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Ilya refused, shaking his head. “I don’t think so. Let’s take this to my place,” he insisted. His words only fed my growing irritation. My head spun towards him, hands flying in the air between us.

“What is there to talk about?”

“About your potential,” he raised his voice, making his point final.

“It’s happening. Stop fighting it.” A grunt formed in my throat, but I swallowed it this time. His tone, though commanding, wasn’t the main reason behind my compliance.

Let’s just say if I were a cat, I’d be dead.

Soon, we were approaching an iron gate at the edge of the city. The driveway itself could have its own postcode. That’s how far it stretched from the road. The quality of the road shifted, the familiar crunch of tires fading as we neared.

Money and wealth never impressed me, but if they did, this would’ve had me wowing. The house stood tall in the distance, its white bricks, towering columns, and endless windows looking out over the grounds. The vibe screamed old money with modern touches, its leadership etched into the very walls.

Ilya didn’t reach for a remote or button to open the entrance.

Instead, he pulled up close to a structure on the left.

The automatic light flickered on, and three men emerged, dressed in black tactical gear.

Splitting up, two of them circled the car, their movements visible in the wing mirror as they peered through the tinted windows, scanning the vehicle.

The third man leaned in on Ilya’s side. His head appeared in the lowered window, filling the interior with the thick smoke of a hand-rolled cigarette. The gun strapped to his chest was well concealed but still made its presence known.

A guard post .

I highly doubt the postal carrier delivered to the Bratva daily. If they did, kudos for their courage and athletic form.

Ilya waited as the lead guard checked in with his colleagues, then signaled for us to proceed. Once past the massive gate, my mind raced to figure out what I had gotten myself into. Or rather, how I was going to get out.

The car stopped in front of the main entrance, where a grandiose double door was tended by a butler.

He had it wide open before we even set foot on the ground, no doubt informed by the guards of his employer’s arrival.

The crisp air I enjoyed touching my face during this season didn’t even reach me when I got out of the car.

We walked from warmth to warmth without effort.

“My guys,” I remembered Ilya calling them. One for everything.

The interior was everything you’d expect a home of the wealthy and powerful to be, but I didn’t dwell. I scanned the space for an exit, looking for anything to help me escape the situation.

Ilya walked down the hall to what appeared to be his office, heading for a plush chair tucked behind a mahogany desk.

Without guidance from the host, I settled on the nearest couch.

The man appeared comfortable in my presence, his feet outstretched as he leaned over the desk, pressing a button on the phone.

Instantly, another person entered the room and headed directly for Ilya.

He whispered something I was not to overhear, allowing me to study them, starting with the newcomer, a raven-haired man in casual clothes.

On the street, he would blend right in, but here, between the tactical gear, guns, and suits, he stood out. With the secrets spilled, the raven-haired guy found comfort on the opposite sofa. The second his ass hit the cushion, he gawked at me.

And I stared right back.

Never lower your gaze. It’s a sign of submission and weakness. The notes I collected reminded me .

No one spoke for what felt like a while.

I studied the room from corner to corner, noting every detail.

Comfortable in the silence, Ilya got up, heading to the bar tucked in the corner.

He poured amber liquid over ice, the faint clinking filling the room.

Not offering us any, he returned to his spot.

The first sip drew a deliberate sigh of delight, and only when the glass emptied did he finally speak.

“I want you to work for me.”

His words hit me like a slap, shock flashing across my face before I could stop it. My attempt to erase the emotion came too late; they noticed. Like hawks, their heads tilted, their blinks too far apart.

“What could I possibly help you with? I told you, I’m not interested in joining the Bratva,” I replied, forcing the bubble in my throat down.

“What’s your name?” The other man’s voice cut in, his heavy accent sharpening the question. I focused on him, mimicking his expression.

“What’s yours?” I shot back.

“Malek.”

“Taya.”

One for one, in a fair trade.

“Your full name?” Malek pressed, his voice firm.

“That’s all you’ll be getting. Nothing more.”

A faint smirk tugged at the corner of Ilya’s mouth, a shadow of approval that felt more like amusement. “You’re cautious. Good. You’ll need that if you’re going to survive.”

“Are you American?” Malek cut in again, his accent even thicker now, like he wanted the question to land differently. His gaze lingered, sharp and deliberate, as if he were picking apart my answers before I’d even given them.

I turned my head to the window, watching the guards outside as they moved across the ground. Some of them stayed behind, forming a line on the lawn. Their shadows cast darkness into the room, silhouettes forming against the back walls. A silent threat .

His protection was my warning.

I smiled at the thought. Somewhere deep down, a string of pride awoke, braiding into the mix.

When I faced the room again, Malek still awaited confirmation.

Information is power.

I owed them no answers. Unless they wanted to try torture, all I’d feed them were crumbs.

Either they recognized my resolve or decided not to waste their time because they accepted the silence and moved on.

“Fair enough. Look, Taya, I saw you today, and I assume this was your first kill.” Ilya nodded slightly, as if confirming his own words. “Thinking back to my first, believe me, it was nowhere near this calculated. By now, I expected you to be retching on the floor.”

Malek let out a quiet hum, his eyes narrowing. “She’s not. That says something, doesn’t it?” His tone carried a weight, as if he was storing the observation for later.

The thought of retching hadn’t even crossed my mind. I should feel remorse for killing a man, disgust at how easy it was to take a life. I should fear what I’m capable of. Reaching deep inside, I felt… empty. Unmoved, as if the gun never fired.

What did that make me?

Their words registered as a compliment in my mind. The corner of my lips lifted briefly before I schooled my expression back to indifference. “Umm, thanks. I guess.”

“This life isn’t for everybody. I get it. But I don’t think you would’ve done all that if you weren’t curious.”

Is he referring to…? Angry that I didn’t notice anyone on my tail, I spat, “Have you been following me?”

“Let’s just say I like to keep an eye on those who come to my gym and their activities,” Ilya confirmed.

“I wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t done my homework. ”

“What happened today, then?” I deadpanned.

Malek chuckled under his breath, clarifying the dynamics between them and the lack of rank enforcement. They must be close for him to feel comfortable enough to disrespect the Pakhan in the presence of others.

“You got me there,” Ilya muttered. “Sometimes, shit slips through the cracks.”

His words sobered my confidence. Years, that’s what they had on me. Experience. Resources. I could go on and on about why it wasn’t my time. At least not yet.

“I’m just a kid playing vigilante.” I downplayed my abilities. “Self-taught. No way I can go against trained killers.”

“Everybody’s got to start somewhere. If this is what you want, I’ll help you.”

Not enough time passed for me to consider his proposition, and while curiosity nudged me, reason forced me to ask. “Why?”

Ilya looked at me, confusion flickering in his eyes. “Why what?”

“Why would you do that? What do you want from me?”

Acts of kindness come at a cost.

“I want to help you like someone should’ve helped me when I was in your shoes,” Ilya said, his answer straight but edged with something I couldn’t quite place. Whether truthful, how am I to know?

Needing a moment to think it over, I stood up and moved to the window. A handful of guards in matching uniforms tensed at my proximity, hands raising to their weapons.

Just look at them. All so dedicated to a group that sees them as numbers.

Willing to die for people they only see in passing.

This isn’t who I want to become: a head, an extra set of hands.

Negotiate the terms to benefit you.

“I have conditions.”

The two men shared a look, silently communicating, but it was Ilya who spoke first. “I’m listening. ”

Leaning against the window, I laid out my terms. “If I do this, I don’t want to be affiliated with the Bratva. Or any other organization,” I paused, making sure my point hit home. “That’s a deal breaker. I want to be on my own, a freelancer, or whatever you call it.”

“What does it mean to you?” Still seated on the couch, Malek questioned my understanding of the concept.

I wasn’t sure I had one. If anything, I knew my non-negotiable and made sure to include it.

“Freedom,” I replied. “The one thing I won’t give up.” Something I had just recently gotten my first taste of. “Look, I can work with you. But I refuse to work for you.”

Ilya remained deep in thought while I turned my attention back to the guards.

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

A handshake between the three of us marked the moment my life’s journey truly began.

I had no idea what I was agreeing to, but the truth was, I had nothing else to live for. From that point on, Malek, Ilya, and I worked together.

The night I killed for the first time solidified the future.

I was a ruthless killer. An assassin for hire.

I walked the line between black and white with swaying steps, stuck somewhere in the gray area, growing cloudier with each day. As the sun set, the body count soon reached three digits.

There were lines I never dared to cross. Despite everything, I wasn’t a villain in my eyes. I ate, slept, fucked, and lived like any other human being.

The secrets of the blue backpack remained buried in a dusty, jammed-up drawer at the back of my mind, where they slept soundly.

I wanted to play the game. Who said I had to play by their rules?