Pakhan.
I know that word.
I read it. Iresearchedit while curled up in bed, half-listening to Alia monologue over the phone about Sergei’s potential investments while I quietly scrolled through articles about Russian organized crime, trying to understand who the man I’ve been working for is. Trying to make sense of the quiet danger I kept sensing around the estate.
All the while, it’s been here, right in front of me.
The head.
The boss.
Theking.
The man you don’t cross, don’t question, don’t offend if you know what’s good for you.
I don’t know what I thought Maksim was. Maybe some sketchy guy working with the Mob just like Sergei, with too much power and not enough oversight. Some morally bankrupt middleman, maybe. A fixer. A rich man with blood on his hands and expensive taste. Someone whose connections veered toward the illegal.
A guy who is completely fine with a few lives taken as long as whatever deal he’s involved in doesn’t derail.
But this?
This is something else entirely.
He’ s not just a piece on the board. He’s the one who moves them around. The one everyone answers to. The one whosename doesn’t get whispered unless you want to end up in the ground. The man behind the curtain, not the hitman with blood on his hands. The one who decides who lives, who dies, and who disappears without a trace.
A chill rips down my spine like ice water’s been poured down my back. I go completely numb, breath locked in my throat, limbs stiff with panic while my brain fights to catch up, to think of some way out of this mess I’ve stumbled into.
My fingers scrabble instinctively at the door handle until they hit the resistance of the child lock once again.
Right. Locked in. Trapped in his car on his turf.
Fuck.
There’s nowhere to run. No alley to duck into, no crowd to vanish between. Only the cool leather seat beneath me and the silent weight of Maksim Antonov sitting in the front seat like the final boss in a video game no one survives.
My heart pounds so hard I feel it in my ears, my throat, behind my eyes like a drumbeat of dread. I don’t know what to do, I don’t know where to look, I don’t even know how to exist in this moment.
And when my eyes finally rise, I find his own already fixed on me.
“So,” he says, his casual tone returning. Two fingers drum on the back of his seat in a steady rhythm. “Shall we go inside without a fight this time?”
My teeth clench. The gall.
The fuckingnerveof this man.
My fear flips in my chest like a coin, coming down as rage, hot and wild. “What the hell is wrong with you? You say that like it’s a badge of honor!”
He blinks once, slowly. One brow arches in quiet surprise.
“There were children in that cafe!Yuliawas there. She could’vedied! And you sit there talking about owning the city for—what? Because you want to make it look like you’ve got a big dick? Oh, my God, I’m so sick of assholes like you playing with people’s lives like they’re nothing!”
For a second, he looks genuinely caught off guard.
His lips part slightly, enough that I catch the tip of his tongue pressing against the back of his teeth briefly. “I’m not bragging, if that’s what you’re implying. I was merely stating a fact.”
“Oh, my God.” I rake both hands through my hair and slam my shoulder against the door like I can outrun the madness. Maybe if I knock my head a few times against this window, I’ll suddenly wake up from whatever hellish nightmare this is. “Do you evenhearyourself right now? You endangered the daughter of someone you supposedly do business with. What kind of loyalty is that, huh? You don’t vet your jobs? You don’t check the locations for who’s there before you go blasting holes in the walls?”
That gets a reaction.
