Chapter 31
MAKSIM
She said no.
I shouldn’t be surprised.
I’d expected resistance, maybe even hoped for it in some twisted way until her need for obedience kicked in. Ivy has never been the type to be led anywhere without question. It’s one of the things I respect about her the most, even when it infuriates me.
Especially when it infuriates me.
Her fire has always been a double-edged blade, one moment burning hot enough to light me alive, the next slicing deep enough to remind me she is not mine to control, no matter how badly my instincts demand it.
For now, I have my answer. She isn’t going to go anywhere without the guarantee that our son would be safe regardless of the threats leveled against me. She is drawing her line in the sand, planting her feet.
I didn’t argue more in the alleyway, or after she stormed off to finish the rest of her shift.
Not because I accepted her refusal—that was something I would never accept—but because I knew pushing her would only drive her deeper into her defenses.
She would be more likely to barricade herself behind those walls, and I would lose ground instead of gaining it.
She needed time, space, the illusion of control.
So I let her go. I nodded, pretended I was yielding, and told her I would be in touch before she vanished back around the corner again.
She has never understood me as well as she thinks she does.
I don’t yield. I simply regroup.
Once I’m back in my car, I head straight for the safehouse where Katya and Roman are waiting for me. My knuckles ache around the steering wheel from clenching it too tightly, the ghost of Ivy’s voice replaying in my head on an endless loop, no, no, no.
The safehouse comes into view—a nondescript two-story on the edge of a suburb.
It’s rundown, no neighbors coming close enough to be nosy because of its dilapidated state.
It has no records that could tie it to me or my Bratva.
Katya secured it through one of her quiet contacts, a property tucked away under someone else’s name, scrubbed from the digital grid.
On paper, it doesn’t exist. That’s what makes it perfect. A safe, tactical position. Forgettable.
I park at the curb, scanning the street out of habit before stepping out. The late morning air smells faintly of cut grass. I move to the door, knock once in the prearranged pattern. The lock clicks, then Roman appears, scanning his eyes over me.
“Pakhan,” he greets me, stepping aside.
Inside, Katya sits at the kitchen table, papers spread around her. Maps, printouts, photographs, all intel pulled from sources I know better than to ask her to name. She glances up, her dark hair tied back, her gaze as sharp and assessing as Roman’s.
Katya is already waiting for me when I arrive, arms crossed and eyebrows drawn tight. Roman stands in the background, pacing with a half-finished cigarette clinging to his fingers.
“You saw her,” she says. Not a question.
My jaw tightens. “I did.”
“And?”
“She said no.”
Katya leans back slowly, her chair creaking under the shift of weight. Her lips curve in that quiet, knowing way of hers. Not quite a smile, but not quite a frown. More like she’d written the outcome in her mind long before I ever walked into this room.
Roman exhales through his nose, shaking his head. “Stubborn woman.”
I don’t bother to correct him. Stubborn isn’t an insult when it comes to Ivy. It’s survival. It’s strength. It’s another one of the things I’ve always admired in her, even when it drives me out of my mind. “Where are we at with the Mikhail situation?”
I pace once around the table, eyes dragging over the papers Katya has laid out. Photographs of Mikhail, grainy captures outside underground strongholds, his expression cold, his features a mirror of his father’s.
Reports flank the images. Lists of men, brigadiers crawling back into the light now that Mikhail has whispered promises in their ears that sound like the ones his father made.
Some are nothing but rats scrambling for crumbs, others I recognize are dangerous.
Men with experience, men who once were too cowardly to swear loyalty to Anton but would gladly bleed for his son if it meant a return to power.
Katya’s voice cuts through my thoughts, crisp and steady. “He’s consolidating faster than we expected, working further west. Those who never truly bent the knee when you took power are now pledging themselves to him.”
Roman leans forward, planting his fists on the table as he peers down at the documents. “Like father, like son. If we let this keep expanding, he’ll be building the next war machine.”
I rise from how I’m positioned over the table. My palms press hard into the edge of the wood for one more steadying second before I drag a hand through my hair. The gesture does nothing to bleed off the restless energy crawling under my skin.
“We’ll need to put eyes on Ivy and Leo until this gets taken care of. I don’t want any surprises like him suddenly showing up on American soil without us knowing about it. If he breathes in their direction, I want to know before he exhales,” I say.
Roman straightens, broad shoulders rolling back. “Matvey and Andrey are due to land in an hour. Once they’re here, we can set up a surveillance hub. Full coverage of the areas they frequent.”
Katya’s pen is already moving again, her mind three steps ahead, but I catch the faint arch of her brow at my choice of words. She knows I’m not speaking strictly as a Pakhan giving orders. She knows this is personal.
They both do.
“Good. I want a live feed of everything. The outside of her house, the inside. The diner, outside Leo’s school. I don’t care what you have to do, seduce a secretary, threaten a co-worker, wire the damn streetlamps if you have to. Nothing slips past us. Nothing.”
Roman’s lips twitch into the faintest ghost of a smirk. “And you will have it.”
“Let me know the second Matvey and Andrey get here,” I say, already crossing the room. Urgency crawls up my spine. “Until then, I’ll be out tailing Ivy myself.”
“Yes, Pakhan.”