Chapter 57

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It was beyond doubt: information was leaking from within the Goodnight family. The files on Cherriot’s two guards were disturbingly precise.

Benji—Benjamin Fraser—was a thirty-eight-year-old Boston police detective attached to the Major Crimes Unit. His record primarily spanned domestic violence and human trafficking cases. He had evidently emigrated from Canada to the United States as a child, gained citizenship, and remained in Boston ever since.

The dossier on Dolly was even more compelling. Though shorter than Benjamin’s, the details were far more intriguing: Dorothy Hamill, an alias. Mixed Russian heritage. Former U.S. military. Her specific unit remained unlisted.

Reading the single-line summary, Yuri finally understood why Dolly favored Russian desserts.

Her English was so impeccably fluent, devoid of the distinct Russian cadence Yuri heard in his father, Vasily, that he had never once suspected her origins. Even Yuri occasionally betrayed his own roots with an unmistakable hardness in his pronunciation, yet Dolly never did. The channel through which he had obtained this intel was illicit, but Yuri did not begrudge the necessity of knowing the people closest to Cherriot.

Alexei had instructed him to attend the party the following evening.

Today, Alexei was occupied with the catering company to gather intel, leaving Yuri to his own devices. Sitting on the edge of his bed, Yuri dried his hair, his gaze fixed on the paper bearing Benji’s number—an illicit prize from Alexei.

Upon arriving in Boston, Yuri had checked into the most affordable hotel he could manage and immediately showered. Direct flights from Calgary to Boston only departed before dawn, so he had mirrored Cherriot’s itinerary: flying to Toronto and transferring from there. Once the grit of travel was washed away, he ran his fingers over the bandage on his arm.

The wound was shallower than the laceration on his side and had already healed considerably. Nearly a week had elapsed, and the dressing required changing. His hand hovered over the bandage, lingering with a reluctant attachment he could not quite name.

He gave his head a short, sharp shake to clear his thoughts and returned to the present. He keyed in Benji’s number and pressed the call button. He had no way of knowing if Benji would answer an unknown caller; if he refused, Yuri would be forced to contact Cherriot directly. For a brief moment, the prospect of hearing Cherriot’s voice over the line sparked an intensity that felt far too potent. Then, Yuri reminded himself that the less Cherriot knew, the safer he remained, and the unnecessary anticipation bled away.

Fortunately, Benji answered.

“Benji speaking. Who is this?”

“It’s me. Yuri.”

Silence stretched from the other end. Several seconds passed, and Yuri checked the screen, wondering if Benji had disconnected. The call remained active.

“Benjamin?”

“How did you get my number?”

His tone had shifted instantly from professional to openly aggressive. Yuri understood the reaction; the situation certainly justified some alarm.

“A friend provided it. Cherriot originally approached my friend for the job. I don’t know if you’ve heard of him.”

“How did that man get my number?”

“If he is already aware that you are a detective with the Boston Police Major Crimes Unit, obtaining your number would be trivial.”

Before Benji could terminate the call, Yuri cut to the heart of the matter. “Basic information regarding you, Dolly, and myself has been distributed among the people pursuing Cherriot. But that isn’t the primary issue. There is something you need to do.”

“My personal details were circulated among a criminal organization, and you’re suggesting that isn’t urgent?” Benji sounded incredulous.

“You are currently Cherriot’s guard. You should prioritize his safety. I have intel that there is a Goodnight family gathering tomorrow at their cottage near Rexheim Beach. Is that correct?”

“What, did you plant a spy?” Benji’s suspicion was intense; Alexei’s intel was clearly accurate.

Ah. He still doesn’t realize the culprit is inside the family. Perhaps only Dolly and Cherriot’s mother know.

“Ask Dolly why the information leaked, and she will explain. There is a mole within Cherriot’s family. That individual intends to kill the direct relatives attending tomorrow’s party.”

“Wait. Hold on.” Benji fell silent for a moment, then directed Yuri to an address. “Come here. This isn’t a conversation for the phone. Goddamn it. Why does Dolly keep hiding things from me?” His frustration with Dolly spilled over, and he cut the connection.

The address led to an upscale downtown cocktail bar, a fifteen-minute drive from Yuri’s hotel. Yuri searched the establishment’s name online, studying the photos. It was not a club, but the kind of venue where mingling was effortless.

Cherriot must be there, too.

Yuri stared at the images until his face went blank, then locked his phone. After collecting his key and wallet, he realized it was too late for a pharmacy to be open. He had no fresh bandages. He unwound the dressing on his arm, the bloodstained gauze falling away to reveal the laceration had closed and scabbed over. It was not deep enough to leave a scar, though a faint mark might persist.

For no reason other than habit, he flexed his arm and leg to ensure his sensation remained intact. Satisfied, he pulled a black, short-sleeved shirt over the torso he so disliked, then added a jacket to cover the injury. He left the hotel, looking entirely out of place for such an expensive bar.

Twenty minutes later, he stepped out of a taxi at the intersection Benji had specified. Four brown-stone buildings faced one another in the darkening street, teeming with well-dressed patrons. Yuri stood alone, a stark contrast to the surroundings. He eventually located the cocktail bar’s sign, only to be disappointed that the interior was obscured. He stood studying the entrance—designed with a nightclub aesthetic—and was poised to call Benji when two men walked inside.

The two Alphas, confident and relaxed, were speaking in grave tones about what kind of Omega they hoped to meet that night. As though that were the greatest problem in their lives. Yuri glanced inside while the door stood ajar, but Cherriot was nowhere in sight. He reprimanded his own heart for its persistence and dialed Benji.

The phone barely rang before Benji answered. “Are you here?”

“At the entrance.”

“Stay there.”

Benji emerged moments later, looking as though he had been waiting nearby. He spotted Yuri and approached, dressed in a semiformal suit that contrasted sharply with his casual attire from the day before. “This way.”

He gestured toward a quiet side alley, and Yuri followed. The building was close enough to the coast that the cries of gulls drifted through the evening air, slowly fading. Benji and Yuri stood in profound awkwardness; they had spent only a day in the same house, yet this was the calmest they had ever been in each other’s presence.

“What did you mean on the phone? Explain it properly.” Benji rubbed his chin, his expression taut.

“We learned that the Hell’s Watchmen intend to kill Cherriot and his relatives at tomorrow’s party. They will deploy mercenaries but attempt to frame the gang directly. Their North American headquarters is in New York, just north of here, so the hit team will likely come from there.”

“So they’ll make it look like a gang-related raid?” Benji understood immediately. His expression darkened as he thought aloud. “The Hell’s Watchmen used to be reckless, but they haven’t attempted mass murder on this scale in nearly a decade. After a major police crackdown, they limited themselves to narcotics and smaller contract killings. If they are willing to risk law-enforcement attention again, the success fee must be exorbitant. ”

“Most likely.”

“I doubt money alone is enough. There may be land rights or business interests at play.” Benji fixed his gaze on Yuri again. “You said someone in the family arranged this?”

“Yes.”

“Are you certain? Cherriot will be devastated if he learns the truth. He’s already been dragged into this absurd mess.”

“There is evidence. But asking Dolly will provide greater certainty than asking me.” Benji bit his dry lower lip and sighed deeply. “What do you want from me?”

“If we want to identify the culprit and stop them permanently, we need them to expose themselves. If we report this too early, they will simply pivot to another method. It may be better to wait until the moment before the attack and catch them in the act.”

“That’s too dangerous. Over thirty relatives are expected tomorrow.”

“I was told they hired substantial security.”

“They did. But in a firefight, people still get hurt.”

“Then we introduce a variable in advance. ” Yuri explained the method he had devised in the taxi. “Bring Cherriot to the party early so witnesses see his arrival, then place him in a secure, guarded room. His trust is the greatest; the attackers will consider his death essential. The culprit will be forced to search for him. ”

Benji released a long breath. After considering it, he looked up. He did not possess Alexei’s total confidence, but he appeared willing to weigh the plan. “I’ll discuss this with Dolly. I’ll contact you by tomorrow morning—keep your phone on. And… ” Benji folded his arms, looking up at Yuri. Because he stood a little under six feet, he had to tilt his chin up. Nevertheless, he showed no concern for the height difference. “Will you be there? You followed us all the way here, so I assume that’s the intention. ”

“…I want to see Cherriot safe.”

“Listen. Your name is Yuri, right?” Benji placed a hand on Yuri’s shoulder. His tone was no longer hostile; it was pragmatic. “I know what kind of man you are. This isn’t an attempt to frighten you. When Cherriot treated your wound the day before yesterday, I saw your back.”

Benji had seen the scars Yuri thought only Dolly noticed. No. Yuri, what he said doesn’t just mean he saw the scars. He understands why you have them.

“I’ve seen records of Soviet-born mafia groups that inflicted scars like those on traitors. It was an old, brutal practice—an initiation far harsher than a simple tattoo.” Benji narrowed his eyes. “Dolly said she doesn’t think you’re a bad man. I’m not convinced. But we can agree those scars didn’t come from an ordinary life, can’t we?”

Yuri stared at him, his face drained of color.

Benji was right; Igor’s methods were ancient and cruel. But Igor had ruled his kingdom according to his whims. On the worst day of Yuri’s life, he had carved those scars into Yuri’s back—the most shameful part of his body, the key to his most painful memory.

Alexei, who knew, had never spoken of them.

Volkov was dead.

The organization had collapsed.

Yuri had assumed no one but Alexei could comprehend what those scars signified. But Benjamin had recognized them.

“With a past like that, I’m sorry, but I don’t want you near Cherriot. I don’t deny you’re useful or that your combat experience could help. But I don’t believe you’d be a good influence on him.”

The words hit Yuri like a physical blow.

As Yuri’s eyes turned cold with shock, Benji fell silent, unaware he had touched Yuri’s deepest wound. Those scars were born on the day Yuri’s mother died. Benji was correct that they hadn’t come from an ordinary event. What tormented Yuri was that the memory defining his entire existence could be reduced to merely a past like that.

The pain Yuri had endured that day.

The despair.

The frustration so severe it had nearly shattered his sanity.

The tragedy that consumed the Kiselyov family.

None of it existed within Benji’s words. His clenched fist turned white. Perhaps the feeling was less anger toward Benji than humiliation at having his shame unexpectedly exposed. Benji had done nothing wrong; Yuri knew how a man like him must appear to the police.

Given that Benji had recognized his mafia background almost immediately, he had been surprisingly civil.

“…Did you tell Cherriot?”

“I intended to if the two of you became too close.” Benji rubbed between his brows. “But he doesn’t know yet.”

“I understand.”

No matter how kind Cherriot was—kind almost to the point of naivety—could he truly treat Yuri the same way after learning he had been mafia? Yuri had once imagined he might explain everything to Cherriot eventually: what he endured, why he became involved, why he had fought so desperately to survive. But…

Yuri remained silent, his face hardening, and Benji said nothing. A vibration sounded from Benji’s jacket. He removed his phone, reading the message.

“I need to go back inside. I’m here to celebrate my wedding anniversary, and because of you, I’ve been away too long.”

Hearing that Benji was with his wife cooled Yuri’s boiling thoughts instantly. “Shouldn’t you be guarding Cherriot? I thought he traveled with you.”

“I told him to stay at home; it’s dangerous to go out. He wanted to rest, so I left him with Dolly and my aunt. There are guards stationed throughout the estate. You don’t need to worry.”

The phone vibrated again. Benji sighed, hastening to put it away, and gave Yuri one final warning.

“I won’t interfere with you watching from a distance. Dolly insisted I leave you alone, so this is the compromise. But this is as far as it goes. ”

After Benjamin left, Yuri remained alone in the alley. A shadow stretched along the building, covering half his body. Standing on that uncertain border, neither fully inside nor outside, Yuri eventually moved and left the alley.

Emerging, he saw Benji across the street, leaving the cocktail bar. He linked arms with his wife and walked away, laughing. The gap between them felt unbearable.

For a moment, Yuri felt as though he were back in Saratov. The devil who had imprisoned his body was dead, but Yuri’s soul remained chained by the memories of that place. He realized that unless he created enough new memories to overwrite them, a part of him would remain there forever. He never felt this way beside Cherriot, who possessed the remarkable ability to make Yuri focus only on the reality before him. Cherriot constantly drew Yuri outward, leaving no room for these miserable thoughts.

Turning away from the direction Benji had gone, Yuri walked against the tide of people, each moving toward their own destination. The farther he walked, the emptier his chest became. Yuri had always been empty, so he had never understood what absence felt like. Only after experiencing what it was to be filled did he recognize the sensation as loneliness.

He did not intend to disobey Benji. He had decided he could be satisfied simply by watching over Cherriot. Their objectives were not different enough to spark conflict, but… he wished they would allow him near enough to see Cherriot smile, even from a distance.

Eventually, Yuri lacked the strength to continue. He stopped, realizing he had returned to the cemetery he had passed earlier. It appeared to be a famous tourist attraction. Yuri watched tourists taking photographs, wondering what Cherriot would think of the place. He remembered Cherriot telling him to call.

Yuri took out his phone.

Recalling Benji’s warning, he hesitated. Contacting Cherriot without a reason would hardly qualify as keeping the proper distance. Yuri found the number in his missed calls and stared at it. Then, the phone suddenly rang.

It was the same number.

Yuri stared at the unsaved number in surprise, then answered.

“Wolfie? Is this Wolfie?”

Hearing the nickname after a full day made Yuri’s brows draw together, even as the corners of his mouth lifted. He had once hated that name. At some point, the absence of Cherriot’s voice saying it had felt wrong.

“Yes, Cherriot.”

“So it is the right number. Thank God. You didn’t call even after enough time had passed, so I thought maybe I’d dialed wrong.”

Over the phone, Cherriot’s voice sounded deeper than in person. Yuri liked discovering another facet of him. His halted steps resumed. The emptiness in his chest vanished.

“I didn’t know… you were waiting for me to call.”

Over the past few days, Yuri had learned how brutally one person could make his emotions soar or collapse. Moments ago, he had felt trapped in the hell of Saratov; now, speaking with Cherriot, he was walking through Boston once more. Soft lights glowed across the orderly avenue, and everyone passing appeared warm.

“We’re friends now, for one thing. And I wanted to know you arrived safely. Friends can say things like that, can’t they?”

Yes. Friends will be enough. If I can hear your voice from time to time like this, I’ll gladly become anything.

“I arrived safely. Are you all right?”

Please let the world allow me to remain at least this close.

“I arrived safely too. It’s been a while since I was in Boston, but people here have no manners. I think Vancouver is much better. You can even see Alphas as handsome as Wolfie walking downtown there.”

If Yuri could gather memories obtained this way one by one, perhaps life would remain bearable.

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