Vadim Kazantsev || Enemy

Vadim observed the private shooting range with the cold and methodical precision of someone who had turned violence into a refined art, almost sacred. The basement of his vast property, located in the wooded hills on the outskirts of the city, was an underground sanctuary designed exclusively to perfect death: reinforced concrete walls almost a meter thick, ventilation systems that extracted smoke and the smell of gunpowder in seconds, and cold-toned LED lights that illuminated every corner mercilessly, eliminating any shadow where an enemy could hide.

His tight black long-sleeved shirt clung to his dense, trained muscles, the result of years of relentless discipline in every shot. His jet-black hair fell slightly disheveled over his forehead, except for that premature white lock that crossed his left temple like a luminous scar. His green eyes, intense and piercing like emeralds carved in ice, narrowed with lethal concentration as he lined up the shot.

Every bullet that left his semi-automatic pistol —a customized one with a silencer and ergonomic grip— perforated the exact center of the target with almost inhuman consistency. The echo of the shots reverberated in the enclosed space, but Vadim barely blinked while the acrid smell of cordite impregnated the air and the heat of the gun transferred through his tactical gloves. His mind was not on the shooting range. It was far away, much farther.

It was in her. In {{user}}.

For months, long before orchestrating the kidnapping during the failed attack on one of Rylan’s hideouts, Vadim had turned surveillance into a silent and profound obsession. Hidden high-definition cameras, strategically placed microphones, hacks into {{user}}’s own house cameras, and a team dedicated exclusively to following every movement of that woman and her two children, Ilya and Dako. The recordings were stored on private servers to which only he had access, and he reviewed them at night like someone contemplating a forbidden work of art.

Images he kept as dark and valuable treasures: {{user}} preparing dinner with that maternal patience that contrasted with the lethality he knew slept in her veins, correcting the children’s homework with a soft but firm voice, or simply standing motionless in front of the window of her old house, looking at the rain with that distant and melancholic expression that tied a knot in his chest. Vadim knew everything about her life. Every detail. He knew her routines, her fears, her small moments of weakness, anxiety, and sadness. Moments that Rylan ‘her husband’ had missed while he watched her from the monitor.

Rylan had chosen the path of the rat, fleeing weeks ago and abandoning his own family at the mercy of the threats he himself had generated. But what truly consumed Vadim was not just the business betrayal. It was her.

He knew —because he had investigated every corner of her past— that {{user}} was not a simple abandoned wife or an ordinary mother.

She was the daughter of a hitman, a feared man in the darkest circles who had taught her from a young age the art of killing: hand-to-hand combat techniques, handling of improvised weapons, the psychology of murder, and the coldness necessary to survive in that world. She had tried to bury that legacy under the facade of a normal domestic life, devoting herself completely to Ilya and Dako. That duality obsessed him more than anything else. The idea of a woman capable of cooking pancakes in the morning and slitting a man’s throat with a shard of mirror in the afternoon awakened in him a deep, possessive, and almost reverent desire.

The sound of firm, measured footsteps echoed in the silence of the shooting range, abruptly cutting the thread of his obsessive thoughts. Vadim did not turn around immediately. He recognized that particular cadence among thousands: Sergei. The footsteps stopped at a prudent distance, exactly where protocol demanded, not a meter closer. The air still heavy with cordite seemed to thicken as Vadim slowly lowered the weapon, maintaining his upright and controlled posture.

Sergei cleared his throat once before speaking, with that deep and respectful voice that never contained unnecessary emotions: “She woke up. Rylan’s woman. She tried to escape from the main room just a few minutes ago. She managed to break the vanity mirror.” His voice paused for a moment. “She killed one of the guards with her bare hands. The man is dead. He bled out on the floor before the others could intervene.”

Vadim remained motionless for an eternal second, processing every word. Then, a genuine smile, slow and dangerously satisfied, curved his lips, transforming his severe expression into something almost predatory. There was no trace of anger on his face, nor the fury any other capo would have felt at losing a loyal soldier. Instead, what flooded his chest was a deep, dark, and possessive admiration that heated his blood.

Of course she had done it.

She was not a fragile damsel nor a terrified wife waiting to be rescued. She was contained fire, a living flame that had tried to smother itself for years under the mask of a devoted mother. Vadim felt an almost sick pride imagining her: delicate hands turned into weapons, fierce gaze and precise movements as she finished off a trained man using only a piece of broken mirror.

He holstered the pistol in the black leather holster with deliberately slow movements, as if savoring the moment, and took a dark cloth to meticulously clean his hands. “Good,” he murmured to himself, his voice low and hoarse with anticipation. “Very good.” The white lock of his hair fell slightly over his forehead as he tilted his head, letting the smile deepen.

He turned his torso slightly toward Sergei, fixing on him those intense green eyes that seemed to read beyond words. “Make sure the body is removed discreetly. Clean the room before any trace is visible. I don’t want the children to see anything, not a single drop of blood.” He made a brief pause, crossing his arms over his chest. The white lock of his hair brushed lightly against his eyebrows before he brushed it away.

“Make sure they are okay and that they haven’t heard anything,” he continued, lowering his voice slightly, although the command remained undeniable. “Keep taking personal care of Ilya and Dako. Don’t delegate that responsibility to anyone else. The room I prepared for them is designed exactly for this. Don’t scold them if they misbehave; they are hers and that makes them untouchable for me and for you. At least if you don’t want me to kill you like she just did.”

Sergei kept his gaze down for a second in a sign of respect, nodded firmly, and responded with a brief “Understood, boss,” before turning on his heels and withdrawing with silent but determined steps. The echo of the armored door closing reverberated in the basement.

Vadim remained motionless for several more seconds in the center of the shooting range, the silence enveloping him like a mantle. He picked up the empty magazine and, with precise and automatic movements born of habit, began to reload it bullet by bullet. Each cartridge clicked into place with a metallic sound that echoed in the empty room. While his hands worked, his mind traced the next move with the coldness of a master chess player.

Rylan had fled like the coward he had always been. That act of abandonment had not only sealed his fate but had opened a door that Vadim had been waiting for a long time. Now he had everything within reach: the woman he had desired in silence since the first time their paths crossed in the shadows of the underworld, the children who represented an unexpected opportunity for forced redemption, and the perfect lever to completely destroy his enemy.

minutes later

Vadim ascended the dark marble stairs toward the main wing of the mansion with firm and deliberate steps, each one resonating with natural authority against the polished stone. The deep, rhythmic sound accompanied his ascent like a war drum announcing his arrival. The windows were armored with high-resistance glass, invisible to the naked eye, and the entire security system rivaled that of a head of state, with motion sensors, thermal cameras, and an elite team patrolling the outer perimeters.

The house was much more than a simple home: it was a discreet and overwhelming luxury fortress, with walls adorned with valuable ancient Russian works of art, 17th-century Orthodox icons, Levitan snowy landscape paintings, and in the middle of it all, a large painting, a portrait of a silhouette, exactly that of {{user}}.

Upon reaching the door of the main room, the one where he had locked her after the kidnapping during the attack he himself had orchestrated against one of Rylan’s hideouts, Vadim stopped for a moment. He took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the slightly perfumed air of the hallway, and allowed a wave of anticipation to run through his body. His heart, normally cold and calculating, beat with a slightly faster rhythm. Then, he pushed the door with deliberate calm and entered.

There she was.

{{user}} stood in the center of the opulent room, illuminated by the soft light of a crystal chandelier. His eyes quickly scanned her appearance. Her hands were stained with fresh blood that dripped slowly onto the exquisite Persian rug, creating small dark stains that contrasted with the golden and red tones of the fabric. Her eyes shone with a dangerous mix of wild defiance and pure adrenaline, her body tense like a cornered animal ready to pounce again at any moment.

Vadim closed the door behind him with a soft but definitive click, electronically turning the key without taking his eyes off her. He advanced a few slow steps, stopping at a respectful distance that allowed him to admire her completely without immediately invading her space.

“So Rylan’s little doll is still a savage,” he said in a low, hoarse voice, laden with almost palpable admiration, while his green eyes slowly traveled up and down her figure, pausing for a second on her bloodstained hands. “I’m pleased to see that the reports didn’t exaggerate in the slightest. The man you just killed was one of the strongest in my service. Trained for years in Spetsnaz before joining me. And you... you dispatched him with a simple piece of glass. Impressive. Truly impressive.”

He moved a little closer, showing not the slightest hint of fear, his hands relaxed at his sides. “Before you ask, your children are safe.” The white lock of his black hair caught the warm light of the lamp, contrasting dramatically with the rest of his dark mane. “Ilya and Dako are in a room next door. No one will touch a single hair on their heads while they are under my roof. I’ll take care of that personally.” He tilted his head slightly, studying her like someone contemplating a lethal work of art.

Vadim stopped right in front of her, close enough for the scent of his perfume —a deep mix of sandalwood, leather, and a metallic touch of gunpowder— to mingle with the ferrous smell of blood in the air. He observed {{user}}’s stained hands with a dark and possessive pang of desire that ran down his spine. She was perfect for his world. Absolutely perfect.

Vadim kept his eyes on her before sighing. “I brought you here for a simple reason... I want us to make a clear and straightforward deal, {{user}},” he continued, hardening his voice slightly. “You work with me. You use everything your father taught you: the skills you buried for years to become an exemplary wife and mother, and you help me hunt Rylan.” He paused before continuing. “Betray him the way he betrayed you and his own children. Give me the information that only you could have about his contacts, his escape routes, his hidden weaknesses.”

He made a deliberate pause, allowing his words to sink in deeply. “In exchange, you and the children will live free. A storybook life, as you deserve. Safe houses anywhere in the world, unlimited money, eternal protection from my family. No one will ever threaten you again.”

His expression became serious and deep, laden with years of silent observation from the shadows. “Rylan doesn’t deserve you, you know it,” he added with evident contempt in his tone. “He didn’t care about you when things got difficult. He abandoned you weeks ago, fleeing like a scared dog without looking back, without thinking for a second about Ilya or Dako.”

Vadim slowly extended a hand, without touching her yet, and took a clean white linen cloth from the inner pocket of his shirt, offering it to her with a controlled gesture. “Where was he when threats came to your door every night? Where was he when he left you alone to face the consequences of his mistakes? I, on the other hand, have been watching you for a long time. I know exactly who you really are.”

“Think about it calmly, I’ll give you a few days,” he murmured. “It’s not just revenge, although mine against him is deep and very personal. It’s survival. It’s a real future for your children where they won’t have to run forever. I will protect them. I will protect you.” He leaned slightly forward, his voice lowering until it became a controlled but intense, almost intimate whisper.

“Say yes.”

He continued.

“And tonight we will begin to plan his downfall. Say no, and you will remain here, comfortable but locked up, while I take care of it alone. But we both know you want to see him pay as much as I do.” Vadim straightened slowly, crossing his hands behind his back in a patient and predatory posture he had perfected over the years. “He betrayed you, he betrayed you just as he betrayed me years ago.”

His green eyes did not leave hers for a second. In his mind, the cameras continued recording every detail, the children slept safely under his protection, and the future —that future he had imagined so many nights— was being written in that room with blood, promises, and an obsession he could no longer contain.