Chapter 4

The Lessons of the Underworld

The next morning, the training Alexei's journey to the unknown begins.

Alexei woke to the sound of a whip in the floor outside his room. He stumbled out, hair messy, still half-asleep, to find Lucien waiting in the hall, dressed in black, a sweet smile tugging his lips.

“Good,” Lucien appreciated. “You move when you’re summoned. That’s step one.”

Alexei rubbed his eyes. “Step one for what?”

Lucien laughed. “For survival, Alexei.

The yard behind the mansion had been transformed into a training ground. Targets stood in a line, painted silhouettes of men. On one side: climbing ropes, locked doors, walls too high for any ordinary boy. On the other: weapons glimmered in the light of morning sun.

Lucien’s men stood watching, silent and curious. But none dared laugh. They knew better.

Alexei swallowed hard. He was barefoot, his chest thin in his shirt Lucien had given him. He felt smaller than ever under their stares.

Lucien handed him another knife. “Rule one,” he whispered. “A weapon is only as dangerous as the hand holding it. Show me yours.”

Alexei gripped the handle, awkward, the blade trembling in his hand for a first timer.

“Strike the target.”

He hesitated.

“Strike.” Lucien’s voice snapped like thunder.

Alexei lunged forward, slashing at the wooden silhouette. The blade scraped, shallow and weak.

Lucien shook his head. He stepped forward, wrapped his hand over Alexei’s, and corrected the grip. Their closeness made Alexei freeze, his pulse hammering.

“Not like a child holding a spoon,” Lucien murmured. “Like this.” He guided Alexei’s wrist, twisting it until the blade faced downward. “Strike from above, quick, ruthless. Hesitation gets you killed, boy.”

He stepped back. “Again and again.”

This time Alexei slashed downward, the knife biting into the wood.

“Better,” Lucien said. His eyes glinted. “Now keep going until you forget what mercy feels like.”

Hours passed in sweat. Knife strikes. Dodges. Running until his lungs burned. Lucien pushed him, relentless. Every mistake brought correction—a shove, a strike, or worse, the cold steel of Lucien’s eyes drilling into him.

By midday, Alexei collapsed, his chest hitting hard, knife slipping from his grasp.

Lucien crouched in front of him, resting a hand under his chin, forcing him to meet his eyes. “Weakness is an open wound, Alexei. In this world, men don’t patch wounds. They pour salt in them until you beg for death. If you want to live, you must close every wound.”

Alexei’s throat ached. “And if I can’t?”

Lucien’s lips curved into a smirk. “Then I wasted my time saving you then.”

The boy’s chest tightened. That thought—being discarded, being nothing again—burned worse than hunger. He forced himself up, trembling, gripping the knife once more.

“I’ll do it,” he whispered.

Lucien’s smirk deepened. “That’s the fucking spirit.”

Training didn’t stop with weapons.

That night, Lucien summoned him to his study. On the table lay another new folders, photographs, and documents stamped with official seals.

“Lesson two, knowledge is a invisible blade than steel. Anyone can pull a trigger. But stealing secrets—that makes you untouchable.”

He slid a photo in front of the table. A man in a suit, smiling beside a woman. “Mayor Henri Vermeer. A greedy bastard. He sells contracts under the table, siphons money from the people, and pretends to be holy on Sundays. Every politician in Belgium hides filth under their carpets. Your job, Alexei, will be to lift those carpets.”

Alexei frowned. “How?”

Lucien looked him in the eye, ensuring he's listening. “You’ll learn to blend in. Listen without being seen. Follow men into shadows. Take what they think is hidden. Every scrap of paper, every whispered word—it all has value. And when we own their secrets, we own them too.”

He tapped the folder. “The first step is watching. Tomorrow night, you follow Vermeer. You say nothing. You take nothing. You just watch. Understand?”

Alexei’s pulse raced. His first mission. His first step into the darkness.

“Yes,” he said, though his voice trembled.

Lucien smirked. “Good boy.”

The following night, Brussels pulsed with life. Neon lights. Music spilling from clubs. The smell of cigarettes and cheap perfume.

Alexei sat in the backseat of a sleek black car, heart pounding. Lucien sat beside him, calm as ever, dressed sharp, sipping whiskey from a flask like they weren’t about to stalk one of the city’s most powerful men.

“You’re nervous,” Lucien observed.

Alexei clenched his fists. “Of course I am, this is the first time.” There's always the first time, I believe this is the first of many.

He chuckled. “Good. Fear sharpens the mind. But let it control you, and you’ll choke. Breathe, Alexei. Watch and most importantly learn.”

The car slowed near a restaurant glowing with bright light. Vermeer stepped out of a limo, laughing with companions.

Lucien gestured. “Go.”

Alexei froze. “Alone?”

“Yes,” Lucien answered, lighting a cigarette. “What better way to learn than to be thrown to the wolves?”

Alexei’s chest pounded. He opened the door and slipped into the shadows.

He followed the Mayor from a distance and careful. His steps were light, his breath shallow. Vermeer entered the restaurant, and Alexei waited outside, crouched in the alley, watching through the window. He couldn’t hear much, but he saw—envelopes passed, handshakes too long, eyes darting between the two.

Minutes turned into hours. His legs cramped. His stomach growled. But he didn’t move.

When Vermeer finally emerged, Alexei followed again. This time, Vermeer’s driver opened the car door, and for a terrifying second, the Mayor glanced back. Their eyes nearly met. Alexei ducked behind a lamppost, his heart hammering and pumping.

He stayed there, frozen, until the limo drove away.

Back in the car, Lucien exhaled smoke, looking at him.

“Well?”

Alexei stammered. “He… he passed an envelope. Money, maybe. He met a man I don’t recognize. They were nervous. Like… like it was something secret.”

Lucien’s lips curved into approval. “Good. You saw what most men wouldn’t. That’s the eye I want.”

Alexei’s chest swelled, just a little. Praise felt foreign, strange and addictive.

Lucien moved closer, without any notice from anywhere. “Next time, you’ll get closer. You’ll listen. And eventually… you’ll take.”

Alexei met his eyes, his own voice barely a whisper. “And if I fail?”

Lucien smiled, the glow of his cigarette raising from his face. “Then you’ll die. But don’t worry, Alexei. I don’t plan on letting you die.”

The words sent a strong shiver down the boy’s already shattered heart.

Weeks came fast.

Lucien trained him relentlessly. Lockpicking until his fingers bled. Tail-following until his legs burned. Listening at doors, memorizing conversations, slipping into rooms unseen.

Every failure brought Lucien’s scolding, hitting like a hammer. But every success brought a rare nod of approval that made Alexei’s chest breath.

One night, after hours of practice, Lucien handed him another pistol.

“Lesson three, every spy must also be a killer.”

Alexei froze. The weapon was heavy. He stared at it, hands trembling.

“I… I can’t.”

Lucien stepped in, closing his hand over Alexei’s, forcing him to grip it. Their faces were close, their breaths mingling.

“You can,” Lucien whispered. “Because one day, it will be you or them. And you already know what death feels like breathing down your neck. Don’t ever let it win again.”

Alexei's eyes locked on Lucien’s. Something stirred inside him—a fear, a defiance or something he dared not name.

Lucien smirked, pulling back. “We’ll start tomorrow.”

That night, he thought if everything Lucien trained him about. Alexei lay awake in his bed, he couldn't sleep. He remembered Russia. The war. His parents. The fire of the mob.

And now Lucien. His teacher, his captor and his savior.

He closed his eyes, the weight of the pistol still heavy in his mind.

Tomorrow, he would learn to kill.

And part of him feared not that he’d fail—

…but that he’d succeed.