Klaus left Anika and Viktoria to rest in the room before meeting with Igor. According to his man, all the guards were under investigation, so the unnecessary attention from the police had quickly raised his father's alarms. Mikhail called around five in the morning, sounding angry."What the hell is Constantine doing searching your house?" his father asked with an annoyed shout."Take it easy, I have nothing incriminating in the penthouse," Klaus assured, taking a cigarette from the pack that Igor handed to him. He took a deep drag, grateful for the nicotine to relieve the stress, and sank into the sofa."How the hell did you let this happen?" his father insisted. "Constantine right under our damn noses," he grumbled. "You're lucky the lawyer found a way to get you out of there.""I can handle it," Klaus insisted. "I had nothing to do with this shit... although it's suspiciously convenient. I need Ixander. I'm sure they're watching me. For anything else, Igor and Vlad will go in my pl

Klaus got out of the car, furious, pulling Gregory along with him. Vlad and Igor had done their job and had recovered the son of a bitch, who was probably under the influence of something judging by the shitty smile on his bloodied lips. Otto, his brother, was waiting for him in the cellar, clenching his lips as he watched them with a tight jaw. "I told you to control him," Klaus growled, pushing Gregory towards his brother. The younger Urich was battered and had a deranged look on his face, but he stumbled into Otto and fell to the floor, pointing an accusing finger at him and spitting in his direction. "He killed three of my men, sold the damn weapons to the Kasakovs." "Are you crazy?" Otto asked, looking at his brother, his face turning red. Gregory spat. "I only did what you and Ryan refused to do," he complained. "Too scared of the Petrovs to get the money." "Shut the fuck up," Otto growled, hitting his brother in the face and pushing him against the wall, causing him to stum

Anika's hands trembled uncontrollably as she looked at the small urn in front of her. Her legs gave way completely, a sense of weight settling in her chest, and the pain, raw like that first day, along with the memories, hit her abruptly. She carefully took the urn, it was light, perhaps too light, but she cradled it against her chest as tears fell down her cheeks, and a cry of pain escaped her lips. "My baby," she cried as she kissed the lid of the urn, while memories forcefully invaded her. For years, she had done everything possible to push away the pain, to hide it in the deepest part of her mind, just like the things Mark had done to her, deceiving herself and forcing herself to remember only what was necessary to not lose herself in madness, in the pain that now invaded her. The memory of her little son and what she had suffered to bring him into the world came rushing back. Closing her eyes, she thought of the feeling of holding him in her arms, the adorable laughter she had on