“You’ve used this before,” I say.
Vic nods, adjusting his cufflinks. “With someone who thought they were untouchable. They weren’t.”
“Fiona’s not as smart as she thinks,” I say, a dark edge creeping into my voice. “But she’s bold. Too bold.”
“And boldness, my friend,” Vic says, raising his glass, “is often the quickest path to ruin.”
I watch him for a moment, the way he sits so damn calmly, like he’s got the whole world already figured out.Suka,I think, the edge of a grin tugging at my mouth.
They don’t know it yet but Vic’s plan will bury them, and I’ll gladly drive the shovel.
“How’s the family?” I ask, pouring myself another drink. “Juliette still keeping busy with the foundation?”
Vic’s smile softens. “She is. Keeps her busy, but you know Juliette—she wouldn’t have it any other way.” He pauses, swirling the vodka in his glass like he’s contemplating the secrets of the universe in there.
I watch the liquid catch the light.
A family man. Who’d have thought? Twenty years in this business and he still manages to keep that wholesome Father-of-the-Year facade. The really annoying part is that it’s not even a facade.
“Alix is getting too smart for her own good. Always asking questions about the business. I’m trying to keep her focused on school, but you know how daughters are.”
“She’s what, 16 now?”
Christ, when did I start caring about his kids’ ages?
“Yes, 16 going on 30.” Vic rubs his temple. “Mathis is the quieter one, more into his piano and chess than anything else. They balance each other out.” His eyes lock onto mine. “You should meet them sometime. They’d surprise you.”
“Maybe,” I grunt and lean back, the leather chair creaking under my weight. The images bubble up anyway: morningkisses, school runs, bedtime stories—all while running an empire built on blood money.
“Family man Vic.” The words taste bitter. “You built yourself a beautiful house of cards. One wrong move and—” I flick my fingers open, miming an explosion. “Everything burns. That’s the risk I won’t take.”
Vic’s eyebrow twitches.Great. He caught that.His glass stops halfway to his mouth before he sets it down, deliberate and slow.
“Risk?” He laughs. “My wife, my kids—they’re not a weakness, Leonid. They’re why I own this city.”
I drain my glass. Worth the risk? Tell that to the three bullet holes in my jacket. Vic walks this tightrope like it’s solid ground—devoted father, loving husband, ruthless leader.
Kakogo cherta.
Clara and Elijah’s faces flash through my mind. I grip the glass harder.Blyat. Where did that come from?
“You make it sound easy.” I lean back, studying him. “How do you keep it alive? You and Juliette.”
Vic considers me silently for a moment. This isn’t my kind of question—feelings, family. I wait for him to deflect, but his lips curve into that knowing smile I hate.
“Communication,” he taps his glass, “and effort. You can’t half-ass it, not with someone you want to keep.”
I snort. “Communication? That’s your secret?”
“It’s not a secret, Leonid. It’s work.” He shrugs, the gesture almost insulting in its simplicity. “And you need to want it to work. Without that, the rest doesn’t matter.” Vic studies me for a beat longer than I’m comfortable with, his expression unreadable. “You’re asking a lot of questions today, my friend. Makes me wonder.”
“Don’t wonder,” I say flatly, setting my glass down with a firm thud. “I’m just curious.”
A sharp knock cuts through the moment, and I glance at the door.
Maksim? Blyat, that mudak’s an hour late.
My irritation flares as I stand, rolling my shoulders before stalking toward the door. But then it hits me—Maksim never knocks.
