“No.” My voice is firm this time, even if my hands tremble at my sides. “You don’t get to just… claim him. You don’t get to decide this.”
“You think I came here to ask?”
The words lance through me, stripping the air from my lungs.
“Get out,” I whisper.
His gaze darkens, but thankfully, he doesn’t argue. Instead, he steps closer. Just enough that I can feel him, the heat radiating off his body, pressing against me without contact. My heart hammers so hard it hurts.
“You can tell me to leave all you want,” he says, farther away now. “But I’m not going anywhere. Not until I’ve had what I came for.”
And then he’s gone, slipping out the back like he was never here in the first place.
29
MAKSIM
Still the spitfire I remember.
How funny that little has changed, even with all the years between us, even with everything life has done to her. Ivy carries herself differently now—more grown, more sure of her place in the world, learning to anchor herself without me at her side.
Her voice is steadier, her gaze sharper.
Yet beneath it all, she is still Ivy, still carries the same fire, the same defiance that once made her a resilient force in my world. She was always too brave, too unwilling to bow her head even when surrounded by men who could have crushed her with a word.
That streak is still there, unbroken, and I’m happy for it. Even when her fire cuts against me, even when she rejects me. It feels like proof that time hasn’t taken her spirit. It’s better that she rages at me than grows cold.
She’ll come around, I know she will. Wounds take time to heal, and I’ve just torn open the deepest one she carried.
The thought follows me as I duck into the tree line surrounding her neighbor’s house and pull my phone out. I dial into the secure line reserved only for those who’ve earned my absolute trust. The line pings once, twice, before the voices filter in one by one.
Lev speaks first, his tone steady. “Pakhan,how was your flight?”
I don’t bother with pleasantries. “I’ve found Ivy. I’ll be coming back to Russia as soon as I secure my son.”
For a moment, silence stretches across the line. Even they, hardened as they are, need a breath to process what I’ve just said.
Then Roman, always the blunt one, speaks. “Yourson?”
“Yes.” I let the single word hang there, savoring it, tasting its weight.My son.“I’ll be bringing them both home with me.”
Lev clears his throat. “If you’ve found her…them,they’ll need protection until you can get them here.”
Katya’s voice cuts in next, sharp as a blade but laced with surprise. “A son hidden in America… You realize what this means for the Bratva.”
“Exactly,” Roman adds. “An heir means he will be a target once our enemies begin to find out. They won’t just need protection while you’re there. They’re going to need to be kept under lock and key until the boy is of age. We still have our enemies ready to use whatever means necessary to take us down while they think we’re still weak from the coup.”
“What are you trying to imply?” I bite out.
When Andrey finally speaks, his voice is gentler, but firm. “They are right,Pakhan.No one is questioning your right to claim your family. We’re only concerned about the danger it invites. Mikhail hasn’t forgotten his father’s war. If he learns Ivy and the child are connected to you, he won’t hesitate in taking them out. Or worse.”
My teeth grind against each other as I chew on his words.
Mikhail Sidrov.
The name alone is a curse—one I’ve avoided speaking aloud for too long. The one loose thread I have yet to deal with.
Taking out his father’s network had been a long and grueling process. Longer than even I anticipated. The rot within the Bratva ran deeper than I could have ever imagined, seeping into every corner of the foundation like black mold. Every time we tore out one infected board, another cracked beneath the weight of pressure. Betrayal had become a familiar by-product of eradication.
