I look up from the contracts I’m reviewing. “What kind of problem?”
“Lina Petrov. She’s been talking.”
My hand tightens on the pen I’m holding. “Talking to who?”
“Everyone. Your social circles, Anna’s old friends, and business associates. She’s spreading the story about the twins’ paternity.”
“How widely?”
“Wide enough. I’ve heard it from three different sources in the past twenty-four hours. The story is getting traction.”
I set down the pen carefully. “What exactly is she saying?”
“That you didn’t know your own children. That Anna hid them from you for five years. That you married her without knowing she was already the mother of your twins.” Pavel’s expression is grim. “She’s making you look weak.”
“I am aware of the optics.”
“This isn’t just gossip, Luca. Your competitors will use this. They’ll see it as a vulnerability. A Bratva leader who can’t even identify his own children? Who was manipulated by his wife? That’s blood in the water.”
He’s right. In this world, perception is everything. Looking foolish or weak invites challenges. And right now, I look like a man who was played by a woman half his age.
“Where is Lina now?” I ask.
“At her apartment. She’s been making calls and meeting people for coffee. She thinks she’s safe because you didn’t pay her for the information.”
“She thinks wrong.”
“What do you want me to do?”
I consider this. Lina came to my office expecting compensation. I sent her away empty-handed. Now she’s spreading the story out of spite or desperation or both. Either way, she’s creating a problem that threatens my position.
“Handle her,” I say.
“How permanently?”
“Use your judgment. But make sure she stops talking. And make sure everyone who heard the story understands that repeating it would be unwise.”
Pavel nods. “I’ll take care of it today.”
“Do it quietly. I don’t need more attention on this situation.”
“Understood.”
He leaves. I return to the contracts but can’t focus. The words blur together on the page.
Lina talked. The story is out there. My enemies now know that I didn’t recognize my own children. That I’m married to a woman who played me for a fool.
The anger is cold and controlled, but it’s there. Building.
My office door opens again, and I look up, ready to tell Pavel I don’t need updates every five minutes.
It’s not Pavel.
Maxim walks in. He’s wearing a suit, hair still damp from a recent shower. His expression is hard. “We need to talk,” he says.
“About?”
“Don’t play stupid. You know what about.” He closes the door behind him and crosses to my desk. “Is it true?”
