Chapter 2

The mob’s shouts had faded into memory now, but their scars still lived in Alexei’s bones. Sometimes he still felt fire near his skin, as if the torch had touched him. But when he opened his eyes, it was never fire—it was a curtains and marble floors

Lucien’s mansion.

He had escaped death, but not danger.

The first morning, Alexei rose to the smell of food. The tray on his table overflowed—eggs, fruit, bread, meat. Too much. His body still thought like a beggar’s. He stuffed half into his mouth, hid the rest under the bed. Old habits clung like scars.

Later, walking the hall, he saw how the others looked at him. Lucien’s men—hard faces, inked arms, guns never far from their reach. Their smirks told him what they thought: the boy was too soft and unworthy, lucky. Only alive because Lucien had said so.

But no one touched him. Not when Lucien had already said, He’s mine.

The house itself was a kingdom. Long corridors, cold art on the walls, the silence of money and power. Every door Alexei passed whispered secrets.

One led to a room stacked with ledgers and maps. He only glanced, but saw names written there—politicians, businessmen, numbers with too many zeroes. Another door opened showed series of guns in different cases. Another, men counting bundles of cash.

Alexei had grown up with scraps. Here, he saw rivers of gold and diamond.

But he also saw blood.

In the main hall, two men dragged a body wrapped in plastic, leaving streaks on the floor. Alexei's heart skipped a bit.

Lucien appeared from nowhere, cigarette between his lips. His eyes flicked to the corpse, then back to Alexei. “Look long enough and you’ll stop flinching. Eat enough meals here, and you’ll stop asking where the food money comes from.”

Alexei didn’t answer. He only nodded.

Lucien smiled, as if pleased.

Some weeks later.

Lucien left Alexei to “settle first.” That meant freedom to walk the house, freedom to breathe, but not freedom to leave. The gates were always locked, his guards always on watch.

At night, Alexei lay in his expensive bed and thought: Am I safe here? Or am I caged?

The line between the two was thinner than he ever imagined.

Still, the cage was smooth. He ate. He slept without shivering. He even found a library, books in French, Dutch, English. His Russian tongue struggled, but he read anyway.

For the first time since his parents’ death, Alexei’s stomach wasn’t empty. He didn't sleep under the bridge with empty stomach.

But his soul was restless.

One evening, Lucien called him in his office.

The room was darker than the rest of the house. Heavy curtains, shelves of bottles, a desk carved from oak. Behind it, Lucien sat, coat off, tie loose, but his presence still shake even the lizard around.

“Do you like my home?” Lucien asked without looking up.

Alexei hesitated. “It’s… different.”

Lucien raised his eyes. “Different from what?”

Alexei swallowed. “From the streets. From Russia. From everything.”

Lucien's smoke curled from his cigarette. “This house was not built with clean money, Alexei. Every stone you see has blood behind it. Remember that before you get comfortable.”

Alexei’s fists tightened. “Then why...why bring me here?” He asked stammering.

Lucien looked at him for a long moment. Then he said. “Because you remind me of myself, in street, alone, and hungry. Sometimes dangerous without even knowing it.”

Dangerous? Alexei wanted to laugh. He was no danger. He was a boy saved from fire, trembling at flames. But something in Lucien’s eyes said otherwise, and it unsettled him even more.

The next morning, Alexei wandered the garden. Roses bloomed in neat rows, their colors too bright for such a dark place. He touched a petal, soft as silk.

“Pretty, aren’t they?” a voice behind him drawled. One of Lucien’s men, a tall brute with scarred knuckles. “Careful, boy. Around here, pretty things get plucked quick.”

Alexei turned away, but the man caught his wrist. “You don’t belong here, do you?. You’re just a stray Lucien picked up. Strays don’t last here.”

Before Alexei could pull free, another voice sliced the in.

“Hands off.”

Lucien.

The brute dropped him instantly.

Lucien’s eyes lingered on Alexei’s wrist, then flicked to the man. “Touch him again and I’ll cut that hand off.”

The man bowed. “Understood, boss.”

Lucien’s eyes stayed on Alexei, before he walked away.

Alexei stood frozen, wrist still tingling where Lucien’s eyes had rested.

That night, Alexei dreamed of fire again. He woke sweating, heart racing. A shadow standing at the foot of his bed.

Lucien.

He didn’t move, didn’t speak, just watched.

Alexei’s breath hitched. “What do you want?” He asked.

Lucien’s voice was too calm. “To remind you. You’re not free yet.”

“Then why keep me?”

Lucien stepped closer, close enough for Alexei to see the lines of his jaw, the cold fire in his eyes.

“Because,” Lucien murmured, “I don’t know yet whether you’ll be my greatest mistake… or my greatest weapon.”

The words cut too deep.

By the time Alexei blinked, Lucien was gone, the door closing with a whisper.

But his presence smelled and lingered.

Days passed. Alexei began to notice things others missed. The patterns of who entered Lucien’s office. The way envelopes passed hands. The whispers at midnight about politicians and debts.

He realized Lucien wasn’t just a mafia lord. He was the city’s hidden king. Every mayor, every judge, every officer—they all owed him.

And Alexei lived in his palace of secrets.

One afternoon, Lucien called him into the office again. On the desk lay a pistol. Black and smelling danger.

“Pick it up,” Lucien ordered.

Alexei’s hand shook as he lifted it.

“Do you know how to use it?”

“No.”

Lucien stepped behind him, close, his hands guiding Alexei’s. The warmth of his body pressed against Alexei’s back, steadying his aim.

“This is how you hold it. This is how you breathe before you fire. This is how you survive.”

Alexei’s chest tightened. He felt every word and every breath.

Lucien’s hand lingered a second too long on his shoulder. Then he stepped away.

“Soon, you’ll do more than survive,” Lucien said. “You’ll live. But only if you’re willing to be what this world demands.”

Alexei lowered the gun. “And what does it demand?”

Lucien’s eyes gleamed. “That you learn to kill.”

That night, Alexei couldn’t sleep. The weight of the gun still pressed into his head, harder than any chain.

Was this his second chance—or just another fire waiting to consume him?

He didn’t know.

But in his chest, where fear once ruled, something else stirred.

A hunger not just to survive, but to become.

There's a knock on the door. Someone brought ina folded note.

Alexei picked it up, heart racing.

Four words written in a strange ink:

Tomorrow. Your first test.

His breath caught. He looked at the pistol on the table.

And for the first time, Alexei wondered if the mob’s fire had been mercy compared to what awaited him now.