CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Maxsim
The silence in Alexy’s study lingers like smoke long after the fire’s been put out.
We’ve been picking apart every piece of the ambush, dissecting every clue like surgeons carving into a corpse.
“Someone on the inside made this possible,” Alexey says, his tone cold, his eyes drilling into me as if I should already have an answer. “And if you don’t root them out, Max, this won’t be the last time.”
He’s right. I know it. The ambush wasn’t random. It was planned down to the last detail. And whoever did it knew enough about my movements to predict when and where to strike. If the enemy is inside the walls, then Ari isn’t just in danger—she’s standing directly in the crosshairs.
The thought makes my chest tighten. “Let’s reconvene when Grigory’s intel is ready.” I shove the heavy door open and try to fill my lungs with air. My tie feels too tight, so I yank it loose, letting the fabric dangle around my neck.
My head is a storm of fury, suspicion, and something sharper—fear. I’ve lived my life surrounded by enemies, but this? This is worse. It’s betrayal.
Moments later, I step into the sitting room attached to our suite and stop short. Ari’s perched on the edge of a chair, her phone in one hand while the other idly brushes against her knee. The lamp beside her casts a soft light over her, highlighting the dark waves of her hair and the determined set of her jaw.
She doesn’t see me at first, her brow furrowed, lips pressed into a tight line. Whatever she’s reading has her full attention.
For a moment, I just watch her.
The Ari I married—headstrong, defiant, quick to anger—is still there, but I see more now. She’s sharper than I gave her credit for, more adaptable.
Her gaze lifts, catching me in the doorway, and her expression softens just enough to make my chest tighten. “Done playing chess with the brothers?”
Her tone is teasing, but I can hear the question behind the words. What’s wrong? What aren’t you telling me? I force a smirk, stepping into the room. “For now.”
She tilts her head, studying me. “You look… broody.”
I move closer, leaning on the back of the chair across from her. “And you look too calm.”
Her lips twitch. “I’m thinking. Strategizing.”
I arch a brow. “About what?”
She sets the phone down, meeting my gaze. “How I can help you.”
The answer throws me off. I blink, trying to gauge whether she’s serious. “You want to help me?”
Her green eyes narrow, flashing with defiance. “You think I can’t?”
“No.” I shake my head, pushing off the chair to cross the space between us. “I think you can. That’s what worries me.”
She stands slowly, closing the distance until we’re eye to eye. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means you’re too smart for your own good,” I say, keeping my voice low. “And too brave.”
The tension between us shifts but doesn’t disappear. She’s waiting for something—for me to explain what’s wrong.
“You’re concerned,” she says finally, her voice cutting through the quiet like a blade.
I laugh softly, bitterly. “Not for myself.”
Her expression flickers, surprise mingling with something softer. “Max—”
I reach out, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “You’re my wife,” I say, my voice rough. “And that makes you a target.”
Her lips part, but she doesn’t speak. We’re locked in this unspoken tension for a second, the air between us charged.
She breaks the silence with a shaky laugh. “I’ve been a target since the day I was born.” Her fingers rub at a spot of blood on my shirt. “I’m ready to change the narrative and do something about it.”
I grab her hands. My wife is both brave and determined. Two things that could quickly get her killed. “Ari—”
“Please don’t give me some speech about staying out of the way.” Her eyes search mine, and whatever she finds there seems to steady her. “Because we both know it won’t work.”
“You’re going to make my life very difficult, aren’t you?” I say, my tone dry but laced with something warmer.
She smirks. “That’s the plan.”
I shake my head, gesturing toward the door. “Come on. Let’s go see if Grigory has anything useful yet.” The next meeting’s about to start.”
She moves to follow, but I catch her hand, stopping her mid-step.
“Ari,” I say quietly, my thumb brushing against her knuckles. “You’re more than I expected. You know that, right?”
Her smirk falters, replaced by something softer, more uncertain. “Good,” she says after a moment. “Because you’re exactly what I expected.”
Her words are light, and I notice that my wife is transforming herself from pawn to queen.
***
The weight of responsibility presses down on the room as we enter. The study, usually a place of quiet strategy and reflection, now feels like a war room. The long mahogany table is strewn with Grigory’s reports, photographs, and maps, each one another piece of a puzzle no one wants to complete.
Alexey sits at the head of the table, the weight of his position as Pakhan resting visibly on his broad shoulders. His sharp gaze scans the room, and the air feels charged, like a storm waiting to break.
To his left sits Yuri, his posture stiff, his fingers tapping a restless rhythm against the table. On Alexey’s right is Grigory, who leans back in his chair with an air of calculated nonchalance.
Ari takes a seat near the bookcase and crosses her legs. Alexey says nothing, and I give his wife full credit.
I pick up a bullet that we recovered and trace the jagged edge as I take a seat. The sharp edge catches the light, and I accept that there is a traitor in our ranks.
I clench the bullet in my palm until it bites into my skin, a small, sharp pain that grounds me. Family is supposed to be untouchable. Loyalty is what we live by what we die for. And yet, the cracks are there. I’ve seen them, felt them, ever since this cursed alliance was formed.
“Let’s begin,” Alexey says, his voice a quiet command that cuts through the room like a blade. He gestures to Grigory, who straightens in his seat, the faint glow of his tablet casting shadows across his face.
Grigory clears his throat. “The leaks aren’t random.”
“Go on.” My voice is sharper than intended, but I don’t bother softening it.
Grigory meets my eyes, his expression grim. “Whoever’s disloyal is close. They are not feeding our enemies scraps—it’s logistics, timings, the kind of intel only someone in the inner circle would know. It’s why the docks are a mess and shipments are being intercepted.”
For a moment, I don’t breathe. The bullet digs deeper into my palm, but I don’t release it. “You’re sure?” I ask, though I already know the answer.
Grigory tilts the tablet toward me, showing a series of encrypted messages he managed to trace. “It’s not direct—I can’t pin it to one person—but the access points narrow it down. Whoever it is, they’re good. Careful.”
Alexey leans back. “It has to be Anton. He’s the one handling logistics—routes, schedules, all of it. Who else would have this level of access?”
Yuri, seated in the armchair near the fireplace, growls low in his throat. “That’s bullshit. Anton’s been with the Volkovs since the beginning. Maybe we’re being hacked. Phones cloned, firewalls decimated.”
Grigory sits up. “My firewalls are impenetrable.” He squares his shoulders. “If they weren’t, the Feds would be outside our gates.”
Alexey and Grigory go back and forth, but I barely hear them. My thoughts are locked on the last few weeks—the ambush and strange tension among my men. Nothing has felt right, but I’ve been too preoccupied to connect the dots. Now the picture is forming, and I hate what I see.
Grigory mutters, half to himself, “It wouldn’t hurt to keep an eye on Anton.”
“We don’t point fingers without proof,” I say, my voice controlled. “If Anton’s the mole, we’ll find out. But until then, we stick to the facts.”
From the corner of my eye, I glance at Ari. Her arms are crossed tightly over her chest, her gaze fixed on some invisible point. She hasn’t said a word since the meeting started, but her presence is palpable.
Before I can dwell on it, Yuri speaks again, his frustration spilling over.
“You’re wasting time,” he says, leaning forward, his hands gripping the armrests of his chair. “The Cartel’s been making moves against us for months. Why are we looking inward when it’s obvious who the enemy is?”
“Because this isn’t the Cartel,” I snap, my patience fraying. “The Cartel is sloppy. Impulsive. This”—I gesture to the reports on the desk— “is precise. This is someone who knows where to hurt us.”
Yuri glares at me, but he doesn’t argue further. Alexey says something sharp about the Cartel waiting for us to implode.
The silence stretches until Ari’s voice cuts through it like a blade.
“What about Nikolai?”
The room goes still.
I turn to her, my eyes narrowing. “What about Nikolai?”
She meets my gaze head-on, her expression calm but her words sharp. “He’s close enough to know your plans. He’s smart enough to cover his tracks. And…” She hesitates, just for a moment, before adding, “He’s been… off, lately.”
“What have you noticed?” I ask, my voice low.
Ari keeps her tone measured. “Little things. Questions he’s asked. Things he shouldn’t care about. And … he hesitated during the ambush. Just for a second. But it was there.”
The room is silent again, everyone watching me.
I’ve been suspicious of his change of attitude for months but haven’t done anything about digging up proof.
Alexey leans back in his chair, his expression unreadable. “Noted,” he says finally. “But we need proof.”
“And if we find it?” Yuri asks, his voice low and dangerous.
“Then we do what we do best.” Alexey rises from his seat, signaling the end of the meeting. “We’ll reconvene when we have more to work with.”
Yuri stands first, his chair scraping against the floor. His scowl is as deep as the shadows pooling in the corners of the room. Alexey follows, slower, dragging his hand across the back of his neck. He doesn’t look at me as he leaves, but his frustration is evident in the set of his shoulders.
Grigory lingers, standing next to the armrest of his chair, his tablet now dark in his hand. He tilts his head, studying me with that sharp, unblinking look he’s always had—the one that makes me want to remind him I’m the older brother.
“You’re not going to let this rest,” he says, more observation than question.
“No,” I reply evenly. “And neither will you.”
His lips twitch into the faintest smirk. “Good.” With that, he steps toward the door, his movements loose and unhurried. Just before he leaves, he turns back, his eyes glinting with something unreadable. “Watch your blind spots, Max. They’ll kill you faster than a bullet.”
Then he’s gone.
The door clicks shut, leaving only me and Ari in the room. She hasn’t moved from her seat.
She’s still, but her posture isn’t relaxed. Her arms are crossed tightly over her chest, her legs crossed at the knee, her body angled slightly away from me.
I narrow my eyes. “You’re awfully quiet for someone who just accused Nikolai of being a traitor.”
Ari’s head snaps up, her green eyes flashing. “I didn’t accuse him. I pointed out inconsistencies.”
I move closer. “And you think those ‘inconsistencies’ are enough to plant a target on his back? Do you know what happens if you’re wrong?”
She doesn’t flinch. “What happens if I’m right?”
I stop in front of her, towering over her seated figure. “I don’t make decisions based on feelings,” I say, my voice low. “You think Nikolai’s off? Fine. But if you’re wrong, Ari—” My voice sharpens. “If you’re wrong, you’ll have blood on your hands. His blood.”
“Do you think I don’t know that?” she says, her voice softer now but no less steady. “Do you think I enjoy betraying someone you trust?” She shakes her head, her gaze cutting into mine. “I don’t want to be right, Maxsim. But if I am… if Nikolai is the mole, then this is bigger than you or me or loyalty. It’s survival.”
I hold her gaze for a long moment, searching her face for something I can’t name.
“If I’m wrong, I’ll live with it,” she says quietly. “But if I’m right, Maxsim…I won’t lose you.” She stands and strides out the door before I can reply.
I pull out my phone, my fingers hovering over the screen for just a second before I dial.
Anton answers on the second ring.
“Boss?”
“Eyes on Nikolai,” I say, my voice colder than I intend. “I don’t care how you do it, but if he so much as breathes wrong, I want to know.”
There’s a pause, just long enough to grate on my nerves.
“Understood,” Anton says finally. “Do you think—?”
“Just do as I ask,” I snap, harsher than necessary. I end the call and glance at the bullet on the table. The sharp edge gleams in the lamplight, mocking me.
Everyone has a price.
Everyone can be turned.
I pick up the bullet, turning it over in my fingers.
Someone betrayed me.
Someone close.
And if I don’t find them soon, this house of cards will collapse—and take everything I’ve built with it.