39. Chapter 39

39

Leonid

" S uka blyad’ !” My lips twist into a feral snarl, the cigar clenched between my teeth as I glare across the table. “What the fuck do you mean, splitting the profit between us?”

The room presses in, too goddamn small for this shit. Fiona’s theatrics are all over it—velvet drapes, gold-trimmed chairs, an antique Persian rug with intricate patterns, and the marble-topped table, 18th-century French, flawless down to the hand-carved legs. I’d know. I gave it to her. A fucking calculated gift to buy her loyalty, to remind her where her fucking alliances should lie.

Yob tvoyu mat. And now?

She’s pissing all over it, tearing everything apart with that smug look on her face like she’s untouchable.

The smell of old wood and smoke hangs in the air—a mix of decadence and deceit. Her bodyguards stand like statues, dead- eyed and stiff, but it’s Ludis across from me who burns through my focus.

Always Ludis. My twin, my enemy.

He leans back in his chair, eyeing me with smug satisfaction. Makes me think of snapping bone. Cuban smoke curls from his lips as he takes a long pull, the ember glowing brighter before he exhales slowly, letting the smoke curl upward like a fucking victory banner. A slow blink follows, his gaze steady, daring me to make the next move.

Mudak.

“Controlled violence breathing” doesn’t help. Nothing helps when you’re watching a dead man try to steal your empire.

Fiona claps her fat hands together. “Oh, Leonid,” she coos, her voice pure venom disguised as silk. “Always so dramatic.”

Dramatic?

Her lips stretch wide, the mole on her upper lip twitching as she grins like a cat about to eat a cornered rat. Like she’s seconds away from giving Ludis and me each a dagger to finish this the old-fashioned way.

“Don’t fucking toy with me, Fiona,” I growl. My gaze flicks to Ludis, his face already smug. The bastard leans back in his chair like he’s sitting on a throne, not across from the one person who’d shoot him without blinking.

“You don’t like it? Then walk away,” Ludis says, his tone light but his eyes dark as sin. “Oh, wait—you can’t. You need this deal as much as I do, brat .” He spits the word like it burns his tongue.

“The answer is a fucking NO, Fiona.” My cigar snaps between my fingers, tobacco scattering across her precious marble.

Fiona lets out a dramatic sigh, resting her chin on one hand. Her other hand toys with the gaudy ring on her finger, turning it slowly.

“Oh, darling boy,” she says, her voice a mix of amusement and exasperation. “Do you really think you have a choice? Because I assure you, Leonid, you don’t.”

I glare at her, my jaw tightening as I force myself to stay in my seat. The heat crawling up my neck demands violence, but I hold it back—for now.

“This is the difference,” I say, “between the Bratva and these fucking mongrel criminals you’re so fond of surrounding yourself with, Fiona. We don’t backstab. We don’t play these dirty little games.” I lean forward, the edge of the table pressing against my forearms. “We have a code. Rules. We protect our own and handle our business clean. No chaos. No loose ends.”

Fiona tilts her head, an infuriating smirk playing on her lips. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you like this pissing contest. But let’s not waste my time, shall we?”

“You’re wasting mine,” I snap, my gaze flicking back to her. “You think I’d work with this piece of shit? He’s unstable, Fiona. A fucking wildcard with more bodies on his record than sense.”

“Flatter me more, brat ,” Ludis interrupts, ashing his cigar onto the floor like he owns the place. “I might start to think you care.”

Fiona’s laugh bubbles up—that artificial, glass-breaking sound that makes my molars grind.

Suka blyad’, I should have broken her neck the moment she led me down here.

“That’s the thing about you, Leonid,” Ludis says, crossing one leg over the other with the kind of precision that makes me itch for violence. “Always clinging to your precious code. Like it’ll save you.”

He takes another long drag from his cigar, exhaling a thick cloud of smoke that curls between us.

“You think rules make you better than me? You’re just as dirty. The only difference is, I don’t lie to myself about it.”

My jaw tightens, the ache spreading down my neck. “The Bratva has survived for years because of those rules. Without them, you’re nothing but a rabid dog waiting to be put down.”

“Maybe.” Ludis shrugs, flicking ash carelessly onto the rug beneath him again. “But rabid dogs get results. And right now, Fiona needs results, not your moral fucking high ground.”

“Boys, boys, boys.” She clicks her tongue and shakes her head, her face twisting into a sour, condescending smirk. As if we’re children who just shit in our diapers and need changing. “You’re giving me a headache. Leonid, I don’t care about your code. Ludis may not follow rules, but he gets things done. And for what I’m planning, I need both of you.”

Something snaps loose inside me. Code. Like it’s some fucking joke. The cigar crushes in my grip as I surge forward, chair scraping back.

“My code is why your empire hasn’t crumbled, you stupid bitch.” My voice drops to a growl. “My code is why every shipment arrives pure. Why your precious jewelry business isn’t drowning in blood. Why the Swiss still trust us.”

Ludis snorts. “Such nobility from a glorified delivery boy.”

I ignore him, eyes locked on Fiona. “You want to play? Fine. But the moment you let this rabid dog off his leash,” I jab a finger at Ludis, “everything burns. The mines, the connections, the trust. All of it.” I lean closer, close enough to see her pupils dilate. “You’re not just making a mistake, Fiona. You’re signing your own death warrant.”

She drums her ringed fingers against the table— tap, tap, tap . “Let me be crystal clear. Leonid controls the mines. Pure, Swiss gold that makes my little empire,” she twists one of her gaudy rings, “sparkle. And you, my dear Ludis, you have what I need to expand. Those underground routes, those dirty little secrets that make problems… disappear.”

“And now you want more.” I pull in a breath to steady myself. “Not satisfied with just turning my gold into your pretty trinkets anymore, are you, Fiona?”

“A girl’s got to grow.” Her lips curl. “Besides, imagine what we could do. Your glorious gold, Ludis’ shadow network—”

“Fuck your imagination,” I hiss. “Give me back my shipment, and we’re done.”

Her smile widens, all teeth. “Oh, that lovely little half-ton sitting in my vault? Pure. Swiss. Gold.” Each word drops like a stone. “Would be a shame if something happened to it. Melted down, perhaps? Mixed with cheaper metals?” She taps her ring again. “Or maybe just… lost.”

Ludis leans back, blowing smoke rings toward the ceiling. “Sounds expensive, brother. How much was it again? Fifty billion? Sixty?”

My jaw clenches so hard I taste blood. That gold was meant for the Chinese deal next week. Without it… “ Suka. ”

“Now you’re getting it.” Fiona’s voice drips honey over steel. “So, let’s try this again. Your mines, Ludis’ routes, my… protection. Unless you’d rather explain to your Chinese friends why their investment is decorating my fingers?”

A muscle jumps in my jaw.

The ticking of the clock behind me—ornate and gilded, one of Fiona’s unnecessary indulgences—beats like a slow drum, a reminder that every second here costs me more than time.