I look at Maksim again.
He heard that.
And I see something that makes my chest ache: not surprise or hope, but acceptance. The kind born from a lifetime of being treated as expendable. The kind I trained into him.
"No," I
say, the word coming out hard enough to crack teeth.
"Ivan," Boris says, irritation creeping in. "Think. You're outnumbered. You can't shoot your way through this. Your only leverage is the dog, and I'm offering you a path that keeps you alive."
"No."
"You'd die for him?" Boris laughs, an ugly sound. "A tool you built? A weapon you conditioned?" Another laugh, sharper. "Your father was right. You're sentimental. That's why you were never fit to lead."
I stare at the floor for a moment.
Then I look up.
"You're wrong about him," I say, my voice steady now, cold. "And you're wrong about me."
Maksim's eyes are locked on mine. No flinching. No plea.
"We're coming out," I tell Boris. "We're going to kill every man you sent. And then I'm going to find you."
Boris's voice drops. "Is that a promise?"
"It's a plan," I reply, and end the call.
I throw the phone across the room, and it hits the wall before skittering into a corner.
Maksim stares at me, distrust evident in his eyes.
"You should have taken the deal," he says, his voice steady but laced with controlled pain.
"No."
I move closer, positioning myself beside him so our shoulders nearly touch behind the island. In this moment, we're not a principal and his bodyguard; we're two men trapped in a cabin with guns aimed at us.
"I told you last night," I say firmly. "I'm not trading you."
His expression flickers with shock and disbelief.
Outside, boots crunch on gravel.
Not running. Walking. The sound of men who know they have time.
They're coming in.
"Ready?" I ask.
Maksim chambers a round, the motion sharp and precise. But when he meets my gaze, a faint curve appears at the corner of his mouth—a flicker of that morning's smile trying to survive.
"Always," he replies.
A boot thuds against the porch.
Wood creaks.
