50. Chapter 50

50

Maksim

" Y ob tvoyu mat’, suka blyat’. ” The string of curses slips out like a reflex. “I fucking knew it!” I laugh under my breath, shaking my head as I look at the paper in my hand. Of course, I was right. It’s always funnier when you’re right and no one else sees it coming.

The report feels heavier than it should, the words staring back at me with a kind of smugness that matches my mood.

DNA TEST RESULTS: 99.99% POSITIVE. The kid is Leonid’s. No room for doubt. No room for error.

I let out a low whistle, shaking my head as a grin tugs at the corner of my mouth. It’s not often you get to be right in a way that’s this satisfying.

Yob tvoyu mat’, Leonid. You’ve really outdone yourself this time.

I lean back against the cold steel counter, the sterile smell of the lab almost overpowering. The place isn’t much to look at —white walls, gleaming equipment, and screens flashing more numbers and graphs than I care to decipher. But it’s fast. Swiss efficiency at its peak. Anything you need tested—blood, hair, the mystery meat from a bad dinner—three hours, tops. It’s like a crime syndicate’s version of Amazon Prime.

“Fast, huh?” I say aloud, mostly to myself but loud enough for the doctor to hear. “You people test everything this quick? Or do I get the VIP package because I’m so charming?”

The lab doctor—no, lab technician? No, geneticist, that’s the word—doesn’t even look up. A wiry man with glasses that slip halfway down his nose and a face carved from stone. His lab coat is pristine, not a wrinkle or stain, like he’s afraid chaos might kill him.

“You paid for speed,” he says flatly, tapping away at a keyboard. “And crypto transferred instantly. That’s all I care about.” His voice could put caffeine to sleep. Eyes glued to the screen. “VIP package,” he mutters under his breath, almost like he’s amused. But I’m not sure.

I snort, folding the paper and slipping it into my jacket pocket. This guy wouldn’t be curious if I rolled a severed head in here.

“You ever wonder about the people behind these tests? Who they’re for?”

“Not once,” he says, deadpan, not missing a beat. “You want wonder, try art school.”

Smartass. I like him.

I push off the counter, glancing around one last time. The place hums with quiet efficiency, a world of microscopes, centrifuges, and machines I can’t name. It’s the kind of place where you could drop a bombshell, and no one would flinch—as long as the crypto keeps coming.

Just as I’m about to leave, my phone buzzes in my pocket. I fish it out, Leonid’s name flashing across the screen. I already know it’s not a friendly check-in.

The message pops up before I can answer.

Get back before I slide you and feed you to the dogs.

I bark out a laugh, tucking the phone back in my pocket. He’d do it, too, but not before I drop this little bombshell in his lap. The smirk spreads before I can stop it.

Speak of the devil.

As I walk out, my hand presses against the folded report like it’s a secret only I know. Leonid’s world is about to tilt on its axis, and I’ll be there to see the exact second it happens.

Chyert, I might even savor it.