27. Sofiya #3
Yuri’s men move immediately. One takes the weapon, another twists Maks’s arms behind him, and a third checks his coat with the kind of rough efficiency that does not care about expensive tailoring.
Maks fights once, more insult than strategy, and Yuri smacks him across the back of the head so fast, I barely see the movement.
“Stop embarrassing yourself,” Yuri says.
Kolya makes a thoughtful sound. “I really like him.”
Anton ignores both of them and comes toward me.
I meet him halfway because I can’t stand still anymore. His face tightens with pain at the first step, and that nearly breaks me, but he keeps moving because apparently, stubbornness is also a medical condition in his family.
When he reaches me, he takes the gun from my hand first. “You’re welcome,” I say.
He checks the safety, tucks the weapon away, then cups the side of my face with his blood-smeared hand. “Are you hurt?”
“No.”
His eyes drop to my wrist.
“Mostly no.”
His thumb moves over the red mark there, and his face changes in a way that makes me think Maks is lucky Yuri already has him. “He touched you.”
“He confessed to killing my father, tried to trade hostages for fake records, got yelled at by Grigor, and lost his yard in front of everyone. I’m choosing to focus on the larger win.”
Anton stares at me.
Behind him, Yuri’s men start moving Maks toward the service doors.
Kolya gives orders to secure the boxes and the coat man.
Niko speaks into his mic near the gate, his eyes still on the yard as if he expects one last bad surprise.
The whole place moves around us, but Anton and I stand inside our own terrible little circle.
“You lied to Maks,” he says.
“Yes.”
“You lied to me.”
“Only by omission.”
His brows pull together. “That’s still lying.”
“I was busy saving your life.”
“That answer is going to start a fight later.”
“Good. You’ll need bed rest, and I’ll need entertainment.”
For one second, pure heat cuts through the pain in his face. “Careful.”
“No. I’ve been careful for months and look where it got me.”
He laughs once, then winces.
I grab his jacket with both hands. “Don’t laugh if it hurts.”
“Don’t be funny while I’m bleeding.”
“I can’t turn off excellence.”
Kolya passes behind Anton carrying a folder and mutters, “I’m surrounded by lunatics.”
Yuri hears him and says, “You work for Reznikov. That was already true.”
I don’t mean to laugh, but I do, and the sound shakes on the way out.
Anton notices immediately, because Anton notices everything I’d rather hide.
He slides one arm around my waist and pulls me close, careful enough not to press his wound against me, firm enough to make my body understand he’s here.
His mouth brushes my temple. “You called Grigor.”
“Yes.”
“You got Lazlo’s proof through Zhenya.”
“Yes.”
“You made Maks believe in a fake package while using the real one to turn his father against him.”
“That is a fair summary.”
“You walked into the yard knowing Yuri was coming through the side.”
“I hoped Yuri was coming through the side.”
His eyes close for a second. When they open again, that dark humor is back, faint but alive, and it does more for me than any doctor could. “Sofiya.”
“What?”
He looks at me, bleeding, furious, proud, and far too handsome for a man who needs stitches. “You have truly impressed me.”
I blink.
Then I lean closer, because if he’s going to say something like that after all this, he deserves trouble. “Only now?”
His mouth curves. “Don’t get greedy.”
“I took down my cousin in a freight yard while carrying your child and wearing your coat.”
“Yes,” he says, eyes warming in a way that makes my stomach flip. “And you still held the gun badly.”
I shove his chest lightly, then panic when he winces. He catches my hand before I can pull away and brings my knuckles to his mouth. “Don’t start fussing,” he says.
“I’m not fussing. I’m considering whether you’re too injured to yell at.”
“I’m never too injured for you.”
“That’s unfortunately romantic.”
His mouth brushes my knuckles again. “Get used to it.”
Behind us, Maks shouts something as Yuri’s men force him through the side doors. It sounds ugly, desperate, and far away from the center of my life now. I don’t look back.
My father is still dead.
That doesn’t change.
But tonight, the man who killed him got dragged out by the same dirty freight world he thought he owned, and I stood there long enough to watch his story collapse.
Anton’s arm stays around me as Kolya comes back with his phone already out. “We need to move. Grigor wants a secure meet, the Brotherhood wants confirmation, Yuri wants payment in favors, and Anton needs a doctor before he bleeds on anything expensive.”
“I’m fine,” Anton says.
Three of us look at him.
Even Yuri, halfway across the yard, turns his head.
Anton sighs. “Fine. I’m not fine.”
“Progress,” I say.
He looks down at me. “You’re enjoying this.”
“I’m enjoying several things.”
His eyes darken just enough to remind me who he is under the blood and exhaustion. “Careful, Milaya.”
I smile up at him, tired and shaky and alive. “Take me home first.”
His grip shifts at my waist, and for a second the whole yard drops away again. “Always.”