– Sebastian’s POV

Sebastian Vasillev did not get visitors. He got enemies, subordinates, and the occasional traitor begging for their life. But never visitors.

Yet here he was, standing in his grand estate, staring at a bouquet of flowers as if it were a bomb.

Luca Volkov—too soft, too pure for this world—had handed it to him with the sweetest, most infuriatingly genuine smile. "For saving my sister," he had said.

Sebastian had taken it purely out of shock. Not because he cared about flowers. Not because it was kind. Just… because.

And then there was her.

His Valarie, sitting there, laughing. Not that sharp, sarcastic scoff she usually threw his way, but a real laugh, light and amused. Her eyes shone as she watched Ava—Damien’s tiny, innocent daughter—cling to Sebastian’s sleeve, giggling up at him like he was the most fascinating thing in the world. He wants kids like her too with Valarie.

"Uncle Sebastian! Your house is huge! Do you have a puppy? Papa won’t get me one!"

Sebastian blinked down at her, still half in a daze from all the warmth invading his cold world. Uncle Sebastian? He didn’t know what was more absurd—being called uncle by Damien Volkov’s daughter, or the way his chest tightened pleasantly at the sound of it.

"…No. No puppy."

Ava pouted. "Why not?"

Damien, still lounging near luca with his usual half-amused, half-annoyed look, scoffed. "Because he’s Sebastian Vasillev, not a family man."

But Ava, in her boundless innocence, wasn’t convinced. She just hugged his arm tighter. "Then I’ll be your puppy!"

Sebastian exhaled sharply, unsure whether to be exasperated or—God forbid—fond.

And Valarie. His Valarie. Sitting there, watching the scene unfold with a smirk,. She was in his home, wearing his bandages from the wounds he had treated. Laughing in his space like she belonged there.

It felt too… natural.

And that was dangerous.

He was Vasillev. A cold-blooded mafia leader. He didn’t do warmth. He didn’t get soft for anything or anyone.

But right now, in this moment—Ava’s little hands gripping his sleeve, Luca smiling gently, Damien eyeing him like a riddle he couldn’t solve, and Valarie glowing in his home—he wondered.

Maybe, just maybe, he had a heart after all.

******* Sebastian wasn’t sure what possessed him to lift Ava into his arms and let her explore his estate.

Maybe it was the way she clung to him, completely fearless, treating him like someone safe instead of the ruthless man he was. Maybe it was the way Valarie smirked at him like she knew he wouldn’t refuse. Or maybe it was the sharp, unreadable look in Damien’s eyes, like he was watching a ghost of their past.

Either way, he carried Ava effortlessly in one arm, her small hands gripping his shirt as she gasped at everything around her.

“Your house is so big, Uncle Seb! Bigger than Papa’s!” she declared, turning to Damien. “Papa, why isn’t our house this big?”

Damien scoffed. “Because unlike Uncle Seb, I don’t need to compensate for anything.”

Sebastian rolled his eyes. “Jealousy doesn’t suit you, Volkov.”

Damien just smirked, but there was something else in his expression. Something guarded.

Sebastian ignored it. He led them deeper into the estate, through towering hallways lined with expensive paintings, through hidden corridors most people never saw. Ava’s excitement only grew.

“Do you have a secret room? Like a treasure room?” she asked eagerly.

Sebastian paused. A shadow of something darker flickered in his mind. I used to.

Instead, he smirked. “I have something better.”

He turned down a quiet hall, the air shifting as they approached a grand set of double doors. Damien, who had been following silently, suddenly stiffened.

Sebastian pushed open the doors.

Ava gasped. “Whoa…”

The room was vast, but unlike the cold, intimidating luxury of the rest of his estate, this place was different. Sunlight streamed in from a grand skylight, casting warm golden hues over wooden floors. It wasn’t lavish—it was personal.

Weapons lined one side of the wall—old, rare blades and firearms collected over years. A massive, worn-out training mat covered the center, surrounded by faint scars from past battles. On the farthest wall, a glass case held something old—something sacred.

A pair of identical knives.

Damien stopped just inside the doorway, eyes locked on the case. His smirk was gone. His jaw clenched.

Sebastian watched him, waiting. Do you remember, Volkov?

Ava squirmed in his arms, breaking the silence. “What is this place?”

Sebastian finally looked away from Damien and smirked. “This,” he said smoothly, “was our training ground.”

Ava blinked. “Ours?” She turned to Damien. “Papa’s too?”

Sebastian glanced at Damien. “Yes. Once upon a time, your father and I weren’t just rivals. We were…” His smirk deepened. “Something else.”

Damien’s fingers curled into a fist. His gaze never left the glass case. “You kept them?”

Sebastian’s voice was softer than he intended. “Of course.”

The knives inside weren’t just weapons. They were history. They were the first weapons he and Damien had trained with together, back when they weren’t drowning in blood and rivalry. Back when they were—

No. He shut the thought down. That was a lifetime ago.

Ava, oblivious to the weight of the moment, wiggled out of Sebastian’s hold and ran toward the case, pressing her hands against the glass. “They look cool!” She turned back, grinning. “Papa, can I have them?”

Damien finally looked away, exhaling sharply before ruffling her hair. “No.”

Sebastian chuckled. “Smart decision, Volkov.”

For a moment, just a moment, it felt like they were young again. Like the years of blood and betrayal hadn’t torn them apart.

But the past was a dangerous thing to dwell on. And Sebastian Vasillev never let himself linger on weakness.

******

Sebastian watched as Ava ran off toward another part of the estate, her small footsteps echoing down the hallway. He knew she was safe—there was no danger here, not for her. But the moment she disappeared, the atmosphere between him and Damien shifted.

Tension. Heavy, unspoken. Years of rivalry, of betrayal, of things left unsaid.

Damien stood there, his gaze lingering on the old weapons, on the remnants of a past neither of them liked to acknowledge. His jaw was tight, his fingers flexing at his sides like he was holding something back.

Sebastian smirked, leaning casually against the wall. “You’re still thinking about them, aren’t you?” His voice was smooth, teasing. “Our knives.”

Damien exhaled sharply. “You kept them.”

Sebastian’s smirk didn’t waver, but something in his chest tightened. “Of course. They were the first things we ever owned together.” He tilted his head, eyes gleaming. “Sentimental, isn’t it?”

Damien scoffed. “You? Sentimental?” A bitter laugh escaped him. “That’s rich, Vasillev.”

Sebastian chuckled. “And yet, you look like you’re the one about to cry.”

Damien’s eyes flashed, but he didn’t take the bait. Instead, he finally turned to face Sebastian fully, and for the first time in years, there was no mockery in his expression. No smirk, no carefully crafted mask of arrogance. Just something raw.

“You should’ve come back,” Damien muttered. His voice was quiet, but there was an edge to it—accusation, regret. “After everything, after we—” He cut himself off, shaking his head. “You should’ve come back, bastard.”

Sebastian’s smirk faltered. Just for a second.

“Funny,” he murmured. “I thought the same thing about you.”

They're both alike. Egoistic.

Silence. Heavy. Drenched in the weight of the past.

They had been inseparable once. Before blood and power had torn them apart, before their families had driven a wedge so deep neither of them had dared to reach across it. Before they had made choices that turned them into enemies instead of brothers.

Sebastian exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “I did what I had to.”

Damien’s jaw tightened. “So did I.”

Another silence. But this time, it wasn’t quite as sharp.

Sebastian smirked again, a little softer this time. “Are we going to keep acting like melodramatic lovers, or are you finally going to admit that you missed me, Volkov?”

Damien scoffed. “You wish.” But there was something in his eyes—something less guarded. “You’re still a bastard, Vasillev.”

Sebastian grinned. “And you’re still a self-righteous prick.”

A pause. And then—

“Apology accepted,” Sebastian said smoothly.

Damien raised an eyebrow. “Who the hell said I was apologizing?”

Sebastian’s smirk widened. “Oh, so you want me to say it first?” He stepped closer, voice dropping into something lower, taunting. “You want me to say I’m sorry, Damien?”

Damien rolled his eyes. “Go to hell.”

Sebastian chuckled. “Already there, брат (brother).”

For the first time in decades, the weight between them felt lighter. Not gone. Not forgotten. But maybe—just maybe—the pieces of their broken past could still be put back together.

******

– Damien’s POV

The embrace was unexpected, yet it felt strangely right. It wasn’t a grand gesture or a dramatic reconciliation, just two men who had once shared everything, now meeting again in a world of sharp edges and broken promises. Damien stood there, his arms around Sebastian, feeling the familiar strength of his old friend turned rival.

Ava's innocent voice broke the moment. She cooed from behind them, her eyes wide with innocent curiosity, unable to understand the weight of what just transpired. “You guys hugging?” she asked, her tone almost too cute to handle.

Damien pulled away first, ruffling her hair with a soft chuckle. “It’s not a hug, it’s a mafia tradition,” he said, the edge in his voice playful rather than cold.

Sebastian smirked, crossing his arms as he leaned against the wall. “Is that so, Volkov? Maybe our lovers will think we two fought and died, considering how long it’s been.” His tone was teasing, but there was something almost nostalgic in his eyes. The weight of years, of silence, of separation—it all seemed to crash down in a moment that was as absurd as it was beautiful.

Damien couldn’t help but snort in amusement. “I’m sure they’d appreciate that drama,” he replied dryly, his voice holding a touch of humor he hadn’t realized he missed.

Sebastian arched an eyebrow. “We’ve been to hell and back, only to return to the most ridiculous irony, don’t you think?” He let the words hang in the air between them, his gaze fixed on Damien. “Cold, merciless mafia brothers, and now we’ve got two Ivanov siblings—one a lawyer, the other a cop.”

Damien paused, letting the full weight of the irony hit him. He laughed—deep and genuine, the sound echoing through the empty halls of the estate. It was a laugh he hadn’t let himself enjoy in far too long.

"Yeah," Damien said, shaking his head. "A cop and a lawyer. What a joke." He couldn’t suppress a grin.

"We really went from killing men without mercy to trying to figure out what to do with them."

Sebastian let out a low chuckle, his eyes glinting with something mischievous. "A cold ruthless mafia and a innocent lawyer," he said, a grin tugging at his lips. "And a merciless arrogant mafia leader and a stubborn cop. Who would’ve thought?”

Damien laughed again, shaking his head. “It’s like some twisted fairytale, isn’t it? And we're the villains.”

The two men stood there for a long moment, their laughter still hanging in the air, as absurd as the reality they now faced. The world had changed, but somehow, it felt like they had both come full circle. From enemies to reluctant allies, and now—perhaps—something even more strange.

The irony of it all didn’t escape Damien. How had they ended up here? How had they gone from being enemies to standing side by side, caught between their own desires, their own morals, and the pull of something neither of them had expected?

“Guess it’s a fairytale with a lot of blood,” Damien said, looking at Sebastian with an intensity that wasn’t quite mocking, but something else entirely.

Sebastian’s grin never faltered. “A blood-soaked fairytale, Volkov. That’s how we roll.”

Damien let out a breath. "I don't know about you, Vasillev, but I’ve never been more intrigued by a story than I am now." He glanced at Ava, who had returned to her exploring, and then back at Sebastian. “We’ve all got a role to play. Let’s see where this takes us.”

And as the moments passed, Damien couldn’t help but feel that perhaps—just perhaps—there was a chance, a tiny chance, that things might actually turn out okay. Even for cold-hearted mafia bosses like them.