Chapter 4 - The Debt"You owe me eight hundred dollars in rent," Mia blurted out. It was the only defense mechanism her brain could generate—hyper-fixating on the mundane in the face of the impossible.
Viktor blinked. He looked around the tiny, cluttered room: the single hot plate, the stack of overdue utility bills by the microwave, the half-empty box of generic cereal, and the small towel by the window where he had spent the last three nights licking his wounds.
A slow, humorless smile touched the corner of his lips. It made the scar on his cheek pull taut, but it also melted some of the terrifying ice from his face.
"Eight hundred dollars," he repeated, stepping back inside and pulling the apartment door shut with a solid click. He reached into the inner pocket of his ruined suit jacket and produced a heavy, leather-bound checkbook that looked completely untouched by the rain, the mud, or the blood of the alley. With a gold fountain pen that gleamed ominously under the dim light, he scribbled a string of numbers, tore the paper out with a crisp sound, and laid it neatly on the kitchen table.
Mia cautiously stepped forward and looked down at the slip of paper.
There were so many zeros before the decimal point that her eyes crossed. It was enough to pay her rent for the next century, buy the laundromat downstairs, and probably purchase a small European island.
"What is this?" she whispered.
"Interest," Viktor said simply. He walked over to the small kitchen sink, turned on the tap, and splashed cold water over his face, washing away the last traces of dried grime from his days in the animal shelter and the streets. When he straightened up, shaking the droplets from his dark hair, he looked less like a monster from a nightmare and more like a predator waiting in plain sight. "You gave me shelter when I had nothing. You shared your food. You spoke to me without fear." He turned his silver eyes back to her. "In my world, Mia, a debt of blood is absolute. But a debt of kindness? That is eternal."
"You're... you're a mob boss," she said, stating the obvious with a slightly hysterical edge to her voice. "A real one. Not like in the movies."
"The movies romanticize it," Viktor replied, leaning his hip against the counter, towering over her. "We are accountants with weapons, executioners in bespoke suits, and businessmen who occasionally have to deal with treacherous landlords like Thomas out there."
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"What happens to him?" Mia asked, nodding toward the hallway.
Viktor’s expression hardened, the shadow of the wolf flickering behind his eyes once more. "Thomas chose his side eight months ago when the council staged their coup. He thought keeping watch over this dismal tenement would be a quiet retirement. He was wrong." He paused, looking at her with an intensity that made her skin tingle. "And tomorrow, this building will have a new landlord. One who won't charge you for water."
