"Because—"
"You've got that look," Maksim cuts me off, walking back from my cabinet and completely ignoring my death glare. He sets three crystal tumblers on my desk, followed by my private reserve—the one I specifically told him to leave alone. His eyes fix on Clara. "The one that says you're about to do something stupid."
"No one asked for your opinion." Clara doesn't move from her spot at my desk, but her fingers tighten on the wood edge.
The right corner of his mouth twitches up, just enough.
Something clicks. Twelve years of watching this bastard plan hits means I know exactly what that twitch means.
"You should drink," he says, pouring three fingers in each glass. He slides one toward Clara first. "Long flight, longer night ahead." He downs his own in one go, then refills it immediately.
Clara ignores her glass, laser-focused on me.
“Tell me the plan.”
Maksim sets the bottle directly in front of her. The crystal stopper catches the light, throwing fractals across my desk. Hisnext words make my jaw clench. "Come on, boss. This isn't her first mission. She'll be fine."
“Shut the fuck, Maksim,” I bark.
Clara tilts her face toward Maksim, then back to me, her arms folded tight across her chest. She’s waiting, daring me to deny her.
Maksim tips his glass back, draining it in one go. He makes a show of savoring it, dragging his tongue across his teeth. "Stephan won't know what hit him. In, out, clean job." The glass hits my desk with a sharp click. "Bozhe moy,that's smooth. Almost worth getting shot for."
Clara finally reaches for the glass, her fingers wrapping around it. Her eyes stay on me as she brings it to her lips and takes a sip. Maksim’s grin widens slightly, but something about it sets my teeth on edge.
She puts the glass back on the desk and opens her mouth to speak, but her eyelids flutter once, then twice. Her hand drifts to the edge of the desk, gripping it tightly for balance as her legs start to give.
“Maksim,” I growl, standing so fast my chair scrapes against the floor.
Clara sways, her body going limp before I catch her. Her breathing is steady, her face soft, almost peaceful.
“She’ll thank me later,” Maksim says, pouring himself another drink, completely unbothered.
“Blyat, Maksim,” I hiss, my voice low and dangerous. “If this backfires, you’re a dead man.”
He shrugs, lifting his glass in a mock toast. “You can’t kill me if it works.”
64
Leonid
Two hours later
The first raindrops hit my windshield as the convoy rolls to a stop. Behind us, three identical black SUVs form a barrier between my car and the treeline. Only a fool wouldn't have men positioned among those ancient oaks.
"Twenty of ours spread through the trees," Maksim murmurs from the driver's seat, his fingers tapping against the steering wheel. "Another fifteen by the mausoleums. We have better angles if this goes south."
I adjust my cufflinks—gold. The weight feels right. "And the ground team?"
"Twenty-eight scattered among the mourners." His lips quirk. "Though I doubt anyone's actually mourning. Half these people probably wanted to kill her themselves."
My laugh comes out harder than intended. Clara would appreciate that—knowing her enemies showed up to weep crocodile tears over her empty casket.
"Suka's getting desperate." I check my Glock, the familiar weight settling something in my chest. "All his failed attempts to get to her, and he thinks an empty box will fix his fuck up? Amateur."
Maksim's reflection grins in the rearview. "Maybe he's hoping the audience makes you behave."
"When have I ever?" The leather seat creaks as I lean forward. "How many of his men showed up for the circus?"
