18. Anton
ANTON
On the way back to the penthouse, I’m carrying a narrow window, three fresh problems, and a roomful of older men in my head telling me exactly how disposable I’ll become if I don’t fix this fast.
The elevator opens straight into the main hall. One of the guards glances up, sees my face, and decides not to ask anything stupid. Good instinct. I hand him my coat, tell him nobody comes near the library unless I say so, and keep walking before he can answer.
Sofiya is exactly where I expected her to be—curled into the corner of the library sofa in another shirt she stole from me, bare legs folded under her, trade papers spread across the table, and my monitored phone sitting beside a cup of turmeric latte.
Her hair is half pinned up, half falling loose, and whatever she’s reading has her mouth set in that line that always makes me want to ruin her concentration on principle.
She doesn’t look up right away as she flips to another page. “You’re late.”
My mouth twitches. “I had to hear several men explain my own life to me.”
Her eyes lift, cool and sharp at first, then they move over my face and catch something there. Sofiya has gotten better at reading me. I’m not sure that’s good for either of us.
She closes the folder in her lap. “How bad?”
I walk to the bar in the corner, pour myself vodka, change my mind, and pour water instead. That’s how bad. “Bad enough that I’d like to kill three people and one of them is on our side.”
She sets the papers aside. “You say that like it narrows things down.”
I take the glass with me and stop near the sofa instead of sitting. “It didn’t go badly enough for them to pull me off the problem.”
She nods and continues watching me like a hawk. “But?”
I look at her. “But they’re done indulging me.”
That makes her sit up straighter. “Indulging you.”
“Yes, and could you try not to look so pleased? It’s insulting.”
She relaxes and leans back in her chair. “I’m interested.”
“You’re always interested when I come home irritated.” I lower myself into the chair across from her.
She folds her legs tighter under her and gives me a look that’s half appraisal, half provocation. “That’s because you’re better looking when you’re angry.”
“I’m better looking most of the time,” I say, and her eyes drop to my mouth before she can stop them. It’s quick, but I catch it, and I enjoy it.
She looks slightly annoyed with herself for giving anything away. “So, tell me.”
I take another sip of the water. “They know you stay with me, why, and what I’m planning to do about it. Needless to say, none of it sat well with them.”
“That was predictable.”
“They started with the practical version. Hand you off somewhere quieter, claim the child later, keep the blood issue tidy while they sort Maks.”
Her face goes flat. “And you said no.”
“Yes.”
She studies me for a second. “How charitable of you.”
I lean back. “Don’t start doing gratitude. It’ll turn me off.”
She snorts softly, then her expression shifts again. “What did they say about Maks?”
“Everything I expected and nothing I enjoyed. He’s tightening around the old Baltic and Finnish channels, leaning on family subsidiaries, isolating some men, pulling others closer, and getting ready for fallout. They know the Leonidov-Reznikov problem gets worse if he keeps going.”
Her fingers still on the folder in her lap. “Do they understand why?”
I hold her gaze. “I gave them enough.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning I didn’t hand them everything you’ve got.”
That changes her face in a way I feel in my chest. Relief first, then caution. Sofiya’s smart enough to be grateful and suspicious at the same time. “I’m touched,” she says. “Were they awful?”
“Mikhail wanted me to get rid of you.”
Her eyes narrow. “And yet I’m still here.”
“I reminded him how useful I’ve been over the years, and then I told them nobody touches you.”
Her throat works once but she looks away too fast to hide that she felt it. I let her have the second. Then I say, “They gave me time. Not much.”
She turns back immediately. “How much?”
I shrug my shoulders. “Enough to either solve this or become part of it.”
For once, she doesn’t toss back something sharp right away.
She’s quiet for two beats, and I can see the numbers moving behind her eyes, the routes, the money, the names, the risk.
One thing about Sofiya I respect too much now to lie to myself about is that her mind gets sharper under pressure instead of softer.
That kind of woman is dangerous in the right way.
“What does solve mean to them?” she asks, eyes slanting thoughtfully.
“It means I identify exactly what Maks has built, where it touches our lines, and how to cut him off without turning this into open war. If I can make the Leonidovs deal with him before he drags us into the middle of it, I keep the problem contained.”
“And if you can’t?”
“They remove me from the problem.”
Her eyes stay on mine. “Remove how?”
I shrug once. “There are several versions, and none are attractive.”
She doesn’t smile. I get up, cross to the table, and pick up one of the folders she’d been reading. Cargo summaries. Baltic ports. Insurance notes. She’s been keeping herself busy in exactly the way I expected.
“We move on Maks now,” I say, tossing the folder back down. “Fast. He’s building the story already, and if he gets too far ahead of us, then even good proof starts arriving late.”
Sofiya rubs one thumb over the edge of the folder. “He’s telling people I’m unstable.”
“I know.”
“He’s saying I’m compromised.”
“I know that too.”
Her mouth goes hard. “That means he’s preparing for failure.”
“Yes.”
She lets out a slow breath and looks at the dark window beyond me. “I told you he wouldn’t only search.”
“You did.”
“And now?”
I go back to the sofa and sit closer this time. “Now I find out what Varga gave me, what he didn’t, and what’s still missing. Then I start pulling on the right men.”
Her eyes lift sharply. “You found him?”
“Yes.”
All at once ,she’s fully alert, anger and fatigue shoved aside by something brighter. “You spoke to him?”
“I did.”
“And?”
I let myself enjoy this for a second. “You’re welcome.”
“Anton.”
The look in her eyes tells me she’ll try to smack me again if I play too cocky, so I dip my head in submission.
“He confirmed the secondary transit codes, the hidden vendor lines, the side accounts, and the fact that the old intermediary payment trail was never actually closed. It was buried deeper under renamed entities and older authorizations.”
Her face changes in real time as the pieces lock into place. “So Maks used existing Leonidov structure.”
“Yes. He didn’t build clean and new. He built on top of old rot and used family freight to hide what he was doing.”
Her hand comes out and catches my wrist before she can think better of it. “That means he tied the current corridor to the old killing on purpose.”
I look down at her hand on me, then back at her face. “Yes.”
She lets go slowly.
For one second, neither of us says anything. We’re both sitting inside the same realization now. If we prove this cleanly, Maks isn’t just a cousin stealing off the books. He becomes the man who used old blood as cover while he built private power. That changes how every room will hear his name.
“That’s why they gave you time,” she observes as the realization dawns on her.
“That’s part of it.”
She leans back against the seat, but the energy coming off her has shifted. She looks less trapped and more like a huntress, and I like her this way far too much.
“You’re staring,” she suddenly says, narrowing her eyes at me.
“I’m thinking.”
“You can do that without looking at me like I’m a loaded weapon.”
I let my eyes move over her once, from the loose hair at her temple to the shirt slipping off one shoulder and the long line of her bare legs under it. “No. You’re harder to assess dressed like that.”
A flush climbs her throat. “You’re impossible.”
Chuckling deeply, I snag the arm of her chair and drag it flush with mine, wood squealing until she’s nearly in my lap. “Tell me you didn’t stroll into a negotiation wearing my shirt, sweetheart.”
She’s so pretty when she’s this cornered and she’s still trying to play coy. “I’m in your house under guard. You don’t get to be precious about cotton.”
I laugh once and shake my head. “This argument is getting old, Milaya. I’d find an argument, but I’m tired.”
Her eyes soften immediately and she touches my chin. “They really put you in a corner, didn’t they?”
“Yeah,” I sigh. “But it’s nothing compared to what you’re doing to me right now.” In this precise moment, watching the light drift in and out of her eyes as they sink and align with the lights in the study, I think I could love this woman.
I think I already do.
Her hand comes up to my chest, not pushing, just there. “Maybe I think you’re too comfortable.”
“Maybe I am.”
She laughs softly. “That should worry me.”
“Does it?”
Her mouth parts, and I look at it longer than I should. “Not as much as it should.”
I bend and kiss her before she can decide whether to take that back.
She tastes like Coke and pizza and nerves she’s trying to hide.
Her hand fists in my shirt immediately. I deepen it, and she gives me what I wanted in the first place, that little angry sound she tries to bury when I’ve got her exactly where I want her.
When I pull back, her eyes are bright and annoyed and not nearly steady enough to make the point she wants to make. “You’re a menace.”
I cup her chin in the palm of my hand. “And you’re distracted.”
“By force.”
“By preference.”
Her fingers slide from my chest up to my collar and stay there.
Moving my hand, I brush my thumb over the inside of her wrist. “Listen to me now.”
Her lashes lower slightly. “That depends on what you say next.”
“I say we move quickly. Varga is useful, but not enough on his own. Maks has already started tightening the screws, which means we don’t wait for him to get comfortable.
I need every piece you have, every name, every old habit, every dead company your father ever made you memorize, and I need it soon. ”
She nods once, then pulls back enough to think again. “I can give you branch structures, old outer companies, known relay names, three payment references, and two older shells that should’ve died on paper years ago.”
“Good.”
“And in return?”
I laugh. “You’re negotiating after that kiss.”
She throws her hands out like I’m the one being unreasonable. “I’m consistent.”
Still laughing, I look at her mouth. “That’s one word for it.”
She doesn’t blush, at least not much. “In return, I want to know what happens at the next meeting.”
“You’ll know enough.”
“That’s vague.”
“That’s still the offer.”
She actually smiles then, quick and real. “You are impossible to improve.”
I slide my hand to the small of her back. “You’ve made progress.”
Her gaze drops once to my mouth, then lower, and now it’s my turn to enjoy it. “Don’t look so pleased with yourself.”
“I just came home from being threatened with exile, and somehow, you still found a way to make the evening worthwhile. Let me have something.”
That gets me a real laugh, soft and surprised. I hadn’t been aiming for it, but I’ll take it. She stops and strokes my hair slowly, sinking into thoughtfulness. “You’re in deep waters, and you still came back here first.”
“Yes.”
She searches my face for a second longer than she usually allows herself. “You’re very strange.”
I lean down and brush my mouth against hers once more. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve said to me all week.”
She rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling when she does it, and that’s enough to make the day feel less expensive than it did an hour ago.
Then the phone in my pocket starts vibrating and I take it out. Kolya.
I answer and keep my eyes on her while I listen. Her face shifts immediately, reading mine as the information comes in. That alone tells me I was right to come here first. Sofiya always watches for the real thing.
When I end the call, she’s already standing straighter.
“What?”
“Varga’s not where he was supposed to be.”
Her expression hardens. “Missing?”
“Moved. Maybe taken. Maybe warned.”
“Maks?”
“Probably.”
I slide the phone back into my pocket and look at her properly. All that heat from thirty seconds ago is still there, but now it’s riding beside something harder. She knows it too. “Then we really are out of time,” she says.
“Yes.”
I step closer again, take her hand, and turn her toward the desk where the freight papers still sit open. “Start talking, Sofiya.”
This time, when she looks at me, there’s no flirtation, no argument, no stall, nothing except pure focus, and that scares me more than the meeting did.