The front entrance opens.
The heavy oak door swings inward. Lorenzo Rosetti walks in, flanked by two bodyguards—large men in expensive suits who move with the heavy, deliberate gait of professionals. They scan the room before stepping onto the carpet, eyes cutting left and right.
Lorenzo is smaller than I expected—compact, with sharp features. He wears a charcoal suit tailored to the millimeter, and his dark hair is threaded with silver at the temples. His smile is polite in the way a scalpel is polite: clean, cold, and ready to cut.
"Ivan Baranov." He spreads his hands as he approaches, projecting a warmth that doesn't reach his eyes. "I was surprised to receive your invitation. The Baranovs don't usually seek conversation with families outside their... cultural comfort zone."
"The Baranovs adjust when circumstances demand it." I gesture to the chair across from me. "Sit."
He hesitates, his eyes flicking toward Maksim before returning to me. It's a quick threat assessment masked by politeness. Whatever conclusion he reaches, he pulls out the chair and sits with the ease of a man who has navigated dangerous rooms before and learned how to pretend he isn't impressed.
His guards drift to the far wall, attempting to look relaxed by folding their hands and leaning slightly. They fail. Their hands betray them, hovering too close to the waistbands of their jackets, while their attention frequently shifts toward Maksim.
Everyone is watching Maksim.
"Your man," Lorenzo says, tilting his head slightly as if discussing a vintage wine instead of a weapon. "He has a reputation. They call him the Rabid Dog. I'm told he killed three men during that border dispute a few years back—with his hands."
"Some," I reply. "Others were gunshots."
Lorenzo's smile twitches. "Still, it's an interesting choice to bring a creature like that to a peaceful negotiation. It sends a message."
"This isn't a negotiation." I lean back in my chair, keeping my hands visible on the table. "It's a chance for you to tell me what my uncle has been offering you, and a chance for me to explain why taking it would be a mistake."
The air changes instantly.
Lorenzo's smile vanishes. The friendliness drains from his face like water from a cracked glass, revealing something sharper and uglier beneath.
"I don't know what you're referring to."
"Boris Baranov has met with your people multiple times," I state, maintaining a flat tone. "He's been offering concessions—access to the docks, pieces of territory that aren't his to give. In exchange for what? Muscle? Information? A neat little accident that removes the heir from the board?"
Lorenzo remains still long enough for me to hear the candle flames flicker in the drafts.
His guards stop pretending. Their hands settle fully on their weapons as they watch Maksim, calculating the distance between life and death.
"You're very direct," Lorenzo says at last. "That's either brave or stupid. I haven't decided which."
"My uncle is a traitor," I reply. "He's been feeding information through intermediaries, pushing federal pressure onto our logistics, and arranging attempts on my life that have already cost loyal men." I let the silence stretch for a beat. "He thinks that removing me clears his path to the chair. He's wrong."
Lorenzo's expression remains unchanged. If anything, he looks more alert, calculating the angles.
"I'm giving you a choice," I continue. "You can keep doing business with a man whose ambitions will get him buried, or you can accept that the Baranov organization stays under my control and adjust your expectations accordingly."
Lorenzo laughs—it's a short, ugly sound, dragged from him rather than offered.
"You're confident for a man sitting alone in a room with my people behind him." His eyes slide toward Maksim. "Well, almost alone."
"My confidence isn't based on headcount."
"No?" Lorenzo leans forward, planting his elbows on the linen. His eyes gleam with something that could be amusement or threat. "Then what is it based on, young Baranov? Your father'sname? Your blood? The bedtime story that the Bratva can't be touched in this city?"
I keep my gaze locked on his. I don't blink.
"My confidence is based on the fact that the man behind me will kill everyone in this room before your guards finish clearing their holsters." I let the words land heavy. "Including you."
For a long moment, nobody moves.
I hear my own heartbeat—slow and steady.
