shooting me a sharp, loaded look over her head. "Have Oksana throw together some snacks. I want a turn at the board. Unlike Dima, I actually know how to play."

The silent message was loud and clear: keep her inside the estate.

"Why don't we make it a three-way game?" I added smoothly. "I'll show both of you how a real strategist operates."

"You're both going down," she said, already walking toward the kitchen to find the cook.

Once the heavy door swung shut behind her, Dawid turned on his heel. "Office," he muttered.

We walked down the corridor in complete silence. Whatever news he carried, the weight of it was suffocating. We stepped inside, and the heavy oak doors sealed behind us.

"Talk," I commanded, dropping the brotherly facade instantly.

"Matteo Bellini was blown to pieces. Car bomb."

"When?"

"Barely three hours ago."

"Do we have a shooter?"

"That's the problem." Dawid crossed his arms. "Massimo is already putting the word out on the street. He's telling everyone you ordered the strike."

I stared at him, the tactical nightmare clicking into place. "I figured as much. It's exactly what I would assume."

I sank into the leather chair behind my desk, running the variables through my head.

"Why would anyone think I give a shit if Matteo lives or dies? He wasn't even a player on the board." I muttered the question more to the empty room than to him.

"Exactly," Dawid agreed. "The whole setup is strange. His vehicle detonated right outside his personal gate."

"How is the rest of his family handling it?" I asked, analyzing the immediate fallout.

Dawid let out a dry, humorless scoff. "If you're wondering about the daughter, she wasn't in the car."

"I wasn't asking."

"Sure you weren't. But just in case, her name is Chiara. Senior over at Miami University. Lives off-campus by herself."

"You brought her up, Dawid, not me," I snapped, irritation flaring.

"Right." He let out a short laugh, then sobered up quickly. "What's the play here?"

"Double the perimeter guard on all properties immediately. Massimo will retaliate, and the man only knows how to operate with loud, messy violence. Freeze all incoming shipments for the next few days. I want to wait and see what his first move is."

"Already on it. But something about Matteo getting clipped just doesn't sit right."

I leaned back in my chair, staring at the ceiling. I gained zero territory and zero profit from taking out the Bellini heir. There were no rivals worth swatting away right now. Someone was going to great lengths to ignite a full-scale war between my syndicate and the Italians.

Three days passed without a single gunshot or retaliation. The streets stayed completely dead. Maybe Massimo had realized his intel was garbage and called off his dogs. The whispers on the street kept changing every few hours, pointing to different motives. Someone was dumping serious cash into muddying the waters around Matteo's death. As long as Massimo stayed in his territory, I didn't care who lit the fuse.

My personal cell vibrated aggressively against the desk. The caller ID flashed Katya's name. Relief flared briefly—she was supposed to be completely secure at the beach house.

"Katya. Everything alright?"

"Mr. Volkov?" a trembling, high-pitched voice stammered through the speaker. "This is Chloe."

I shot up from the chair. The sudden drop in my stomach was violent.

"Where is my sister?" I demanded.

"There was an accident."

I shoved past the desk, sprinting toward the door. I collided with Dawid in the hallway. He read my face instantly, falling in step behind me as I kept moving.

"Where is she?" I barked into the phone.

"At the hospital," the teenager sobbed, the sound grating against my ear.

My pulse slammed against my throat. "Stop crying. Is she breathing? Which hospital?"

"She's alive," Chloe gasped out. "But it's bad. She's really hurt."

"Which hospital, Chloe?" I roared.

"Mercy Cross."

I ended the call instantly, unable to tolerate another second of hysterical weeping.

"What's going on?" Dawid asked as we sprinted out to the driveway.

"Katya was in an accident. That's all I got," I threw the words over my shoulder.

We threw ourselves into the Range Rover. I cranked the ignition and slammed the gas pedal to the floor, tearing out of the compound. My grip on the steering wheel was tight enough to snap the leather. According to the girl, she was breathing. I never should have let her out of my sight. After our Scrabble game, she had pleaded with me to back off, insisting she only needed Nate for protection. If she was bleeding in a trauma ward, her bodyguard was either already dead, or I was going to execute him personally.

"Talk to me," Dawid broke the heavy silence.

"This isn't a coincidence. First Matteo, now my sister. Someone is systematically clearing the board."

"You think Massimo ordered a hit on a teenager to balance the scales?"

"I didn't think the Italian would stoop that low, but the man has zero honor."

Dawid stayed quiet, staring out the windshield. He loved Katya like his own blood. If Massimo was behind this, the rules of engagement were officially dead. You do not touch family. By the time the massive glass facade of Mercy Cross Hospital came into view, I had already finalized multiple strategies for carving Massimo apart.

"I'll park," Dawid said as I braked violently in the emergency drop-off zone.

I shoved my door open before the SUV fully stopped and stormed through the sliding doors.

"Excuse me, sir, you need to—" a rent-a-cop started, stepping into my path.

"Move." I shoved past him without breaking stride.

"Sir, you can't just—"

I completely ignored him, blowing past the long line of people and slamming my hands onto the reception desk.

"Sir!" the guard yelled from behind me.

"I am here for Katya Volkov," I commanded, staring down the receptionist. "I got a call she was brought in. Where is she?"

The young woman flinched, her eyes darting nervously. Realizing no backup was coming, her fingers flew across her keyboard.

"She... she's in surgery right now," the woman stammered. "Sixth floor. The staff up there can update you."

I fired off a text to Dawid with the floor number and headed straight for the elevators. The metal box crawled upward, stopping on every single floor. The delay was physical torture. When the doors finally slid open, I vaulted out into the sterile white corridor.

I grabbed the nearest passing nurse by the arm. "I am here to see Katya Volkov."

"Mr. Volkov?"

I whipped around. A blonde teenager with tear-streaked cheeks was walking toward me.

"I'm Chloe. I called you," she sniffled, pointing down the hall. "The nurse over by that station was helping me, but they won't tell me a single thing."

I strode directly toward the nurse's station, tuning out her rambling. I couldn't process her panic right now.

"Nurse Davis," Chloe called out behind me. "This is Katya's brother."

"Hello, Mr. Volkov," the nurse said gently.

"What is my sister's status?"

"She is still in surgery. The head surgeon will be out shortly to speak with you."

Before I could tear the department apart, a man in a white coat walked through the double doors.

"Mr. Volkov, I presume?"

"Yes."

"I am Dr. Foster."

"Tell me about my sister," I barked, stepping into his space. I didn't give a damn about pleasantries.

"She is in the recovery room. She survived the procedure, and her vitals are stabilizing," the doctor said, his expression grim. "But the trauma to her spine was catastrophic. I am sorry, but the extent of her injuries has left her paralyzed."

The clinical hallway seemed to tilt on its axis.

"I need to see her," I demanded, the words scraping out of my throat.

"I will have the nurse escort you. Please have them page me when you are ready to discuss the next steps." He nodded professionally and walked away.

I turned slowly, locking my sights on Chloe. "What exactly happened?"

The girl folded her arms tightly across her chest. "We were heading back to the beach house and decided to grab some junk food. We were walking out of the local store, and a car just came out of nowhere. It hopped the curb. By the time I realized what was happening, it was too late. Katya shoved me backward out of the way."

She broke down completely, burying her face in her hands.

"Mr. Volkov?" Nurse Davis interrupted. "If you'll follow me, I can take you to her."

I turned away from the sobbing girl, grateful for the escape. I couldn't tolerate another second of the weeping.

Three agonizing days bled together inside that hospital room. Katya was not handling the reality of her shattered spine well. The neurologists kept repeating the same grim prognosis, confirming she would never walk again. I sat by her bed, holding her hand, constantly reminding her that her bloodline was built for survival. Volkovs did the impossible. We would adapt.

But watching her spirit break inside a broken body was tearing me apart piece by piece. I would have traded places with her in a heartbeat just to take away her suffering. While I maintained my vigil, Dawid was tearing the city apart hunting for answers. Our fears were confirmed when a cleanup crew found Nate's body stuffed in an alley. He hadn't died in a crash. He had been executed with a clean, suppressed bullet to the back of the skull.

Katya finally succumbed to the heavy dosage of painkillers and drifted into a restless sleep. The moment her breathing leveled out, my phone buzzed in my pocket.

I stepped out into the quiet hallway and answered. "Tell me you have a name."

"It was Massimo Bellini," Dawid's voice was a lethal, low hum. "He called the hit himself. It was a strict kill order."

"He is a dead man."

"He went underground immediately after the hit," Dawid reported. "He cleared out his estate. Nobody on the street knows what hole he crawled into."

I stared down the long, fluorescent-lit corridor, the freezing rage settling deep in my chest. "There isn't a bunker deep enough to keep him safe. I know exactly how we pull him out into the open."

"What's the play?"

"We take his most prized possession," I said, my voice completely devoid of mercy. "Bring me Chiara Bellini."