"We're not giving her to the Volkovs."
"Kolya—"
"I said no." The words came out harder than I meant them. I modulated my tone. Tried again. "Not yet. Not until we understand why the Belyaevs want her so badly."
Maks was watching me too carefully. Those intelligent brown eyes cataloging my tells. My clenched jaw. My trembling hands.
He knew. Damn it. He knew this wasn't about strategy.
But he didn't say anything. Just waited.
I stood. Moved to the map on the wall. Red Hook highlighted in red. Our territories in blue. The Volkov territories in green. All the pieces of the puzzle we were trying to solve.
"Like you said, they didn't just bid high," I said, echoing Kostya's words. "They murdered Yevgeny Sidorov. They violated The Settling. That's not normal acquisition behavior. That's desperation." I traced the Red Hook boundary with my finger. "Why? What makes Sophie Volkov worth starting a war?"
"We know why. It’s her memory," Maks said. "The intelligence she carries. You said her father worked West Coast operations for years. She probably knows routes, contacts, weaknesses—"
"Maybe." I turned to face them. "But there are other intelligence sources. Other ways to get that information. They specifically wanted her. Badly enough to burn every bridge they had."
The pieces were there. I could feel them. Just couldn't quite assemble them yet.
"If we give her to the Volkovs now," I continued, "we lose the advantage of time. We lose the ability to observe the Belyaevs' next move. They'll adapt. Change tactics. We'll be blind."
"And if we keep her?" Kostya asked.
"They'll come for her," I admitted. "But they'll show their hand. They'll make another mistake. And we'll be ready."
It was good strategy. Sound reasoning. The kind of calculated risk I'd built my reputation on.
It was also bullshit.
The truth—the truth I couldn't say out loud—was simpler and more dangerous.
Sophie was mine. I'd claimed her on that auction stage before the explosion. Had killed three men to take her. Had carried her out of that burning building over my shoulder while she fought me.
Mine to protect. Mine to keep. Mine.
The possessiveness was irrational. Unprecedented. Completely at odds with everything I thought I knew about myself.
I didn't share. Didn't let anyone close enough to matter. Had spent my whole life building walls around the anxious, terrified parts of myself that needed control to function.
But Sophie had seen through those walls in thirty seconds. Had looked at me on that stage with those grey-green eyes and counted to four just like me. And somewhere between that moment and now, she'd become essential.
"She stays," I said. Final. "In my compound. Under my protection. We give the Belyaevs rope to hang themselves while we watch and learn."
Kostya studied me. Long enough that I had to fight not to look away. Not to fidget. Not to show how much this decision cost me.
Finally he nodded. "Your call, Pakhan."
Maks closed his tablet. "I'll monitor their communications. If they're planning another move, we'll know."
"Good." I moved back to my chair. Sat. Tried to look like a man in control. "Anything else?"
"We need a cover story," Maks said. "Something that explains why you paid so much. Something the other families will accept."
He was right. The other Pakhans would want explanations. Justifications. Some logical reason why I'd bid two point two million for a debt bondage contract.
"She works off the debt," I said. The answer was obvious once I said it out loud. Clean. Transactional. The kind of arrangementthat happened all the time in our world. "Standard service contract. She provides value equal to what I paid, the obligation is satisfied, everyone understands."
