Robb sat comfortably at the small kitchen table, his mustache twitching as he chewed slowly, savoring the food placed in front of him. The other officer, stiff-backed and silent, sat beside him with the posture of someone still on duty, fork untouched. Across the kitchen, the faint hiss of the stove had faded; Franz had just finished plating breakfast. Lena and Emphera, having been sent to freshen up, were still out of sight.
The scent of garlic, herbs, and eggs hung thick in the air. The simplicity of the dish didn't match the complexity of the flavors. Robb let out a satisfied hum, setting his fork down for a moment.
"This," he said with surprising warmth, "is really good. Better than anything I've had since my sister's cooking."
Franz didn't respond right away. He stood with his hands braced on the counter, blue eyes lowered, as if considering whether he should even acknowledge the compliment. Finally, he gave the smallest of nods.
"I'm glad it suits your taste."
"You know, we don't even know your name," he said casually, though his eyes were sharp.
Franz straightened, wiping his hands on a kitchen towel. "Franz. Franz Kafka."
The room quieted for a moment. Robb raised his brows, rolling the name over in his mouth. "Kafka, huh? That's a foreign name. You don't look much like the locals either."
His partner leaned forward, the stiffness in his shoulders betraying a more aggressive curiosity. "Where are you from? And what does your father do?" His tone was firm, more an interrogation than polite inquiry.
The silence after was heavy.
Franz lifted his gaze, expression unreadable. His voice, when it came, was steady, measured. "I came from Russia. My father is no more." His eyes narrowed, locking with the younger officer's. "Are you interrogating me right now?"
The officer didn't flinch, but Robb cleared his throat and cut in quickly, raising a hand. "Easy there. Sorry about that. My partner didn't mean to come off that way. He's… protective of Lena, you see. Especially with everything that's been happening lately."
He reached for his knife, cutting another piece of food, his voice dropping into a graver tone. "Just yesterday, there was a shooting in a café two blocks from here. Five local gang members and three civilians dead. A mess. And it's not the only one. Whole gangs are being wiped out overnight, just gone." He paused, glancing at Franz's expressionless face. "Strange times, don't you think?"
The knife pressed down harder than necessary as he cut his food. "There was even that business with the woman everyone thought was Victoria Ardent, dead… but then she turned out to be alive. And Elliot—well, he had an empire in his hands, and now he's vanished into smoke. Truly bizarre, huh?"
Robb gave a small chuckle and popped the bite into his mouth. "So, forgive us for being a little overprotective."
He swallowed, then smiled warmly. "This really is delicious, by the way."
"No problem," Franz replied evenly, returning to the stove. "It's your duty as an uncle."
[Quiet Life System: This fucker is on to something.]
Franz's hand tightened slightly on the spatula. Yesterday's news replayed in his mind. The old man local gangs were mostly under Kafka control so they don't kill each other. Why would they be dead? They shouldn't be killing each other—is there a someone else
He would need to check that out.
Just then, Lena and Emphera came out of the hallway, looking fresh and ready for college.
"Oh, I am so hungry!" Emphera declared, sliding into a chair.
Franz passed them the plates of food he had made for them. "Here. Eat."
As they dug in, Robb stood up, wiping his mouth with a napkin. "Alright, girls, we'll drop you off on our way to the station."
The girls finished quickly and, after a series of awkward goodbyes, they left with the two officers. The apartment was finally quiet again.
Franz got ready for college, the weight of the morning's conversation settling around him. While draping his hoodie over a plain t-shirt, he dialed the old man.
"What happened?" he asked without preamble.
The old man's voice was grim on the other end. "I found out someone was looking into the Ardent family, so I sent some men to give them a warning. But…"
"But they got themselves killed," Franz finished, his voice cold. He put on his glasses, his reflection cool and distant in the mirror.
"Young master, don't do anything yet," the old man urged. "Let me dig out more information about them."
"I have to go to college first," Franz said simply. There was a brief silence on the other end of the phone.
"That will be all then, sir."
"And?" Franz asked. "Do you have a name?"
"Nikolai and Maxim Petrova."
Smoke hung heavy in the air, tinted with the sharp tang of metal and blood. Inside the cavernous warehouse, a body lay sprawled on the concrete floor, crimson still spreading slowly from the neat hole in its skull.
Nikolai Petrova sat on a worn leather couch like it was a throne. His long silver hair spilled over one shoulder, catching the dim light. A single ear glinted with steel—pierced twice. His green eyes, however, carried no sparkle. They gleamed with menace, sharp as broken glass. A cigarette burned between his fingers, smoke curling lazily upward.
Around him, men armed with rifles stood at attention, their faces hard and waiting.
Maxim entered with the careless swagger of someone who had never been denied anything in his life. His own hair was silver too, but cropped shorter, styled in loose waves. Where Nikolai exuded quiet, dangerous menace, Maxim wore charm like a second skin. His lips curled easily into a smile, his eyes glinting with mischief even in the shadow of corpses.
"Oh, my little brother is back to his sadistic habits again," Maxim drawled, stepping around the body on the floor without sparing it a second glance. He flopped onto the couch beside Nikolai, stretching out with infuriating ease.
Nikolai blew out smoke, his gaze fixed forward. "And my pervert big brother is back from fucking some random waitress again."
Maxim laughed, head tipping back. "Don't you have any other insults?"
Nikolai passed the cigarette over. Maxim accepted it, placing it lazily between his lips. He drew in deep, the ember flaring red before he exhaled a thick plume of smoke.
Maxim took the cigarette, inhaled deeply, and let the smoke curl from his lips. "Yeah," he said, his voice a low, confident drawl. "We're going to kidnap her daughter."
He pulled a photograph from his jacket pocket and tossed it onto the table between them. It was a picture of Celeste, smiling, unaware.
Maxim leaned forward and exhaled a final, thick plume of smoke, letting it drift over her face like a shroud.
Thanks for reading this chapter! I'll start posting privilege chapters the day after tomorrow. After that, there'll be no more of this crap with updating chapters and adding words. Just hang in there!
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Thanks for reading the chapter! Please keep commenting; it really helps. I'm also thinking of changing the cover, and I'm looking for a character illustration of Franz. If you have any ideas for his design, I'd love to hear them.Thanks for reading the chapter! Please keep commenting; it really helps. I'm also thinking of changing the cover, and I'm looking for a character illustration of Franz. If you have any ideas for his design, I'd love to hear them.Thanks for reading the chapter! Please keep commenting; it really helps. I'm also thinking of changing the cover, and I'm looking for a character illustration of Franz. If you have any ideas for his design, I'd love to hear them.Thanks for reading the chapter! Please keep commenting; it really helps. I'm also thinking of changing the cover, and I'm looking for a character illustration of Franz. If you have any ideas for his design, I'd love to hear them.
Thanks for reading the chapter! Please keep commenting; it really helps. I'm also thinking of changing the cover, and I'm looking for a character illustration of Franzr a character illustration of Franz changing the cover, and I'm looking for a character illustration of Franzr and I'm looking for a character illustration of Franzr and I'm looking for a character illustration of Franzr