Chapter Thirty
Maksim
The intelligence gathering takes three days.
But by the end of it, I have a picture of what we're facing.
And it's worse than I thought.
I hate having to trust others. The men are all strangers to me, but Semyon has vouched for them.
I considered brining in some of Kira’s people, but I couldn’t be sure they would be loyal to her or me.
If I was able to pull them from her as easily as I did, I didn’t like the odds they wouldn’t move to Roman’s side.
That meant we were working with a very small crew. I knew the odds weren’t in our favor. But we were fighting for survival. That gave us a little more motivation.
"He's consolidating power," Semyon explains as we sit in a parked car overlooking one of Roman's warehouses. "Using our escape as an excuse to crack down on anyone who might have helped us. Three families have been hit already."
I watch through binoculars as Roman's men load trucks. Heavy crates. Weapons, probably. Preparing for something big.
"He's planning a sweep," I realize. "Going to flush us out by hitting everyone who might be harboring us."
"That's my assessment too." Semyon checks his phone—another update from his network. "We've got maybe a week before he's organized enough to execute. After that, every safe house in Moscow becomes a target."
"Then we can't keep hiding." The conclusion is obvious. "We have to go on offense. Hit him before he hits us."
"With what army?" Semyon's voice is practical. "We've got maybe thirty people willing to move against him. He's got three hundred. Better weapons. Better positions."
"But we've got something he doesn't." I lower the binoculars. "Legitimacy. Evidence of his crimes. And desperation."
"Desperation isn't an advantage."
"It is when the alternative is death." I meet his eyes. "We can't win a conventional war. So, we don't fight one. We do what he did to me—we play dirty. We expose him to the families. Turn his allies against him. Make him the target instead of us."
"That's a long shot."
"Got a better idea?"
Semyon doesn't. Because there isn't one. We're outgunned, outmanned, and running out of time.
Which means our only option is to be smarter. Faster. More ruthless than Roman expects.
"The heads of the families meet in five days," Semyon says after a moment. "Annual gathering. All the major families will be there."
"Perfect." The pieces start clicking together in my mind. "We crash the meeting. Present the evidence publicly. Force them to choose sides."
"That's insane. The security will be—"
"Tight. I know." I start the car. "Which is why we need the next few days to plan this perfectly. One shot. We either expose Roman and turn the families against him, or we die trying."
"Those are terrible odds."
"Better than hiding until he finds us." I pull out onto the street. "And better than spending the rest of our lives running.”
“We could still try and get out of the country,” he offers. “I’ve got a guy.”
“You and I both know that even if we manage to cross the border, we won’t survive long. I’m not thinking about us.”
“The girls,” he murmurs.
“Sorry, you’re my friend, but if it comes between you and Kira, I’m going to save her.”
He smirks. “Asshole.”
“Just being honest.”
I'm three blocks from the safe house when I notice the car.
Black sedan. Tinted windows. Two cars back, matching my speed perfectly. When I slow, it slows. When I turn, it turns.
"We've got company," I say quietly.
Semyon's hand moves to his weapon. "How many?"
"One car that I can see. Could be more." I take another turn, watching the mirror. The sedan follows. "They're not being subtle about it."
"Roman's men?"
"Who else?" I scan the street ahead, looking for options. "They're herding us. Away from the safe house."
Semyon pulls out his phone. "I'm calling the girls. Warning them."
"No." I grab his wrist. "If they've tapped our phones, that tells them exactly where to find Kira and Anya. Radio silence until we lose these bastards."
He curses but puts the phone away.
The sedan accelerates suddenly, pulling up alongside us. The rear window rolls down, and I see the gun barrel before I see the man holding it.
"Down!" I shout, jerking the wheel hard right.
Gunfire erupts. The rear window explodes inward, safety glass raining down on us. I floor the accelerator, the car lurching forward as bullets punch through the trunk.
"Return fire!" I'm weaving through traffic now, one hand on the wheel, the other reaching for my weapon.
Semyon leans out his window, firing at the pursuing sedan. His shots hit the windshield, spider-webbing the glass, but the car doesn't slow.
More gunfire. This time from ahead of us.
A second car pulls out of an alley, blocking the street. Two men lean out the windows, assault rifles raised.
"Hold on!" I crank the wheel left, jumping the curb. Someone screams. The car bounces violently, my wounded shoulder screaming in protest.
We're back on the street, but now both sedans are pursuing. And I hear sirens in the distance—Moscow police responding to the gunfire.
"This is bad," Semyon says unnecessarily, reloading.
"I'm aware." I take another sharp turn, tires squealing. "We need to lose them before they force us into a kill box."
"Any brilliant ideas?"
"Working on it." I'm scanning the area. We're in the industrial district—warehouses, factories, narrow streets. Plenty of places to lose pursuers.
There’s an alley between two warehouses. Barely wide enough for a car.
I don't hesitate. I jerk the wheel hard, aiming for the gap.
"Are you insane?" Semyon braces himself against the dashboard.
"Probably."
We shoot into the alley. The side mirrors scrape against brick walls on both sides. Sparks fly. Metal screams. But we fit—barely.
Behind us, the first sedan tries to follow. I hear the crunch of metal as it wedges itself between the walls, stuck.
"One down," I mutter, accelerating through the narrow passage.
We burst out the other side into a loading area. I take a hard right, then left, weaving through the maze of industrial buildings.
"Did we lose them?" Semyon twists in his seat, checking behind us.
"Maybe. But they know this area as well as we do." I'm already planning three moves ahead.
"So what's the play?"
"We ditch the car. Go on foot. Circle back to the safe house a different way."
I pull into an underground parking garage. I park between two delivery vans and shut off the engine.
Silence. Just our breathing and the tick of cooling metal.
"Give it two minutes," I whisper. "Make sure they didn't follow us in."
We sit in the dark, weapons ready. My heart pounds against my ribs. My shoulder throbs where the stitches pulled during the chase.
Footsteps echo from somewhere above us. Multiple sets. Searching.
Semyon and I lock eyes. He nods. We ease the doors open as quietly as possible and slip out.
The parking garage is a concrete maze. We move through shadows, weapons up, checking corners. The footsteps are getting closer.
I spot an exit sign—stairs leading to street level. We move toward it.
"There!" A shout from behind us.
Gunfire erupts. Bullets spark off concrete pillars. Semyon and I return fire as we run for the stairs.
We hit the stairwell at full speed, taking steps three at a time despite my injuries screaming in protest. Behind us, our pursuers crash through the door.
Up. We need to go up, not down. Get to street level where there are witnesses, cameras, reasons for them not to shoot openly.
We burst through the door onto the street. Afternoon crowds. People shopping. Normal life.
Our pursuers can't risk a public shootout. Not with this many witnesses. The bratva doesn’t have that much power. The police would love a reason to take us all in.
"Walk," I tell Semyon quietly. "Don't run. Blend in."
We merge into foot traffic, moving at a normal pace despite every instinct screaming to sprint. I glance back once and see three of Roman's men at the garage entrance, scanning the crowd.
"This way." Semyon leads us through a maze of back streets he apparently knows better than I do.
I hate being on foot. I feel exposed.
We walk for an hour with no one trying to kill us. Along our walk, we’ve pulled on different coats, added sunglasses and hats.
“We need to get back,” I say.
We cut through another alley and make our way back to the building. A few of the men Semyon trusts are standing outside.
“Good?” Semyon asks.
“Where’s the car?” One asks as he looks around.
Idiot. It’s not like it’s hiding in my back pocket.
“Had some trouble,” Semyon replies. “How are things here?”
“Quiet.”
We head inside and up to the apartment.
Kira is waiting when we return. She's been pacing. Today was our first real venture out and she was not happy about it.
"Well?" she asks immediately. "What did you find?"
"Roman's planning a sweep. We've got maybe a week before he starts hitting every possible hiding place." I shrug off my jacket. "Which means we need to move first."
"Move how?"
"The meeting. Five days. We present the evidence, force them to choose." I meet her eyes. "It's risky. Probably stupid. But it's the only play we have."
She processes this, and I can see her mind working. The Ice Queen evaluating strategy, calculating odds.
"What do you need from me?" she asks finally.
"Your testimony. About what Roman did. What he planned for you and Anya." I move closer. "Your voice carries weight. You're not just the woman he tried to force into marriage—you're a leader in your own right. People will listen."
"Will they?" Her smile is bitter. "Maksim, my organization is gone. My reputation is—"
"Still intact." I cut her off. "You're not weak. And the families know it."
She studies my face, looking for lies. Finding only truth.
"Okay," she says quietly. "I'll testify. Tell them everything."
"Thank you." I reach for her hand. "This is going to work. It has to work."
"And if it doesn't?"
“It will. It has to.”
Semyon clears his throat. "I'm going to make some calls. Start coordinating for the meeting."
Anya is as the table painting as usual.
"There's something I need to tell you," Kira says. “Come with me.”
She leads me down the hall to the small bedroom we’ve been sharing. She closes the door and gestures for me to sit down.
I can see by the look on her face something is wrong. I don’t want to sit.
Her tone makes my stomach drop. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong. Exactly." She takes a breath. "Maksim, I'm pregnant."
The words don't register at first. I hear them, but they don't make sense.
"You're... what?"
"Pregnant." She's watching me carefully. "About six weeks, based on timing. From that first night at the engagement party I assume. I'm pregnant. With your child."
I stare at her and realize I’m trying to do the math but I don’t need to. I was there. We had sex. No condom. I just assumed she would be on birth control.
Pregnant. She's pregnant. With my baby.
Joy hits first—pure, unexpected joy. A child. Our child. The family we were supposed to have six years ago, finally possible.
Then terror crashes over it. A child. In the middle of this nightmare.
"Maksim?" Her voice is uncertain. "Say something."
"I'm going to be a father." The words feel surreal. "We're having a baby."
"Yes." She touches her stomach. "I know the timing is terrible. That this complicates everything. But I—"
I kiss her. Cut off whatever she was about to say with my mouth on hers. I’m terrified and joyful and overwhelmed all at once.
"This is—" I pull back, my hands framing her face. "This changes everything."
"I know." Her eyes search mine. "Is that good or bad?"
"It's—" I struggle for words. "It's terrifying. Bringing a child into this world, this danger. But it's also—God, Kira. A baby. Our baby."
"You're happy?" She sounds surprised.
"I'm terrified," I correct. "But yes. Happy." My hand moves to her stomach. "How are you feeling? Are you okay? Do you need—"
"I'm fine." She covers my hand with hers. "Morning sickness. Exhaustion. But fine. The baby is fine."
"The baby." I say it out loud, testing how it feels.
I sink onto the bed, pulling her down beside me. My hand stays on her stomach, like I can feel the life growing there even though I know it's too small yet. I want to protect that child. My hand over her stomach isn’t enough.
“If Roman finds out you're pregnant—"
“I know,” she whispers. “I was thinking we should run. We take Anya and we disappear. Leave Russia entirely.”
I understand her desire to get away. It’s crossed my mind, but I know it will never be over until Roman is dead and his network is crushed.
"I need to end this," I say. "Not just for us anymore. For our child. They can't grow up in this world. Can't be born into this danger."
"I know." She leans against me.
"It will work." I make it a promise. "Because the alternative is unacceptable. I won't let our child grow up without a father. Won't let Roman destroy another generation."
"We," she corrects softly. "We won't let that happen. We're in this together now."
"Have you told Anya?"
"She was there when I found out. But no one else knows." She looks up at me. "Maksim, we need to keep this quiet. If Roman learns I'm pregnant—"
"He'll use it against us." I understand immediately. "Another piece of leverage. Another way to hurt you."
We should be celebrating. Telling everyone. Planning a nursery and picking names and doing all the normal things expectant parents do.
Instead, we're hiding it like it's shameful instead of miraculous.
"I mean it, Kira. Whatever it takes. However ruthless I need to be. I'm ending this.”
"Don't get yourself killed trying to protect us," she says.
"I won't." I kiss her forehead. "I've survived six years in hell. I'm not dying now when I finally have something to live for."
"I love you," I say quietly. "I should have said it sooner. But I'm saying it now. I love you, Kira Markov.”
"I love you too." She tilts her face up to kiss me. "Always have. I will never not love you.”
I decide not to tell her about the incident in the street. She doesn’t need the stress.
I will protect this woman and our child.