Page 3

The sky is overcast, a blanket of gray stretching endlessly over the cemetery as I stand before the freshly dug grave. The air is thick with damp earth and unspoken words, the weight of the gathering pressing down like a hand at my throat.

Valeri Sharov is gone.

The man who taught me patience when my rage threatened to consume me, who told me that power meant more than fear alone—that same man is now six feet under, another casualty in the never-ending war of survival.

I feel no grief.

Only cold, quiet rage simmering beneath my skin.

Valeri didn’t die of illness. He wasn’t taken by age or misfortune. This was a hit—calculated, deliberate, meant to send a message. And whoever sent it clearly thought they’d be able to walk away unscathed.

They were wrong.

I scan the faces surrounding me, most donning masks of solemnity, their heads bowed in false mourning. They murmur soft words, offer tight nods, but none of them feel the loss like I do. Most of them don’t care. In our world, funerals are little more than another stage in the cycle of power—an ending for one, an opportunity for another. Not this time.

This isn’t just about territory or money. This is personal. My uncle had enemies, but none of them had the reach to take him down so cleanly. That kind of precision comes from the inside. Someone close to him orchestrated this. Someone he trusted.

My fists clench at my sides. I will find out who, and when I do, I will burn their world to the ground.

I step away from the grave, the damp grass muffling my movements. My focus is already shifting, my mind clicking into place, stripping away anything that isn’t useful to me right now. Grief is a weakness. Regret is useless. The only thing that matters is retribution.

A figure approaches from my left—Ivan, my lieutenant, the only man I trust enough to stand at my back without a blade in his hand. His face is grim, his expression tight. He carries a folder tucked beneath his arm, his knuckles white from the grip he has on it.

I don’t need to ask. My eyes flick to the folder, then back to him.

“Who?” My voice is quiet, but the demand behind it is clear.

Ivan hands me the folder without hesitation. “You’re going to want to see this.”

I open it, my fingers careful but swift, flipping through the contents. Documents. Photographs. Testimonies, and a voice recording.

I scan each piece, my pulse steady, controlled—until I see the name. Spade. More specifically, Sophia Spade.

The photos paint a picture of business dealings that should not have happened. Accounts shifting, power moving in silence, all tied back to the Spade family. The testimonies are clear: Valeri wasn’t just a casualty in a larger war. He was a target.

Sophia had a hand in it.

I don’t move. I barely breathe. Then I close the folder, my grip tightening until the edges of the paper bend beneath my fingers. My jaw locks, my body stiff with the barely contained violence threatening to break free. I exhale through my nose.

“They can’t get away with this.”

The papers crumple under my grip, my fingers tightening with the sheer force of my rage. The more I stare at the name, Sophia Spade, the heavier the realization becomes. It’s not just business. It’s not just another power move in the endless war of territory and control. This was calculated, personal.

The Spades used her as a pawn, thinking I wouldn’t notice. They were wrong.

Ivan watches me carefully, waiting for my command. He’s smart enough not to speak before I do, but I can feel the weight of his expectations. He knows what comes next—retribution, the kind that leaves no survivors, no loose ends.

“Take the documents back to the study,” I say, my voice cold, measured. The anger is there, seething beneath the surface, but I don’t let it control me. Not yet. “Go through every detail. Find out everything there is to know about Sophia Spade. Who she is, where she moves, what she values. I want to know what makes her tick.”

Ivan nods. “Consider it done.”

I don’t look at him as he walks away. My eyes remain fixed on the grave, on the freshly turned dirt that covers the only man who ever gave a damn about me beyond my usefulness.

Valeri never treated me like my father’s shadow, never made me feel like I had to atone for the sins of my bloodline. He saw me. Not just a Sharov. Not just the heir to a kingdom built on blood and fear.

Now he’s gone.

The silence around me thickens, the quiet hum of the city beyond the cemetery distant and meaningless. I take a slow breath, my hands curling into fists at my sides. My mind runs through every scenario, every move I could make.

The Spades must have thought Valeri’s death would go unnoticed, that it would be swept away as just another casualty in this world we live in. That was their first mistake.

Their second was thinking I wouldn’t come for them.

I let out a low breath, shaking my head slightly. “You always said to be patient, Valeri,” I murmur, my voice barely above a whisper. “To weigh every move before making it.” My lips curl into something that isn’t quite a smile. “I wonder what you’d tell me now.”

Would he tell me to let it go? No. He wasn’t a fool. He knew this world too well.

Would he tell me to be smart? To make sure my revenge wasn’t just satisfying, but strategic? That’s what he would say. He always thought five steps ahead, always knew how to turn a setback into an opportunity.

I exhale slowly, forcing myself to center my thoughts. The rage is still there, burning beneath my skin, but I won’t let it consume me. Not yet. There’s work to be done, a war to prepare for.

My fingers brush over the cold, smooth stone of the headstone. “I’ll handle this,” I promise, my voice a quiet vow. “They won’t walk away from this.”

The wind shifts, rustling the grass, the trees swaying slightly as if the world itself is listening. I give the grave one last look before turning away, making my way to the waiting car.

The black vehicle sits at the curb like a shadow, its polished surface reflecting the gray sky above. The driver, a man who knows better than to speak, nods in greeting as he opens the door. I slide in, the cool leather seat pressing against my back.

As the door shuts, sealing me inside, I close my eyes for a brief moment. Just long enough to let the weight of today settle. Just long enough to let the fire inside me burn hotter.

The low hum of the engine fills the space around me, steady and unobtrusive. The driver shifts slightly in his seat before speaking, his tone careful. “Where to, sir?”

I open my eyes, the fire in my chest still burning, controlled but unrelenting. “Home,” I answer.

The car pulls smoothly away from the cemetery, the weight of the day pressing against my shoulders. I glance out the window, watching as the city moves past in a blur of gray and muted lights. The world keeps turning, indifferent to my loss, to the rage simmering beneath my skin.

I am not indifferent.

By the time we arrive, the sky has darkened, the estate looming in front of me like a silent guardian. The driver parks in front of the main entrance, and I step out without another word. The crisp night air does nothing to cool the heat crawling up my spine.

Inside, the house is quiet, the kind of stillness that only comes when a storm is waiting to break. Ivan has already been here. The documents he left are sitting on my desk, neatly stacked, waiting for me. But he’s nowhere to be seen.

Good. I don’t need distractions right now.

I remove my jacket, draping it over the chair before settling in behind the desk. The single lamp casts a pool of golden light across the surface, illuminating the folder in front of me. My fingers graze the edges before I flip it open, my eyes scanning over the contents once more.

Sophia Spade.

The name is printed neatly at the top of one of the pages, accompanied by a summary of her involvement in her father’s business. She isn’t just another rich heir sitting on the sidelines. She’s in the thick of it, working closely with James Spade—or James, as he’s officially known in business circles.

Sophia Spade: COO of Spade Enterprises. Oversees business expansions, legal operations, and financial dealings. Trusted by James Spade to handle high-level negotiations, both legitimate and otherwise.

I exhale slowly, tapping a finger against the page. The words confirm what I already suspected—she’s not just a pawn. She’s a player.

What I don’t know is whether this hit on Valeri was her plan or if she was simply executing orders. In the end, it doesn’t matter. She played a part in it. She helped make it happen. For that, she’ll pay.

My jaw tightens as I skim through the financial reports, tracking the movement of money between Spade-controlled shell companies. Some of it is clean—investments, property acquisitions, offshore holdings. Beneath the surface, there are the usual stains: payouts, bribes, and quiet transfers to names with no digital footprint.

It’s calculated. Organized. The kind of business that leaves no trail unless you know exactly where to look.

Valeri knew, and now he’s dead.

I close the folder with a quiet snap, my fingers pressing into the leather-bound cover as I sit back in my chair. The rage hasn’t lessened. If anything, it’s settled deeper into my bones, taking root.

Sophia and her father think they’ve won. They think they’ve secured their position, cleaned up their loose ends. They have no idea what’s coming.