Vasiliev stands closer to the center of the room. He laughs louder than anyone else, head tipped back, one hand resting on the shoulder of the man beside him. While he laughs, his eyes shift in my direction and stay there. He doesn’t look away when I meet his gaze.
Nikolai Petrov stands near the wall with a drink in his hand. The glass stays full. He doesn’t join any group. He doesn’t speak. When Dominik steps farther into the room, Petrov turns his head slightly and watches him from where he stands.
There are other men in the room I don’t recognize.
One group stands near the windows in dark suits that don’t draw attention. They stand close, shoulders angled in, voices low enough that nothing carries past their circle.
Another group stands near the center. They’re younger. They keep adjusting their jackets and checking their phones. A few of them look toward Orlov and Viktor, then turn back to their circle.
One man steps away from that second group and walks toward us.
Roman Kadeev.
I haven’t met him before, but I know the name. He showed up after Markov died. Companies tied to Markov were reviewed. Assets were moved. Some firms closed and reopened under new names within weeks, and the handoff looked clean on paper. Shipping contracts changed owners without interruption, and every review came back approved.
He stops a few feet from us.
His eyes drop briefly to Dominik’s hand at my back, then to the ring on my finger. He looks at me without speaking. He takes in my coat, my posture, the space between us. Then he looks back at Dominik.
There’s a small pause before he steps closer. He reaches out his hand. Dominik takes it without rushing.
I stay where I am, close enough that there’s no room to question where I stand.
The meeting starts without any formal signal. Chairs slide back. People take their seats. A long table fills in stages, and assistants move in to place nameplates, setting them down with steady hands and eyes fixed on the task.
Dominik and I sit side by side, and the room registers it.
Viktor opens with infrastructure and corridor reviews. His voice stays level, but no one in the room treats it like routine. When he mentions legacy oversight tied to prior leadership, a few men shift in their chairs.
Sergei cuts in before Viktor finishes.
“Some assets left behind after Markov’s death were never properly reconciled,” he says. “That kind of oversight creates exposure.”
He doesn’t raise his voice, but he makes sure everyone hears him.
Across the table, an older man with silver hair, Andrei Volkov, clears his throat. “Exposure for whom?” he asks. “The estate, or the council?”
A younger man near the far end speaks before Sergei can answer. “We’re talking about paperwork,” he says quickly. “Delayed filings. Nothing more.”
Several voices start at once.
“This is about stability,” Sergei says. “If certain documents are still unresolved, that creates exposure.”
“Then say what you mean,” Volkov says. “Stop dressing it up.”
The table goes still.
Pavel Sidorov clears his throat. “If there are records from Markov’s administration that haven’t been reviewed, they should go through proper channels.”
Roman looks across the table. “Proper channels only work if everyone agrees on what’s out there.”
A younger member near the end of the table lets out a short laugh. “Or maybe someone’s worried about what those records show.”
Sergei doesn’t look away. “No one's afraid here.”
Petrov sets his glass down. “That depends on what’s written.”
Chairs shift. A few men lean forward.
