Page 116 of The Pakhan’s Debt by Leona White

I step forward before Maksim can answer.

“You got my signatures with lies,” I say. “You put them in places that tied my name to another man’s business and put me in his line of fire. You listed me across houses.”

My hands grip the table edge. Maksim’s fingers close on my sleeve, but I shake him off.

“You sent men for me. They dragged me by my hair. They kicked me while I was carrying your grandchild.”

Mancini lets out a breath that almost turns into a smile.

Dima crosses the space in two steps and brings the pistol across Mancini’s mouth. Teeth crack. Mancini folds over the chair, blood running down his chin.

I don’t look at him. I keep my eyes on Sergei. My breath comes short and fast. I force it steady.

“You call me your daughter,” I say. “You know what you did, and you still came here for more of my signatures.”

I take one more step.

“Which father does that?”

For the first time, Sergei has no answer ready.

Leonid clears his throat. “Final lock is holding.”

Maksim keeps his eyes on Sergei. “Say it clean.”

Leonid stands straighter behind the laptop. “Sergei-backed authority is dead in the core chain. Elena holds the legal body. Your operational grant is active. The child-linked block is logged. Nothing transfers out unless Elena’s authority and yours both stay intact.”

Moretti closes his eyes.

Mancini swears under his breath.

Sergei goes still.

I stand with one hand on the table and the other against my stomach. I don’t care who sees now. They know about the child, and now they know what it will cost to move against us.

Maksim’s fingers brush mine once, then drop.

“Take him,” Maksim says.

Two men move to Sergei. He straightens his jacket, checks his cuffs, and starts toward the door as if he chose this moment himself. Then they take his arms, and his mouth gives him away.

His nostrils flare. “Everything I built survives because I was willing to see beyond sentiment.”

“No,” I say, looking straight at him. “Everything you built survives because people like me cleaned up after men like you.”

35

ELENA

The door closes after Sergei, but the damage he came to collect stays behind around the table.

Blood drips under the table. Papers dry under my signature. Maksim turns to me with blood showing through his shirt, his face set against pain.

“You’re shaking,” he says, reaching for my elbow.

“So are you.”

He looks down at his hand and scowls.