I stop. A knot forms in my throat.
“There,” I say gruffly, setting him back down and handing him a towel. “Now you’re clean. Go.”
Elijah grins up at me, his damp hands wiping on the towel haphazardly. “Thanks, Big Boss Bad Guy.”
I stiffen. “I’m not—”
But he’s already opening the door, strutting out like he’s just brokered some major deal. I follow him, tossing the damp towel onto the counter as I step into the cabin.
Maksim looks up the second Elijah appears, and his grin widens like he’s been waiting for this moment.
“This kid,” he wheezes, wiping at his eyes. “He’s got you trained already,Pakhan.”
I meet Maksim’s gaze, his laughter like a jab I refuse to dignify with a real response. My eyes narrow briefly, just enough to remind him of his place, and his smirk falters—slightly.
“Shut up,” I mutter, cutting him off before he can needle me further. My attention shifts down to Pikachu, abandoned on the seat. Its round, glassy eyes stare up at me like it’s mocking me, too.
Unbelievable.
“Now what?” Elijah’s voice comes from across the cabin. He’s perched on the edge of one of the leather seats, his stubby legs swinging as he looks between Maksim and me, his face full of expectation.
Before I can answer, the air hostess walks out, a tray in her hands that fills the cabin with the smell of eggs and something sweet. Elijah practically launches himself toward the scent.
“Now we eat!” he declares, tugging at the side of my pant leg, his little fingers curling into the fabric.
But I’m not looking at him anymore. My phone buzzes in my pocket—a single vibration, sharper than it should feel. I pull it out, tap the screen, and a message from Dmitry opens instantly.
It’s an image.
It doesn’t make sense. It shouldn’t exist.
My grip tightens on the phone, the edges digging into my palm as my thoughts spiral. This isn’t just unexpected—it’s impossible. And yet, it’s right in front of me.
I glance at Maksim. He’s still smirking, oblivious to what’s on my screen, like the world hasn’t just shifted. He doesn’t know yet.
But when he does, this flight will feel like the calm before the storm.
45
Maksim
A moment ago
Iwatch Leonid haul the kid toward the lavatory like he’s handling an armed bomb. My greatPakhanof the Bratva reduced to toilet duty. If I hadn’t seen it myself, I wouldn’t believe it.
Elijah is giggling like Leonid just pulled a rabbit out of a hat. That’s not normal. Kids don’t laugh around Leonid. Hell,grown mendon’t laugh around him unless it’s nervously and they’re signing their wills.
And yet, here we are. Him, ferrying a kid to the toilet, and me sitting here with a front-row seat to the strangest sight of my life.
But it’s not the giggle that gets me. It’s the way the kid looks. That unshakable confidence, andblyat,the more I stare at the kid, the more I can’t ignore the feeling in my gut—the one whispering that this isn’t a coincidence.
Elijah’s got the same tilt to his head—the kind that screams, “You can’t tell me shit.” The same scowl when something doesn’t go his way.
And those eyes?
I’ve seen them before. In a photo Leonid’s father used to keep on his desk. The resemblance isn’t close. It’s exact.
I lean back in my seat, fingers drumming against the armrest. Five years ago, we went to The Viper’s Nest. It wasn’t supposed to be messy—just find out who the hell was running the place, figure out if they were laundering through it, and decide whether they needed to be crushed. Simple. Clean. Except Leonid didn’t stick to the plan.
