Chapter 32 #2
"That's what friends are for." He heads for the door, then pauses. "For what it's worth? I think you'd be a good pakhan. Better than your father. Better than anyone."
He leaves before I can respond.
Kira shifts, settling more comfortably against my side. "How are you feeling? Really?"
"Like I got shot, fell from a building, and got my ass kicked."
"So, accurate."
I hold her, relishing the fact we’re alive and that fucker is dead.
“How is Anya?” I ask quietly.
“She's not ready to let go yet."
"Are you?"
She's quiet for a long moment. "I don't know. Part of me hates him for what he did. He started this whole nightmare. He’s been a horrible father to me. I don’t know if I can say I love him, but I believe Anya does.”
“You love her more than you hate him.”
“Yes. He's still my father. He wasn't always this person. That once, a long time ago, he was a good man." She sighs. "It's complicated."
"Family usually is."
I'm exhausted but I don't want to sleep. Don't want to miss a single moment with her.
"Maksim?" Her voice is soft.
"Yeah?"
"I love you. Whatever happens—whether you take power or we run—I love you."
"I love you too."
She kisses me gently. "Now rest. You need to heal."
"Stay with me?"
"Always."
Kira
Six months after the factory explosion, I walk into what used to be Roman's private office and smile.
They've stripped away the ostentatious decorations that were just so ugly. The gold fixtures, the expensive art that was more about displaying wealth than appreciating beauty, and the furniture designed to intimidate rather than function is all gone.
This is my husband’s office now.
Our office.
The massive conference table is covered with organizational charts and territory maps. The architecture of a new kind of power structure. One we're building from the ground up. Together. I love that he wants my opinion. He appreciates my experience.
And damn does it feel good to be at the head of the table again. Maybe I got a little power hungry after getting to run my own operation.
I sit down at the table and reach for a pen.
My ring catches the light. Every time I see it on my finger I’m reminded of what it took to get that ring there.
Maksim and I married a week after he was released from the hospital.
We didn’t want the big ceremony. It was too risky.
But Maksim insisted on making me his wife and I certainly wasn’t complaining.
Anya along with Alina and Semyon attended.
We kept it very, very small. Our circle of trusted people was much tighter back then.
"The Volkov family wants to negotiate," Semyon announces as he walks into the room.
I shift in my chair, trying to find a comfortable position. At eight months pregnant with twins, comfortable positions are theoretical rather than practical.
"That's the fifth family this month," I observe, reaching for the folder.
"Word is spreading." Semyon looks satisfied. "The Barinov-Markov alliance offers something the old regime never did—stability without terror, profit without brutality."
"Not everyone approves." I gesture to the security reports on the corner of the table. "Three attempts on our lives in the past month."
"Three failed attempts," Semyon corrects.
"And each one cost the old guard credibility.
Weak attempts from people that are just trying to get a name for themselves.
No one takes them seriously. People are tired of the violence.
Tired of living in fear. What you and Maksim are building—it's what people have wanted for years but were too afraid to ask for. "
I want to believe him. Want to believe that six months is enough to fundamentally change how the Moscow underworld operates.
But I'm a realist. And I know change is slow. Painful. Resisted by those who benefited from the old ways.
A lot of people have lost some of their control. They’ve lost money and connections. That makes people do really stupid things.
"Schedule the meeting with the Volkovs," I say finally. "But Maksim and I both attend. Show them this is a genuine partnership, not a power grab."
"Will do." Semyon makes a note. "And Kira? You're doing well. Better than anyone expected. The families respect what you've accomplished."
"They respect what we've accomplished." The distinction is important. "Maksim and I together. That's the whole point."
The door opens, and Maksim enters carrying two cups of tea.
"Chamomile," he says, setting one cup in front of me. "Doctor's orders."
"The doctor also ordered bed rest." I take the tea anyway. "Which I'm ignoring."
"Compromise." He settles into the chair beside me. "You work from here, sitting down, with frequent breaks."
The twins kick in response to his voice—they always do. Like they recognize their father even from inside the womb.
At eight months, hiding the pregnancy is impossible.
My belly is enormous, stretching my clothes to their limits.
We announced it publicly three months ago, and it became an immediate symbol.
We knew it was a risk and invited violence, but it wasn’t like we could hide it forever.
And Maksim is a scary man on a regular day.
When it comes to protecting his babies, he’s fierce. Deadly. People know better.
"Your father wants to see you," Maksim says, changing the subject.
I tense slightly. The reconciliation with my father has been slow and painful. Necessary, but difficult.
"How is he?" I ask.
It’s not lost on me that Maksim seems to have a closer relationship with my father than I do.
I just haven’t been able to bring myself to forgive him.
Maksim pays the doctors and therapists. I’ve visited a few times, but it’s so hard for me to look at him.
To know he tried to kill the man I loved and then watched me suffer.
My father’s physical injuries have healed but he will always walk with a cane. His psychological trauma was far worse.
But again, I can’t bring myself to care.
I care for Anya’s sake, but that’s it.
"I'll visit him tomorrow," I say finally. "After the morning briefings."
Maksim nods. I see relief in his eyes. He's been pushing for this reconciliation, believing our children deserve to know their grandfather despite his flaws.
Maybe he's right. Maybe forgiveness—or at least acceptance—is possible even after betrayal.
"How are we doing with the integration?" I ask, reviewing the latest reports spread across the table.
"Better than expected." Maksim picks up one of the charts. "The younger generation especially seems eager for change. They're tired of the old ways."
"And the old guard?"
"Resistant. But dying off or being forced out." His smile is grim. "Natural selection. The families that can't adapt are losing territory and influence to those who can."
"We're actually doing this," I say quietly. "Changing how things work."
"We are." Maksim reaches behind me and rubs my back. It always hurts these days and he always knows how to help make it a little less painful.
The twins kick again, more forcefully this time. I wince.
"They're active today," Maksim observes.
"They're always active." I rub my stomach. "I think they're fighting in there."
"Already." He laughs. "We're in trouble."
"So much trouble." But I'm smiling. Despite the discomfort and the fear about childbirth, I'm happy about these babies.
"Roman would hate this," I observe, looking around the transformed office. "Everything we're building. The changes we're making. He'd be furious."
"Good." Maksim's smile is fierce. "Let him spin in his grave while we build the future."
The satisfaction in his voice mirrors what I'm feeling.
We won.
"Do you ever wonder if we're being naive?" I ask. "Thinking we can change centuries of tradition?"
"Every day. But then I remember what the alternative was. Living in fear. Raising our children in a world where violence was the only currency that mattered. That's not acceptable."
He's right. Of course he's right.
"The families meet next week," I remind him.
"They'll approve of the new arrangements." He sounds confident.
"Some people want the old ways," I counter. "The ones who profit from chaos."
"True. But they're outnumbered now."
We talk business for a while, something that is second nature for us.
"I'm tired," I admit, setting down my tea. "These babies are exhausting."
"Then rest." Maksim starts clearing papers.
"The Ice Queen isn't supposed to get tired,” I pout.
"The Ice Queen is about to become a mother." He helps me stand. "And mothers need rest. Doctor's orders."
I want to argue. I really want to push through like I always have. But my back aches and my feet are swollen, and the twins are taking turns trying to pop my kidneys.
"Fine," I concede. "But only for an hour."
"We'll see." He's already guiding me toward our master bedroom down the hall. "Lie down.”
I manage to crawl on the bed.
Maksim covers me with a blanket, kisses my forehead, and returns to work.
I awake to a sharp pain that reaches around my entire lower body. My hand goes to my belly. “Ow. You two settle down in there.”
I take a second to gather the strength to sit up when I realize I’m wet.
“What the hell?”
I stare at the wet sheets beneath me, my brain struggling to catch up with what's happening.
"Oh no," I breathe. "No, no, no. Not yet. You're not supposed to come yet."
Another contraction hits, stronger this time. It steals my breath and makes my entire body tense. I grip the edge of the bed, waiting for it to pass.
"Maksim!" My voice comes out strangled. "Maksim!"
I hear his footsteps running down the hall before the door slams open. He takes one look at me—at the wet sheets, at my face—and goes white.
"What's wrong? Are you okay? Is it the babies?" The words tumble out in rapid succession.
"My water broke." I try to keep my voice calm. "I'm in labor."
"You're—" He stares at me like I've just spoken a foreign language. "But you're not due for three more weeks."