Extras Ch 15: Kazimir - The Endgame Begins

Extras Ch 15: Kazimir - The Endgame Begins

The week after Elena's fever passed in a strange, suspended stillness.

Kazimir did not return to his office. He did not attend meetings or review ledgers or bark orders at his soldiers. He stayed in the bedroom to take care of Elena.

After the first two nights, the girl had grown accustomed enough to his presence that she no longer tensed when he entered the room. She let him feed her. She let him touch her hand. She let him sleep beside her in the bed.

It was more than he deserved. It was more than he had ever thought she would give him.

Leo cornered him on the fifth day.

The knock came at dawn. Kazimir opened the door a crack and found his strategist standing in the corridor, tablet in hand, dark eyes flat with displeasure.

"You've been in there for five days," the man said.

"I'm aware."

"The Ferrante situation is escalating. The Genoa contact resurfaced and wants a meeting. The men are talking—"

"Let them talk."

Leo's jaw tightened. A rare display of emotion. "You're not sleeping. You're not eating properly. You haven't reviewed the latest intelligence. Kazimir, you're making decisions based on—"

"On what?" Kazimir's voice was quiet, but the sharpness made Leo pause. "On what I believe in?"

"I was going to say sentiment."

"I know what you were going to say." Kazimir leaned against the doorframe. He smirked. "You're my strategist, Leo. So strategize. Find a way to make this work. That's your job."

Leo stared at him. "You're throwing my own words back at me."

"Yes."

A long silence stretched between them. Leo's fingers tightened on his tablet, then relaxed. "Valentina put me here to protect you from yourself."

"Valentina put you here to be my strategist," Kazimir corrected. "So be my strategist. Figure out how to manage the Ferrantes while I'm in this room. Figure out how to keep the men in line while I'm taking care of my wife. That's what I hired you for."

Leo was quiet for a moment. Then, unexpectedly, the corner of his mouth twitched—not quite a smile, but close. "You've changed."

"Yes."

"Is it her?"

Kazimir glanced back into the bedroom. Elena was still asleep, a small shape beneath the mountain of blankets. The morning light caught the dark spill of her hair across the pillow. His eyes softened.

"Yes," he said. "It's her."

Leo nodded once. He did not offer approval—Leo never offered approval—but he didn’t argue either. He simply turned and walked away, his footsteps fading down the corridor.

Kazimir closed the door and returned to the chair.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

Dante's dinner invitation arrived on the eighth day.

He was already at the head of the table, his smile a crescent of satisfaction. Valentina sat to his right in a red dress that matched the wine in her glass.

"Ah! The newlyweds. Come, come—sit.” Dante beckoned. “We so rarely gather without the weight of business."

Kazimir guided Elena to the chairs on Dante's left. He pulled one out for her and waited until she was seated before taking his own place.

"Nephew." Dante raised his glass. "How good of you to come. I was beginning to think you'd forgotten the way to the dining room."

"I've been busy."

"So I hear. Playing nursemaid, they tell me." Dante's tone was light, teasing. "Touching. Truly. Though some of the men are wondering if you've forgotten you're the head of this family."

"I haven't forgotten anything."

The first course arrived. Kazimir ate methodically, his eyes fixed on his plate. But when Elena hesitated over the fish, Kazimir paused to help cut out the flesh from his own plate before transferring it to hers.

"The Conti situation," Dante continued to say, swirling his wine. "Handled, I hear. Though I also hear there was some internal housekeeping afterward. A few of our own men. Gone."

Kazimir snorted. "Pests."

Dante's smile widened, amused. "Pests. Such a clean word. Men who worked for this family for years. Loyal soldiers. And you call them pests."

"They forgot what loyalty meant," Kazimir retorted. "They touched what was mine."

Across from them, Valentina chuckled. Her brows raised slightly. "Mine. How possessive, Kaz. I hardly recognized you."

Her gaze slid to Elena, lingering on the hollows still visible beneath her cheekbones. "Though I suppose when you acquire something so fragile, you must be careful with it. Some men have no sense of proportion. They see something breakable and simply must test how far it bends."

Dante sighed. Valentina had taken her stance.

"A shame. Good men, some of them." Dante paused. "But Kazimir is right. Loyalty without discipline is chaos." He raised his glass. "To discipline."

Valentina raised hers. "To knowing one's place."

Kazimir didn't raise his glass. He simply looked at Dante across the table, grey eyes winter-cold. The silence stretched until it became uncomfortable.

"Is there a point to this meal? Or are we simply rehearsing the obvious?"

"The point, Kazimir, is family. I wanted to see my brother's son and meet his bride again." Dante’s eyes found Elena. "Oh, piccolina. You're so quiet. Are you adjusting well to your new home? Are you two getting along?"

Kazimir's hand found the small of Elena's back. He pressed his palm against her spine, feeling the tension coiled there. "She is my wife. She doesn't need to speak to be heard."

Valentina smirked. "How romantic, Kaz. I didn't know you had it in you."

Dante laughed and waved a hand toward the door. "Valentina, cara. Why don't you show Piccolina the gallery? The moonlight through those windows is exquisite tonight. Kaz and I have business to discuss—man's business, too dull for delicate ears."

Elena's breath hitched. Kazimir felt it through his palm. He pressed his hand more firmly against her back to reassure her that she can trust Valentina.

She studied his face for one more heartbeat, then rose to follow Valentina out of the room.

The two men were finally alone.

Dante reached for the decanter and refilled his glass. The wine was dark as blood in the firelight.

"You've become very protective of her," he remarked. "It's almost touching."

"You spread rumors about her." Kazimir's voice was ice. "You told the men she seduced Marco and the others."

Dante's eyebrows rose. "Rumors? I merely repeated what the men were already saying. You gave them no explanation for the executions. They filled in the gaps themselves." He sipped his wine. "If you'd been more transparent, perhaps they wouldn't have speculated."

"If you hadn't sent Marco to break into my office, there would’ve been nothing to explain."

The words hung in the air between them. Dante's glass paused halfway to his lips.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he replied flatly.

"I don’t have proof yet, but I know you orchestrated the Conti hijacking." Kazimir paused and leaned forward. "And I know about the assassins."

Dante's expression didn't change. "Assassins? You've been imagining things, Nephew."

"Five times. In the past three years. Men with suppressed weapons. Professionals. All of them traced back to accounts that lead to you."

"Imagination." Dante waved a hand dismissively. "You have no proof."

"What if I do?"

The question landed like a stone in still water.

For a heartbeat, Dante went still. His smile remained, but it had frozen at the edges.

"What if I have proof of everything?" Kazimir continued, watching his expression. "The assassins. The break-in. What if I have enough evidence to show Valentina exactly what kind of man raised her?" He paused. "I know about your deal with her. I know she agreed to step back in exchange for my life. What do you think she would do if she found out you broke that promise? That you sent men to kill me behind her back?"

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

Dante was silent. His knuckles had gone white around his glass.

"You've been playing chess with me for years," Kazimir said, smiling lightly. "But you made one mistake. You underestimated what I was willing to protect."

"The mute girl?" Dante narrowed his eyes. "You're throwing everything away for a mute girl?"

"I'm not throwing anything away. I'm drawing a line." Kazimir stood. "Rein it back, Dante. All of it. The rumors, the sabotage, the assassins. If you don't, I will burn your kingdom to the ground—and I won't care that you're Valentina's adoptive father. I won't care that you were Grandpa's protégé. I will end you."

Dante stared at him for a long moment. Then he laughed—a low, incredulous sound. "You really have changed. The boy who used to flinch when Viktor raised his voice is threatening me at my own dinner table." He shook his head. "You're acting very strangely today, Nephew. Perhaps the stress has gotten to you."

"I'm not your nephew. I never was."

Dante's smile finally faltered. He set down his glass and rose from his chair. "I'm tired. This dinner is over."

He walked to the main doors and opened it. Outside, his personal guards materialized from the shadows and fell into step behind him.

At the threshold, one of them paused. It was Gallo. He turned and met Kazimir's eyes across the empty dining room. The look lasted only a heartbeat. Then Gallo turned and followed Dante out.

Kazimir stood alone in the silent dining room. His heart was pounding, but his hands were steady. For the first time in years, he had shown his teeth—and Dante had retreated.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

Christmas came and went with quiet restraint.

The mansion had never been a place of celebration—not since Nadia and Viktor died. But this year, Kazimir ordered the great hall decorated with evergreen boughs and candles. He told Ophelia and the kitchen to prepare a feast. He gave the household staff gifts, bonuses, and the day off to spend with their families.

Of course, Kazimir had done all this for Elena. She had never had a proper Christmas. He wanted to give her that. He wanted to give her everything.

He gave her a small velvet box. Inside was a pendant—a single pearl on a silver chain.

"It was my grandmother's," he said, his voice rougher than he intended. "I thought she would have wanted you to have it."

Elena stared at the pendant. Her fingers closed around it like it was made of glass. Then she looked up at him, her hazel eyes swimming with tears.

‘Thank you,’ she mouthed.

Kazimir couldn't speak; he didn’t know how to express his emotions. He just nodded and pulled her close and stood there in the firelight, holding her, while the snow fell silently beyond the windows.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

A few days after Christmas, Kazimir took Elena outside for the first time.

They drove down the cliff road to the village, the salt wind whipping through the open windows. Elena sat in the passenger seat with her face turned toward the sea, her dark hair streaming behind her. She looked younger in the sunlight. The bruises had faded. The shadows beneath her eyes had softened.

Kazimir watched her from the corner of his eye. He had spent so long seeing her as something fragile, something to protect, that he had forgotten she was also something else: a survivor. A woman who had endured her father's fists and Dante's schemes. And despite the darkness and despair, she was still brave enough to reach for Kazimir’s hand.

She's stronger than you gave her credit for, he thought. She's stronger than you.

The village was small and quiet, the streets dusted with snow. Kazimir parked near the inn where Leo had set up a temporary base of operations. Elena waited in the car while he went inside.

Leo was in the back room, surrounded by papers and ledgers and the faint glow of a laptop screen. He looked up when Kazimir entered.

"The Zurich documents," he said without preamble. "I found a lead. A village about three hours south of here. It's where Elena's father lives. A man named Giovanni."

Kazimir's jaw tightened. "Her father?"

"The one who sold her to Dante." Leo's voice was carefully neutral. "I've been tracing the missing papers. The ones Marco and Silvio were looking for. There was a file marked with a rose emblem—the Rosenberg family crest. Nadia's family."

"I know the crest. She used to wear a ring with it."

"The file is gone. But the trail leads back to Giovanni." Leo paused. "I think Dante found out something about Elena's lineage. Something that made her valuable."

"We're going to that village," Kazimir said immediately.

"When?"

Kazimir was quiet for a long moment as he glanced toward the car. "When I think she is ready."

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

After Elena’s confrontation with Nikolai, Kazimir’s deputy and right-hand man, Kazimir knew she was ready. Leaving Nikolai to protect her, Kazimir led a group of men, including Leo, Ruslan, Keller, Gallo, and three others to Elena’s old home.

The house was a squat, crumbling structure at the edge of a small village. The roof sagged. The windows were filmed with grime. The door was not locked—Kazimir pushed it open with one hand and stepped inside, Leo behind him, Ruslan and the rest flanking the entrance.

The smell hit him first: stale wine, unwashed body, the sour reek of a life that had curdled into decay. Giovanni lay sprawled on the floor in the middle of the room, an empty bottle still cradled against his chest.

She grew up here. The thought was a blade between Kazimir's ribs. She survived this.

He frowned and crossed the room, nudging Giovanni with the toe of his boot. "Wake up."

Giovanni groaned. His eyes fluttered open—bloodshot, unfocused. He squinted up at Kazimir with the dull confusion of a man who had not been sober in years.

"Who the hell are you?"

"Your son-in-law."

Giovanni's gaze slid past Kazimir to the other men standing in the doorway. Something flickered in his expression—not guilt, not shame, but a flicker of calculation.

He pushed himself up on his elbows. "Son-in-law?" He coughed. "You got any money? Your old man's in a tight spot."

Kazimir’s jaw clenched, but he momentarily repressed his anger. He needed information from this man first.

"Later. If you answer my question honestly."

Giovanni scrambled upright, pressing his back against the stained wall. He raised a brow.

"What do you want?"

"Tell me about Elena's mother."

The question seemed to catch Giovanni off guard. He blinked rapidly. "Her mother? She died years ago. Fever."

"And her family?"

"Family?" Giovanni's brow furrowed. "She had a sister, I think. Some cousin. I don't know. They were from up north. Zurich, maybe. Rich folks. Cut her off when she married me."

Kazimir felt the pieces click into place. Zurich. The Rosenberg crest. Nadia's family.

"What was her maiden name?"

"Rosenberg. Clara Rosenberg." Giovanni spat the name like a curse. "Thought she was too good for me. All of them did. Just a—"

"Enough." Kazimir turned to Leo. "Check the records. The Rosenberg family. Zurich. I want everything you can find."

Leo was already typing on his tablet. "It'll take a few hours. Maybe a day."

"We don't have a day. Dante knows we're moving."

Giovanni's eyes darted between them. "Dante? Is he trouble? Hey, there should be a reward for information. I just need a little money to—"

The thin thread of patience in Kazimir’s mind snapped. He turned on Giovanni with such sudden, cold fury that the drunken man's words died in his throat.

"You will not get a single coin from me,” Kazimir growled. “You beat your daughter. You terrorized her. You sold her to pay your debts. The only reason I'm not putting a bullet in your skull right now is because I know she would be sad even when scum like you die."

He leaned down, bringing his face inches from Giovanni's.

"The best ending for men like you is to die in your own greed. This trashy place suits you. Stay here. Rot here. And if I ever see you again, I won't be so merciful."

Giovanni's face went grey. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out.

Kazimir straightened. He turned his back on the man and walked out.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

Zurich was cold and grey, its streets slick with the last remnants of winter snow.

Kazimir and his crew crossed the border under false papers—Leo's arrangements, impeccable as always. Rosenberg's branch estate was an elegant, old-fashioned manor on the outskirts of the city, its gardens dormant, its windows dark. The family had declined over the decades, their fortune scattered among distant relatives and forgotten trusts.

But the records remained. The documents. The proof.

They found it in a dusty archive beneath the manor's library. A file marked with the rose emblem. Inside were account numbers, banking codes, and a detailed history of the Zurich properties that had once belonged to Nadia's family.

And a copy of the will—Nadia Volkov's will.

The one Dante had tried to destroy. The one that transferred everything—the properties, the accounts, the legacy—to her blood descendants.

"He was trying to steal your inheritance," Leo said quietly, reading over Kazimir's shoulder. "The Zurich assets have been sitting in trust for years. Dante wanted them. That's why he sent Marco and Silvio to find the papers. That's why he's been moving money through offshore accounts. He's been trying to claim what belongs to you through your wife’s signature."

Kazimir stared at the document. His grandmother's wishes. Everything she had built, everything she had protected—she had left it all to him.

And Dante had tried to take it.

"He's been stealing from the family for years," Kazimir said. "Siphoning money into private accounts. Using it to fund his own operations. Bribing my soldiers. Paying assassins." He looked at Leo. "We have everything we need."

Leo met his eyes. "Not quite. We need to get this back to the mansion. Dante will suspect we've found this document the moment he learns of our operations."

"Then we go home and prepare" Kazimir folded the will and tucked it into his jacket. “And when the time is right, we nail him to the wall."

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

The journey back was not smooth.

Local skirmishes had flared along the Swiss-Italian border, forcing Kazimir and his men to reroute. They crossed into France and made their way to a small port town where one of Kazimir's contacts had arranged a ship. But when they reached the docks, they found the harbor blocked—customs officials swarming the pier, checking papers, delaying departures.

"Dante," Leo said. "He knows we found something."

Kazimir stared at the blocked harbor. "Then we wait. We find another way."

They spent two days in a safe house near the docks while Leo worked his contacts and Ruslan scouted alternate routes. The delay grated on Kazimir's nerves. Every hour they spent trapped in France was an hour Dante could use to consolidate his power, to spread more rumors, to tighten the noose around the Volkov mansion.

But the delay also gave him something unexpected: the loyalty of his men.

On the second night, Ruslan knocked on his door. "Boss. The crew wants to talk to you."

"The crew?"

"All of them. Gallo's here. And the younger soldiers. They've been talking, and..." Ruslan hesitated. "They want to hear it from you. What we found in Zurich. They have some questions."

Kazimir followed him to the common room. Four men were gathered there—soldiers who had served Viktor and later Dante, soldiers who had been sitting on the fence. All of them watching him with the same expression: wary, expectant, hopeful.

He told them everything: The will. The embezzlement. The assassins. The break-in. He spread the documents across the table—account ledgers, banking records, the rose-emblazoned file—and let them see for themselves.

"Dante has been stealing from this family for years," he said. "He used our money to fund his own operations. He bribed our soldiers. He sent men to kill me. He orchestrated the attack on my wife." He paused, looking around the room. "I'm not asking you to follow me because I'm Viktor's grandson. I'm asking you to follow me because I'm the only one who will tell you the truth. Dante will lie to you. He will use you. He will discard you when you're no longer useful. I will not."

The silence stretched. Then Gallo stepped forward.

The old soldier's face was still wary. But his eyes, when they met Kazimir's, held something that had not been there before: respect.

"I served your grandfather for thirty years," Gallo said. "I followed Dante after he died because I thought he was Viktor's chosen successor. I was wrong." He extended his hand. "I'll follow you now, Boss—no, Don Kazimir. I’ll follow you wherever you lead."

One by one, the other soldiers stepped forward. They came forward and offered their hands, and Kazimir accepted each one.

When it was over, he stood at the window and stared out at the dark sea.

This is it, he thought. The tide is turning. The evidence is in my hands.

The board was set. The end game had begun. And Kazimir Volkov was ready to win.