49. Chapter 49

49

Leonid

“ D o you spend your life in the gym?” Vic asks, his blue-gray eyes flicking over me as I pour vodka into a crystal glass. He leans back in the leather chair across my desk, straightening the cuff of his perfectly tailored jacket.

“Or is this what happens when you avoid Swiss chocolate?”

I glance at him but don’t take the bait. “Someone has to stay sharp.”

Vic smirks, running a hand through his silver-streaked hair.

“Sharp, yes. But I’ve known you a long time, my friend. And this?” He gestures broadly around the room, the office bathed in golden light spilling through tall windows, clouds stretching out like an ocean below us. “This isn’t like you. You don’t just… appear. Not without a plan.”

“That’s because I have one.” I take a sip, savoring the burn, and lean against the edge of my desk. The glass feels cool in my hand, grounding me. “You didn’t think I’d let Fiona continue unchecked, did you?”

Vic’s eyebrows lift, and he tilts his head, his expression somewhere between curiosity and approval.

“Fiona. Of course. The woman who thinks she can run both sides of the board without tipping it over.” He taps a finger against the side of his chair. “She’s getting greedy.”

“Greedy doesn’t even cover it,” I say, setting my glass down with a deliberate clink. “She’s using my gold to buy Ludis’s connections. She wants expansion. Everywhere. But she doesn’t realize she’s playing with fire.”

Vic leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his sharp features shadowed in the low light. “And you’re here to remind her what happens when someone burns you. Yes?”

I don’t answer immediately, but Vic knows. He always does. He adjusts the vintage Patek Philippe on his wrist, a subtle pause before he speaks, like he’s calibrating his next move.

“You could freeze her out,” he says casually, “Cut her routes. Make her deals dry up. But that’s a slow burn. Effective, but slow.”

“And your way?” I ask, meeting his calculating gaze.

He smiles faintly, a predator’s smile. “Squeeze her. Use her greed against her. Offer her something she can’t resist—more than she’s already taken. But build in a choke point. A place where you can cut her off and make sure she knows it. If you do it right, you won’t have to lift a finger. She’ll destroy herself trying to grab it all.”

I lean back, considering his words. It’s a clean strategy and one that avoids a messy confrontation. But there’s something about the way Vic shifts in his seat, his eyes glinting with subtle amusement, that makes me pause.

“You’ve used this before,” I say.

Vic nods, adjusting his cufflinks. “With someone who thought they were untouchable. They weren’t.”

“Fiona’s not as smart as she thinks,” I say, a dark edge creeping into my voice. “But she’s bold. Too bold.”

“And boldness, my friend,” Vic says, raising his glass, “is often the quickest path to ruin.”

I watch him for a moment, the way he sits so damn calmly, like he’s got the whole world already figured out. Suka, I think, the edge of a grin tugging at my mouth.

They don’t know it yet but Vic’s plan will bury them, and I’ll gladly drive the shovel.

“How’s the family?” I ask, pouring myself another drink. “Juliette still keeping busy with the foundation?”

Vic’s smile softens. “She is. Keeps her busy, but you know Juliette—she wouldn’t have it any other way.” He pauses, swirling the vodka in his glass like he’s contemplating the secrets of the universe in there.

I watch the liquid catch the light.

A family man. Who’d have thought? Twenty years in this business and he still manages to keep that wholesome Father-of-the-Year facade. The really annoying part is that it’s not even a facade.

“Alix is getting too smart for her own good. Always asking questions about the business. I’m trying to keep her focused on school, but you know how daughters are.”

“She’s what, 16 now?”

Christ, when did I start caring about his kids’ ages?

“Yes, 16 going on 30.” Vic rubs his temple. “Mathis is the quieter one, more into his piano and chess than anything else. They balance each other out.” His eyes lock onto mine. “You should meet them sometime. They’d surprise you.”

“Maybe,” I grunt and lean back, the leather chair creaking under my weight. The images bubble up anyway: morning kisses, school runs, bedtime stories—all while running an empire built on blood money.

“Family man Vic.” The words taste bitter. “You built yourself a beautiful house of cards. One wrong move and—” I flick my fingers open, miming an explosion. “Everything burns. That’s the risk I won’t take.”

Vic’s eyebrow twitches. Great. He caught that. His glass stops halfway to his mouth before he sets it down, deliberate and slow.

“Risk?” He laughs. “My wife, my kids—they’re not a weakness, Leonid. They’re why I own this city.”

I drain my glass. Worth the risk? Tell that to the three bullet holes in my jacket. Vic walks this tightrope like it’s solid ground—devoted father, loving husband, ruthless leader.

Kakogo cherta .

Clara and Elijah’s faces flash through my mind. I grip the glass harder. Blyat . Where did that come from?

“You make it sound easy.” I lean back, studying him. “How do you keep it alive? You and Juliette.”

Vic considers me silently for a moment. This isn’t my kind of question—feelings, family. I wait for him to deflect, but his lips curve into that knowing smile I hate.

“Communication,” he taps his glass, “and effort. You can’t half-ass it, not with someone you want to keep.”

I snort. “Communication? That’s your secret?”

“It’s not a secret, Leonid. It’s work.” He shrugs, the gesture almost insulting in its simplicity. “And you need to want it to work. Without that, the rest doesn’t matter.” Vic studies me for a beat longer than I’m comfortable with, his expression unreadable. “You’re asking a lot of questions today, my friend. Makes me wonder.”

“Don’t wonder,” I say flatly, setting my glass down with a firm thud. “I’m just curious.”

A sharp knock cuts through the moment, and I glance at the door.

Maksim? Blyat, that mudak’s an hour late.

My irritation flares as I stand, rolling my shoulders before stalking toward the door. But then it hits me—Maksim never knocks.

I grip the handle and yank it open, my annoyance already climbing. Anya stands there, looking far less polished than usual. Her face is pale, and her lips press into a tight line, as if she’s holding something back. Her hand twitches, squeezing the edge of her uniform before smoothing it out again, a nervous tell I don’t miss.

“What is it?” My tone is clipped, and her gaze flicks up to mine like she’s bracing for impact.

“Ms. Caldwell…” She hesitates, and for a second, I think she might bolt. Then she clears her throat, her voice quieter than usual. “She wants to see you. Right now.”

I arc an eyebrow. “And?”

She looks guilty, like she’s the one who interrupted the meeting. Her lips part, but no words come out. Just silence.

From behind me, Vic’s voice cuts in, smooth as ever. “I’d say this sounds urgent, my friend. Romantic entanglements often are.”

“It’s not romantic,” I snap, turning just enough to glare at him. “It’s… business.” The words feel forced, even to me, but I keep my tone firm.

Vic’s smirk deepens, his blue-gray eyes gleaming with amusement. “If you say so, Leonid.”

My jaw tightens as I turn back to Anya. Her expression hasn’t changed—still pale, still nervous—but I catch the faintest twitch at the corner of her mouth, as if she’s trying to keep herself invisible.

I inhale slowly through my nose, forcing the anger to settle, even though it’s crawling under my skin.

That woman.

“Fine,” I say, the word sharp but contained. My gaze stays locked on Anya. “Take me to her.”

Blyat. Whatever this is, I already hate it.