A blond man about Lazar's age, early twenties, burst into the room, stumbled at the threshold, then caught himself just before he could faceplant on the tiled floor.
His turquoise jacket was wrinkled, his tie hanging loose, and a dark red stain soaked his left sleeve, large enough to invite questions, but ominous enough to strangle them before they formed.
Sweat beaded on his forehead, and his respiration came in short, uneven bursts, the rhythm of panic more than exhaustion.
Recognizing the newcomer, Lazar lowered his gun, his scowl expressing what he thought of such a needlessly brutal entrance. As for the blood? He didn't seem particularly alarmed. With that guy, odds were it was sex-related.
The moment his eyes landed on Lazar, the color drained from the man's face as if he no longer wanted to be there.
Nonetheless, a nervous smile flickered at the corner of his mouth before he forced his feet forward like a defendant stepping into court already knowing the verdict won't be in his favor.
"Just… don't make this worse. Okay?" He hadn't offered a greeting, hadn't bothered to apologize for being late, and he was already asking for something without even adding a 'please' to it.
Under Lazar's narrowed eyes, the young man blurted the start of a defense that seemed to have been poorly rehearsed, "Look, I-I will be honest with you. The truth is..."
Lazar gave a dismissive wave, "Sit, shut up, and save your 'truth' for another audience, someone as depraved as you might enjoy it."
"Your lies are cheap and still gross, but at least they don't make me feel like I need a shower." He added in a repulsed tone.
With a defeated sigh, the young man obeyed and dragged the chair over. He didn't sit so much as collapse into it, his hands fidgeting constantly, his gaze refusing to settle on Lazar, as if looking at him too long might be dangerous.
Then he lowered his voice into a plea, "You will cover for me. Right?"
He swallowed hard, "Just… tell her I was late because I got stuck on some boring, important, work-related call. Or whatever. Anything that isn't 'he was being a complete idiot'."
He risked a glance at Lazar, "She believes literally everything that comes out of your mouth. So I'm begging you, just don't let her find out I messed up again. Because if she does..." He shuddered, "She will lose her shit."
Lazar answered without missing a beat, like the demand wasn't even worth a second thought, "Your mother trusts me because I don't lie to her. I'm not picking up that habit today, least of all for you."
He then checked his watch, "You are thirty minutes late. So, think about what you can do to appease me before you start worrying about her."
His last words came out with an even more evident irritation, "And don't ever ask me to cover for your bullshit again."
Unable to meet Lazar's eyes anymore, the young man busied himself with his blood-stained sleeve, tugging at the fabric without looking up.
Then he heard it, the voice from the kitchen, singing.
He froze mid-motion, eyes snapping to the door separating him from the kitchen like death was on the other side.
"Shit. Wasn't she supposed to be away today? Oh, fuck. And knowing Mamma, she's already snitched to my mom. Fucking brilliant. Ten out of ten, Viktor."
He leaned in, lips shaking, "New deal : you get me out of here alive… and I will give you whatever you want."
Lazar raised a single eyebrow, "Cute. The only thing I could possibly want from you is exactly what you are here to hand over today. I can retrieve it from your corpse if I feel like it."
"Was that my good-for-nothing nephew I just heard whining?!"
The temperature in the room dropped.
Mamma's voice erupted from the kitchen, stripped of its usual warmth, "Viktor! Scappa e sei morto (run away, and you are dead)!"
The kitchen door burst open, and Mamma stormed out with a flour-dusted rolling pin, looking seconds away from adding blood to it.
Lazar watched Viktor instinctively push his chair back a few inches, eyes going wide with fear.
"No! Wait! Please?"
Lazar's eyelid twitched, "Oh, now you can say 'please'."
THWACK
Mamma didn't bother to use any more words. The first blow came down hard across Viktor's shoulder.
"You know what?! I might have stopped right there if you only had the decency to apologize to Lazar the second you walked in. But you didn't, did you, Viktor?!"
Viktor's jaw clenched, pain flashing across his face. He stayed silent, lying would only encourage her to aim lower.
THWACK!
The next strike landed on the exact same spot, harder.
"Agh! Fine! I'm sorry!" Viktor yelped, throwing the words at his aunt and Lazar alike, the apology far too weak and late to save him.
"Fine. I'm sowy." Mamma parroted him with childish exaggeration, then snapped right back into a roar, "That's what you're calling an apology?! Say it like a grown man, Viktor!"
She lifted the rolling pin again, already winding up for the next hit.
His patience wearing thin, Lazar lifted his empty plate and placed it between Mamma and Viktor like a barrier.
"That's as far as this goes. I told you, he's yours when I'm done talking with him."
Mamma froze mid-swing, nostrils flaring like a pissed-off bull, her gaze flicking from Viktor to Lazar, then, with a sigh, she lowered her arm.
"You are lucky I value my plates more than the satisfaction of smacking you, testa di cazzo (dickhead)!"
She turned around and went back into the kitchen, murmuring a prayer she had clearly recited more times than she could count.
"God, please, grant me patience."
Her mouth tightened, "I know I'm not doing the world a favor keeping him alive."
She then let out a slow, defeated breath, "But... he's family."
Viktor winced, rubbing his shoulder, trying to sound casual, "She still packs a punch, huh?"
"Can't say." Lazar replied, deadpan, holding out his hand like he was waiting for payment, "I'm not the dickhead she practices on."
Viktor pulled a thin folder from inside his jacket, light brown and one corner bent probably from his earlier run. He handed it to Lazar as if it was fragile, its importance made clear by the gesture.
"Everything we have pieced together is in there : addresses, connections, his comings and goings… plus a recent picture."
Lazar's hand settled on the folder's cover. For a second, he left it there, resisting the urge to flip it open, "Finally. Something worth my time." He then took a measured breath, released it, and gave in.
Viktor swallowed and sat up straighter. His fool's mask was gone.
Lazar scanned the contents until one page particularly drew his attention. He stared at it, jaw hardening, then eased the folder shut, the air in the room suddenly heavier.
Viktor matched Lazar's gravity, falling silent, almost reverent.
"So... you're actually doing it." He muttered at last, incredulity turning the words sour.
Lazar stayed silent, but his eyes held a warning : this subject was a minefield.
Viktor gave a slight nod, acknowledging that fact, but then carefully ventured, "I guess you've got the balls for it."
With a small, almost casual adjustment of his lapel, he emphasized his point, "Me, I'm just the suit-and-tie guy. I can't wrap my head around it."
"I will hand it to you, Lazar. Your particular flavor of self-destruction? I've never seen anything like it." He mused.
A silence settled between them. Then Viktor spoke again, his voice quieter, "Oh, right. I almost forgot. Before you leave, stop by the house. She wants to see you."
Lazar lifted his head, a brief spark of interest crossing his face before it narrowed into suspicion.
"Wait. Are you playing word games with me here? Which 'she' is this supposed to be? Your mother or that nutcase sister of yours?"
Viktor immediately gave a resigned shrug, "Okay. Fine. You got me. It's my sister." He offered a thin, apologetic smile, "And sorry, but between lying to you and telling her I didn't even try? You're the safer option."
Lazar tilted his head, as if begrudgingly conceding Viktor had a point, "I will let it slide because I saw through it and your sister is a disaster. But try that again and you are dead. Actually manage to sell it, and I will make it… interesting."
Viktor's smirk faltered. Lazar's tone pinned him in place, and the truth buried in those last words made his throat go tight.
He swallowed, finding his voice again, "Look, my sister was the one who's been bugging me about it. But my mom wants to see you too."
He gave a tiny, bitter laugh, "Of course, she didn't say it. She's like you, she would rather die than give anyone the satisfaction of seeing her feel something."
Then his tone dipped, "But if there's anything left beating in there, it will crack if she can't see you before you... well, head off to die."
Lazar paused, his expression neutral, as if weighing the request, "I can't say for sure if..."
DONG
The rest died in his throat when a deafening, alien resonance riped through the air, freezing the room in place.
It was a bell. But there was no mistaking it, nothing man-made could ring like that.
It did more than echo ; it crawled through the walls, into the skin, down to the bone, as if the entire world shook with the bell's toll, compelling every living soul, even those robbed of all senses, to recognize that something of great importance was underway.
Viktor flinched, eyes wide and unblinking, as if the sound had bypassed his reason and gripped the primitive part of him that only knew fear.
As for Lazar, he stood rigid, fingers twitching at his sides as his usual steady calm broke, leaving confusion in its place.