63. Chapter 63

63

Leonid

Two days later

P izda, she is so fucking beautiful.

The moment Clara steps into the room, she has the attention of every breathing person here—not that she notices, or maybe she does and just doesn’t care. She stands there with her arms crossed, back straight, chin tipped up just enough to challenge the entire damn world. And me.

Mostly me.

“This is ridiculous!” she snaps, yanking off the stupid flight attendant cap and tossing it onto my desk. The thing bounces once before sliding off onto the floor, and I catch Maksim biting his lip to keep from laughing.

I don’t answer right away. I’m too busy watching the way the navy-blue airline uniform hugs every inch of her, the skirt hitting just above her knees. It shouldn’t work. It’s borderline absurd. But Maksim, the prick, knew exactly what he was doing when he suggested it.

I lean back in my leather chair. My gaze catches the hem of her skirt, trails up to where her fingers grip the edge of my desk. When I reach her face, her eyes lock with mine. Her right eyebrow inches up. The corner of her mouth twitches.

Neither of us blinks.

The clock on my wall ticks. "You insisted on coming back with us," I remind her.

"And this—" she motions down at herself, the tight blue airline skirt clinging to her hips—"this is your idea of laying low? I look like a rejected extra from a B-rated spy movie."

Maksim snickers from his spot leaning against the wall, arms crossed casually over his chest. "You're welcome."

Her glare swings to me. Eyes blazing.

I can’t help but grin. Angry Clara looks damn fine.

“You said you wanted a disguise. The uniform does the job. Nobody suspected a thing." I answer.

“ Nobody suspected a thing because the fucking jet is yours, Leonid. So is the bloody private airport,” Clara fires back, glaring at me .

Maksim shrugs, all nonchalance. “You’ll never know—enemy eyes could be anywhere.” He gestures vaguely around the room, as if Aleksei himself might pop out from behind the vault door.

Clara narrows her eyes. “You’re impossible.”

“No,” Maksim says, his grin widening, “I’m thorough.”

“Enough,” I let out a heavy sigh, my breath exiting through pursed lips.

Mudak Maksim is enjoying this too much, and Clara’s pacing like a caged tiger isn’t helping my patience. “You made it back. That’s what matters.”

She stops mid-step, spinning to face me. “What’s the plan?” she demands, cocking her hip as she folds her arms across her chest.

I exhale slowly, leaning back “The plan is for you to stay out of it.”

She rolls my eyes, “Unless you plan to chain me up.”

Maksim coughs, covering his mouth with his hand. His shoulders shake with barely-contained laughter as he moves toward the chair in front of my desk and drops into it.

I don’t bother with a glare; he wouldn’t take it seriously anyway. Instead, I focus on Clara. “Think about Elijah ,” I tell her, “He needs at least one parent alive.”

She presses her lips into a hard line, her shoulders tensing. For a second, I think I’ve gotten through to her, but then she takes a step forward and waves me off like I’ve just suggested she sit down and knit. “Elijah’s fine,” she says, pacing now. “He’s got Pam, he’s practically a snow bunny already, and he made me promise to let him show me his ski tricks when we get back.”

“Relax. We’ll be fine. They’ll be too busy looking the other way to notice.”

Blyat. This woman could argue with a brick and still think she’s winning.

I exhale sharply, dragging a hand down my face before glancing over at Maksim. He’s leaning back in his chair, arms crossed, watching the exchange like it’s the best entertainment he’s had all week. His grin widens when our eyes meet, and he gives me a little shrug, like – Pretty sure she’s carrying your balls around like marbles.

If I didn’t need him alive, I’d shoot him.

My phone buzzes on the desk, breaking the tension. I glance at the screen—a message from Viktor. Another update about Elijah attempting the bunny slope. The boy’s determination mirrors his mother’s. Stubbornness must be genetic.

“Moya upryamaya devochka ,” I mutter, my stubborn girl.

Maksim snorts. “You’re getting soft, boss.”

“Shut up before I skin you alive you, mudak ,” I snap in Russian.

Maksim raises his hands in mock surrender, but the grin stays firmly in place. “Relax, boss. Just saying. She’s already proven herself.”

Maksim unfolds himself from his chair, stretching. "I think we could all use a drink after that flight." He doesn't wait for my response, just heads to the cabinet where I keep the good whiskey.

Clara pushes back from the desk. "Why don't you trust me, Leonid?"

"Because—"

"You've got that look," Maksim cuts me off, walking back from my cabinet and completely ignoring my death glare. He sets three crystal tumblers on my desk, followed by my private reserve—the one I specifically told him to leave alone. His eyes fix on Clara. "The one that says you're about to do something stupid."

"No one asked for your opinion." Clara doesn't move from her spot at my desk, but her fingers tighten on the wood edge.

The right corner of his mouth twitches up, just enough.

Something clicks. Twelve years of watching this bastard plan hits means I know exactly what that twitch means.

"You should drink," he says, pouring three fingers in each glass. He slides one toward Clara first. "Long flight, longer night ahead." He downs his own in one go, then refills it immediately.

Clara ignores her glass, laser-focused on me.

“Tell me the plan.”

Maksim sets the bottle directly in front of her. The crystal stopper catches the light, throwing fractals across my desk. His next words make my jaw clench. "Come on, boss. This isn't her first mission. She'll be fine."

“Shut the fuck, Maksim,” I bark.

Clara tilts her face toward Maksim, then back to me, her arms folded tight across her chest. She’s waiting, daring me to deny her.

Maksim tips his glass back, draining it in one go. He makes a show of savoring it, dragging his tongue across his teeth. "Stephan won't know what hit him. In, out, clean job." The glass hits my desk with a sharp click. " Bozhe moy, that's smooth. Almost worth getting shot for."

Clara finally reaches for the glass, her fingers wrapping around it. Her eyes stay on me as she brings it to her lips and takes a sip. Maksim’s grin widens slightly, but something about it sets my teeth on edge.

She puts the glass back on the desk and opens her mouth to speak, but her eyelids flutter once, then twice. Her hand drifts to the edge of the desk, gripping it tightly for balance as her legs start to give.

“Maksim,” I growl, standing so fast my chair scrapes against the floor.

Clara sways, her body going limp before I catch her. Her breathing is steady, her face soft, almost peaceful.

“She’ll thank me later,” Maksim says, pouring himself another drink, completely unbothered.

“ Blyat , Maksim,” I hiss, my voice low and dangerous. “If this backfires, you’re a dead man.”

He shrugs, lifting his glass in a mock toast. “You can’t kill me if it works.”