44. Chapter 44

44

Leonid

T he soft hum of the engines is the only consistent sound on the Gulfstream G700, but Maksim is about to change that. He slouches into the leather seat across from me, stretching out like he owns the damn plane.

“ Pakhan, ” he starts, settling forward. He never calls me that unless he’s dead serious. And Maksim is rarely serious—maybe five times in the entire time I’ve known him. Whatever this is, it’s going to be good.

I glance up from the tablet in my hand, skimming through logistics reports about the mining operation. The screen reflects back a tired version of me—sharp brown eyes, tension etched into my forehead, and a jaw that hasn’t unclenched since we left New Orleans.

“Don’t do this mudak ,” I warn.

“Do what?” Maksim’s grin is all teeth, the kind that makes people nervous if they don’t know him well.

“The thing where you pretend you have a legitimate question, but really, you’re about to waste my time.”

He holds up his hands like I’ve caught him in the act. “Fine, but explain something to me, yeah? What exactly is the plan here? Because forgive me, but bringing your devushka and her little one along isn’t exactly your style.”

I don’t answer. Not immediately.

I let him squirm under the silence, even as he shifts in his seat, the leather creaking slightly.

“I mean,” he continues, undeterred, “we barely got her to leave her house. Had to dig out their passports from a drawer exactly where she said they’d be.”

His eyes gleam with amusement, but it’s the kind that irritates me.

“I don’t need to explain myself to you, Maksim.”

“Maybe not,” he says, leaning back like he’s settling in for a show. “But I’ve gotta say, watching you wrangle a woman and a kid like some kind of doting husband and father is not what I expected from our fearless leader.”

The tablet slips from my hand onto the table with a muted thud. I fix him with a look that would shut most people up, but Maksim thrives on pushing limits.

“The plan…” I start, but the rest of the words hang there.

The plan wasn’t to fuck her.

Wasn’t to have her around for so long, either. Wasn’t to sit here, wondering if Ludis will try something while I’m gone or if Fiona’s already setting the chessboard for her next move. And it definitely wasn’t to care about whether Clara’s comfortable in my jet—or if she’s glaring daggers at the door like she’s imagining how best to jump out at 40,000 feet.

Which, to be fair, isn’t entirely wrong.

Maksim leans forward, his eyebrow arching like he’s challenging me to finish my sentence. “The plan is…?” he asks, dragging the words out like he’s savoring them.

I don’t answer right away. My gaze flicks to the tinted window, where dawn spills over the horizon, streaking the sky with pink and gold. The Swiss Alps are out there somewhere, waiting, but the weight in my chest makes them feel farther away than they should.

“The plan, mudak ,” I finally say, leaning back and reclining the seat slightly, “is to find out what the fuck Ludis and Fiona are doing behind my back. Their little games stop when I say they stop.”

Maksim’s grin widens, but I keep going before he can interrupt.

“We’ll need more muscle, more loyalty, and more eyes on the ground. No one betrays me.” Suka , my voice drops a notch as I tilt my head toward the door to the private sleeping quarters, where Clara and Elijah are tucked away. “And no one touches what’s mine.”

Maksim whistles low, shaking his head.

“Right. No one touches what’s yours—meaning Clara.” His tone is drenched in mock innocence, but his eyes gleam with mischief. “Because this is all about the Bratva and not about playing house with your woman and her kid. Totally makes sense.”

I level him with a look that should shut him up, but Maksim only shrugs and grins wider, a man immune to threats—or too stupid to heed them.

“You’re slipping, Pakhan ,” he adds, dragging the word out in that way he knows I hate. “Next thing I know, you’ll be organizing playdates.”

“I should throw you off this plane,” I mutter, but there’s no heat in it.

“You’d miss me too much,” Maksim quips, sprawling back in his seat like he doesn’t have a care in the world.

I grab the edge of the table and push myself upright, brushing past him. “ Yob tvoyu mat , get ready for a fight. If Ludis so much as sneezes wrong while I’m gone, I want his whole operation buried. And tell the men we might need reinforcements. No excuses.”

Maksim’s grin dims slightly, though the amusement doesn’t leave his eyes. He nods, sitting up straighter.

“Consider it done. Dmitry’s already on the trail, by the way. Digging into who really killed Jake Caldwell, finding the right threads to pull. If there’s someone we can pin it on, he’ll find them.”

“Dmitry knows what he’s doing,” I say, but the thought of Jake Caldwell sets my jaw tight. Another loose end that refuses to stay buried.

Jake Caldwell wasn’t a saint, but his death was more than business. This feels personal, and personal means unpredictable.

The cabin door creaks open, and a woman steps out from the cockpit—a flight attendant with crisp dark hair and an immaculate uniform.

“We’re an hour away from landing at Sion Airport, Mr. Kuznetsov. Your car is ready on the tarmac,” she says, her voice smooth and practiced. She pauses, glancing toward the sleeping quarters. “I’ll have breakfast ready for… the guests,” she finishes, her hesitation subtle but enough to pull Maksim’s smirk back into place.

“Thank you,” I say curtly, dismissing her. She nods and slips away, her heels muffled by the plush carpet.

Maksim watches her go, then swivels back to me, his expression sly. “Guests, huh? You going to ask if she’s awake, or are you just going to pretend you don’t care?”

I glare at him but keep my mouth shut. The truth is, I’d been tempted to ask the flight attendant if Clara was up, but I stopped myself. Caring too much is dangerous. Caring gets you killed.

Before Maksim can needle me again, the door to the sleeping quarters creaks open, and Elijah pads out, his hair sticking up in soft tufts, clutching a stuffed Pikachu in one hand. He rubs his eyes with the other, his face scrunching in that half-awake confusion that only kids can pull off.

“I need to pee,” he announces. And then he looks straight at me.

I blink at him, my brain grinding to a halt.

Why is he looking at me? I don’t have answers for this. I can’t pee for him.

He looks around the cabin, his tiny brows furrowing as if he’s already figured out something’s off.

“Where’s Uncle Bear?”

Maksim, of course, is the first to react.

“Uncle Bear had to go hunting,” he says, deadpan, leaning back with a smirk that promises trouble.

Elijah squints at Maksim, clearly unconvinced, but he doesn’t argue. Instead, he shifts from one foot to the other, his little knees knocking together.

“I really need to pee,” he says, louder this time, his voice edging toward panic.

I stare at him, my thoughts whirling.

Where’s Dmitry when you need him?

“You heard him, boss,” Maksim says, his grin widening as he gestures lazily toward Elijah. “The boy’s got needs.”

I glare at Maksim, who looks entirely too entertained for someone sitting in my jet. Elijah fidgets more, tugging at the hem of his pajama top, his face scrunched in pure, childlike desperation.

“Where’s the toilet?” Elijah asks, his eyes darting around the cabin like it might magically appear if he stares hard enough.

Maksim whistles low, shaking his head in mock disappointment. “You mean you didn’t give him a tour of the jet? What kind of host are you?”

I ignore him and gesture toward the rear of the cabin. “Down that way,” I say gruffly, hoping the kid will just figure it out.

But Maksim isn’t done. “You realize he is four years old?” he points out, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “And good luck getting him to work the latch on the toilet. You might as well just—oh, I don’t know—help him.”

“I’m not doing that,” I snap, but Elijah’s wide, watery eyes cut through my resolve like a knife. He’s staring at me like I’m his last hope, and damn it, I’ve faced down men twice my size without blinking, but this? This is different.

“Fine,” I mutter under my breath, standing and crossing the cabin in a few long strides. “Come on.”

Elijah brightens immediately, holding out his hand, which I don’t take. Instead, I scoop him up under the arms like he’s a bag of groceries, ignoring the way his little feet kick in surprise. He giggles, the sound bubbling out unexpectedly, and for a second, I’m too thrown off to react.

“Whoa! I’m flying!” he announces, holding his Pikachu aloft like it’s some kind of flag. Maksim snorts behind me, but I don’t turn around. If I look at him now, I’ll throw him out the nearest emergency exit.

I carry Elijah toward the lavatory, his weight surprisingly light in my arms. “This is the toilet,” I say, setting him down in front of the door.

He stares at it like it’s some kind of puzzle box, his head tilted to one side. “How do I open it?”

Maksim’s laugh echoes through the cabin. “This is gold. Pure gold.”

I shoot him a glare over my shoulder before leaning down to push the latch. The door swings open, revealing the compact, marble-lined bathroom. Elijah steps inside, clutching Pikachu to his chest, and turns to me with a serious expression.

“Do I close the door?”

“Yes,” I say firmly. “And don’t touch anything you don’t have to.”

He nods solemnly, like I’ve handed him life-or-death instructions, and shuts the door. A few moments of rustling follow, then a flush. The door creaks open again, and Elijah steps out, his chest puffed out like he’s just conquered the world.

“I did it!” he announces proudly.

“Great,” I say, reaching out to ruffle his messy hair despite myself. He beams at me, his face glowing with triumph, and for a moment, the weight of everything waiting for me in Switzerland fades.

“Did you wash your hands?”

His expression falters for a second, twisting into something mischievous. “Nope!” he says, sticking his tongue out at me. Before I can stop him, he shoves Pikachu into my hands like it’s a time bomb. “Hold this!”

“Wait—what?” I fumble with the stuffed toy, holding it awkwardly as though it might combust. “You’re not serious.”

He dashes back into the bathroom, and the door swings shut with a bang. A pause. Then, slowly, it creaks open again, and Elijah’s head pops out.

“I… can’t reach the sink,” he says, his voice small but not even remotely embarrassed.

I roll my eyes hard enough to strain something. “Fine.”

Setting Pikachu on the nearest seat, I stride toward the bathroom, muttering under my breath. The door opens wider as Elijah steps aside, looking up at me with wide-eyed expectation.

Inside, it’s exactly what I feared—water on the counter, soap smears everywhere. The stool is pushed to the side, useless.

Without a word, I grab him under the arms and hoist him up. “Hold still,” I grumble, angling him toward the faucet. He squirms just enough to make it difficult.

“You’re heavy,” I add, pressing the soap dispenser and lathering his hands for him.

“I’m not heavy,” he retorts indignantly, wriggling in my grip.

“Then stop moving,” I snap, rinsing his hands under the running water.

He falls still for a moment, long enough for me to finally focus. Through the mirror, his reflection catches mine. It’s just a glance, but it’s enough to make my chest tighten unexpectedly.

My heart stutters. His wide, brown eyes—curious, trusting, and far too familiar—meet mine. Something about the way they catch the light makes my grip falter slightly.

He looks way too…

I stop. A knot forms in my throat.

“There,” I say gruffly, setting him back down and handing him a towel. “Now you’re clean. Go.”

Elijah grins up at me, his damp hands wiping on the towel haphazardly. “Thanks, Big Boss Bad Guy.”

I stiffen. “I’m not—”

But he’s already opening the door, strutting out like he’s just brokered some major deal. I follow him, tossing the damp towel onto the counter as I step into the cabin.

Maksim looks up the second Elijah appears, and his grin widens like he’s been waiting for this moment.

“This kid,” he wheezes, wiping at his eyes. “He’s got you trained already, Pakhan. ”

I meet Maksim’s gaze, his laughter like a jab I refuse to dignify with a real response. My eyes narrow briefly, just enough to remind him of his place, and his smirk falters—slightly.

“Shut up,” I mutter, cutting him off before he can needle me further. My attention shifts down to Pikachu, abandoned on the seat. Its round, glassy eyes stare up at me like it’s mocking me, too.

Unbelievable.

“Now what?” Elijah’s voice comes from across the cabin. He’s perched on the edge of one of the leather seats, his stubby legs swinging as he looks between Maksim and me, his face full of expectation.

Before I can answer, the air hostess walks out, a tray in her hands that fills the cabin with the smell of eggs and something sweet. Elijah practically launches himself toward the scent.

“Now we eat!” he declares, tugging at the side of my pant leg, his little fingers curling into the fabric.

But I’m not looking at him anymore. My phone buzzes in my pocket—a single vibration, sharper than it should feel. I pull it out, tap the screen, and a message from Dmitry opens instantly.

It’s an image.

It doesn’t make sense. It shouldn’t exist.

My grip tightens on the phone, the edges digging into my palm as my thoughts spiral. This isn’t just unexpected—it’s impossible. And yet, it’s right in front of me.

I glance at Maksim. He’s still smirking, oblivious to what’s on my screen, like the world hasn’t just shifted. He doesn’t know yet.

But when he does, this flight will feel like the calm before the storm.