I level him with a look that should shut him up, but Maksim only shrugs and grins wider, a man immune to threats—or too stupid to heed them.
“You’re slipping,Pakhan,” he adds, dragging the word out in that way he knows I hate. “Next thing I know, you’ll be organizing playdates.”
“I should throw you off this plane,” I mutter, but there’s no heat in it.
“You’d miss me too much,” Maksim quips, sprawling back in his seat like he doesn’t have a care in the world.
I grab the edge of the table and push myself upright, brushing past him. “Yob tvoyu mat, get ready for a fight. If Ludis so much as sneezes wrong while I’m gone, I want his whole operation buried. And tell the men we might need reinforcements. No excuses.”
Maksim’s grin dims slightly, though the amusement doesn’t leave his eyes. He nods, sitting up straighter.
“Consider it done. Dmitry’s already on the trail, by the way. Digging into who really killed Jake Caldwell, finding the right threads to pull. If there’s someone we can pin it on, he’ll find them.”
“Dmitry knows what he’s doing,” I say, but the thought of Jake Caldwell sets my jaw tight. Another loose end that refuses to stay buried.
Jake Caldwell wasn’t a saint, but his death was more than business. This feels personal, and personal means unpredictable.
The cabin door creaks open, and a woman steps out from the cockpit—a flight attendant with crisp dark hair and an immaculate uniform.
“We’re an hour away from landing at Sion Airport, Mr. Kuznetsov. Your car is ready on the tarmac,” she says, her voice smooth and practiced. She pauses, glancing toward the sleeping quarters. “I’ll have breakfast ready for… the guests,” she finishes, her hesitation subtle but enough to pull Maksim’s smirk back into place.
“Thank you,” I say curtly, dismissing her. She nods and slips away, her heels muffled by the plush carpet.
Maksim watches her go, then swivels back to me, his expression sly. “Guests, huh? You going to ask if she’s awake, or are you just going to pretend you don’t care?”
I glare at him but keep my mouth shut. The truth is, I’d been tempted to ask the flight attendant if Clara was up, but I stopped myself. Caring too much is dangerous. Caring gets you killed.
Before Maksim can needle me again, the door to the sleeping quarters creaks open, and Elijah pads out, his hair sticking up in soft tufts, clutching a stuffed Pikachu in one hand. He rubs his eyes with the other, his face scrunching in that half-awake confusion that only kids can pull off.
“I need to pee,” he announces. And then he looks straight at me.
I blink at him, my brain grinding to a halt.
Why is he looking at me? I don’t have answers for this. I can’t pee for him.
He looks around the cabin, his tiny brows furrowing as if he’s already figured out something’s off.
“Where’s Uncle Bear?”
Maksim, of course, is the first to react.
“Uncle Bear had to go hunting,” he says, deadpan, leaning back with a smirk that promises trouble.
Elijah squints at Maksim, clearly unconvinced, but he doesn’t argue. Instead, he shifts from one foot to the other, his little knees knocking together.
“I really need to pee,” he says, louder this time, his voice edging toward panic.
I stare at him, my thoughts whirling.
Where’s Dmitry when you need him?
“You heard him, boss,” Maksim says, his grin widening as he gestures lazily toward Elijah. “The boy’s got needs.”
I glare at Maksim, who looks entirely too entertained for someone sitting in my jet. Elijah fidgets more, tugging at the hem of his pajama top, his face scrunched in pure, childlike desperation.
“Where’s the toilet?” Elijah asks, his eyes darting around the cabin like it might magically appear if he stares hard enough.
Maksim whistles low, shaking his head in mock disappointment. “You mean you didn’t give him a tour of the jet? What kind of host are you?”
