“What do you want?”
Instead of answering, Maksim’s attention shifts to the couch where Elijah is sprawled, giggling at the screen.
His smirk softens—just enough to catch me off guard—before he strides over and crouches beside my son.
“Hey, buddy,” he says, his tone warmer than I’ve ever heard it. From his jacket, he pulls out a sleek Nintendo Switch, holding it out like an offering. “Got something new for you. Want to try it?”
Elijah’s eyes light up, his grin spreading so wide it almost eclipses the chocolate smudged on his face. “For me?”
Maksim nods, his smile widening as he gestures toward the door to Leonid’s room. “Leonid’s got a nice setup in there. It’s quieter, too—perfect for games. What do you think?”
Elijah hesitates, looking at me. I force a smile past the tight knot in my chest. “Go ahead, sweetheart. Just don’t forget to say thank you.”
“Thanks!” Elijah chirps, grabbing the device and darting to the connecting door. Maksim leans down, pushing it open just enough for him to slip through.
“Remember to save your progress,” he calls after him, a teasing lilt in his voice.
The door falls halfway shut, muting the sounds of Elijah’s cartoon and leaving me alone with Maksim.
He turns toward me.
I glare at him, my nails digging into the armrest. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
Maksim takes his time settling into the chair beside me, one ankle resting on his knee. He glances around the room as if appraising the décor, then meets my stare with deliberate calm.
“So,” he says, stretching out the word like it’s a game. “Are you going to tell him about Elijah, or should I?”
The air feels like it’s been sucked out of the room. My lungs seize. The ice pack in my hand is suddenly a vise, its chill biting into my skin, but I can’t let it go. My mind races, clashing with the dead silence that follows.
“What the fuck are you talking about?” I whisper.
Maksim tilts his head, his expression sliding into something dangerously close to amusement.
“Oh, come on,” he drawls, his tone so casual it makes my skin crawl. “Do I really need to spell it out for you, Clara?”
I shake my head, gripping the edge of the ice pack tighter, as though that might ground me, steady me, stop the floor from tilting beneath me.
“You’re out of your goddamn mind.”
Maksim leans forward, tipping his head slightly.
“No, I’m not. And neither are you. You’ve known it all along, haven’t you?” He waits a beat, watching me, savoring the moment. “Elijah is the heir of the Kuznetsov Bratva.”
54
Leonid
“Marcus Coburn.” The name tastes like copper on my tongue as I read from the passport. My blood-stained fingers leave prints on the gold-embossed leather.
Fitting. A name destined for death.
Two naked men slump in metal chairs before me, skin mottled purple where the zip ties bite into their flesh. Their possessions rest on the steel table beside me—clothes folded with military precision, two 9mm Glocks, two burner phones. A condom. A stack of passports with different names but the same faces. The same mistake.
I roll up my sleeves, watching dried blood flake onto the pristine floor. Vic’s basement has seen worse, but he watches me like I’m an artist painting outside the lines. His tech analyst stands a step behind him, hunched over a tablet. The screen’sblue glow reflects off Vic’s sharp features, lending him an eerie, aristocratic edge.
“Your employer invested in quality documentation.” I trace the watermark on Coburn’s passport, remembering how Clara’s blood had looked similar on my hands hours ago. “But they made one critical error.”
The larger one, Marcus, according to his papers, spits blood onto the floor. “We don’t know who—”
