Maksim #2
“Do it,” I say, looking at Dima.
Dima nods once. Then his phone lights in his hand. He reads the message, and his face changes.
“One of my guards caught the driver tied to Karpov’s chain,” he says. “West service room. He was trying to leave.”
Elena’s hand flattens on the table.
I stand. “I’ll meet him there.”
She rises too.
“No,” I say.
“Yes,” she says. “If he watched me, he can look at me while he explains who paid him.”
Dima goes very still.
I hold her stare. There’s no keeping this from her now. Karpov already put her body into circulation.
“Bring him here,” I say.
The driver comes in with a bruised eye, a split lip, and his hands bound. He sees me first, then Elena, and his face shifts before he can hide it.
I step in and hit him. He drops to one knee, and Dima drags him back up by his bound arms.
“Look at her again like that,” I say, “and I’ll take your eyes out.”
His breathing turns ragged. “Pakhan, I only saw the doctor.”
The room goes still.
“Which doctor?” I ask.
His eyes flick toward Elena.
Dima wrenches his arms back, and the driver’s answer breaks out of him.
“Markova. East entrance.”
Abramov’s face changes.
“Who did you tell?” I ask.
“No one yet.”
I hit him again, and his head snaps sideways.
“Try again.”
His knees bend under him. “A runner at the west gate. Karpov’s chain. I was told to confirm the doctor, the time, and whether the woman looked sick.”
Elena’s hand stays flat on the table, but her fingers spread wider.
“And the pregnancy?” I ask.
His throat works. “They already suspected. The doctor made it useful.”
“Useful,” I say.
“They said it makes her status a practical problem now. If she’s carrying your child, they’ll push settlement before Moretti moves again.”
I grab him by the throat and drive him back against the wall hard enough to rattle the lamp.
“Karpov is going to learn what practical costs.”
Elena’s voice cuts in.
“Maksim.”
I stop because her voice shakes.
I let him go. “Take him downstairs. No doctor.”
Dima drags the man out by the arm, and the door shuts behind them.
Elena sits back down with care, like she has to tell her knees what to do. Mrs. Wentworth pours tea without asking and sets it beside her. She takes the cup, and her fingers hold it steady.
I look at Leonid. “Permanent answer.”
Elena sets the cup down. “I’ll build it.”
Leonid pauses.
She looks at him. “You’ll help.”
He nods. “Of course.”
She turns to me. “Legal authority stays with me until we map every trigger. You get operational control drafted, but nothing is signed until I read each clause. Succession language protects the child from Sergei, Moretti, and Karpov, and no transfer activates without both lines intact.”
“Both lines,” I say.
“Mine and yours.”
Leonid shifts in his chair. “That slows execution if we need to move fast.”
Elena looks at him. “It stops Sergei from pulling anything through one side.”
“He could still force a filing,” Leonid says.
“Not if both signatures are required at the same stage,” she answers, her hand resting flat on the table. “You write it so nothing moves unless we both move.”
Leonid studies her for a second, then nods once. “Then we draft it that way.”
Petrov, who has said nothing so far, leans forward, his hands flat on the table. “That structure will freeze capital if word spreads. Shells will stall, partners will pull back, and Moretti will read that as weakness.”
I adjust the sleeve of my coat around my wrist, then lift my eyes. “Then we don’t let word spread.” I pause there, letting the meaning sink in. Then I say, “You keep the shells moving as they are, and you route anything new through clean channels until I clear it.”
Petrov holds my gaze for half a second before he drops his eyes on the table. “And if he forces exposure?”
“Then we expose on our terms,” Elena says.
Silence holds for a beat.
Abramov looks between us and says nothing.
I put both hands on the table. “Then we do that.”
Elena looks tired now, but she doesn’t fold, and Petrov leans back without pushing again, which tells me he’s on board.
Abramov shifts his tablet toward me. “Security changes are underway. Four-driver pool, two guard rings, outer gates doubled, laundry searched before leaving, kitchen runners replaced, and east stair locked after dusk.”
Mrs. Wentworth cuts in at once. “Don’t lock the east stair.”
Abramov looks at her. “Why?”
“Because staff will use the west stair, and you will mix service movement with guard movement.” Her glasses sit near the end of her nose, and her tone says she has already won. “Leave the east stair open with a post at the second landing.”
I look from her to Abramov. “Fewer outings.”
Elena’s mouth tightens, but Mrs. Wentworth speaks before she can. “Regulated meals too. I’ll handle the kitchen, and Lidiya can stay close to Miss Sokolov’s rooms.”
The meeting breaks with orders. Mrs. Wentworth takes the staff schedules. Abramov moves on the leak. Petrov heads out to keep the shells moving and hold outside signals steady. Leonid gathers his papers. “I’ll get the originals,” he says.
When we’re alone, she stays seated with Sergei’s letter under her hand.
“You nearly killed him,” she says.
“No. I nearly started.”
Her eyes lift.
“I stopped because you said my name.”
She swallows, and her hand moves to her stomach again.
I step closer. “Whether you like it or not, no one will ever move you again without going through me first.”