Chapter 39
Maksim
“If you come in here one more time to ask if I need anything, I swear to God I’m getting out of this bed to lock the door.”
Svetlana is sitting against the headboard, surrounded by pillows and a pile of books she’s not reading, looking like she’s about three minutes away from committing murder. Her foot is strapped into an orthopedic boot, propped on a cushion, and she groans whenever she breathes too deeply.
“I didn’t ask you anything,” I respond.
“You opened the door.” She narrows her eyes at me.
“I was just walking by.”
“You’ve walked past four times in the last hour, Maksim. I counted.” She crosses her arms carefully—any sudden movement hurts her ribs. “Didn’t you say you were going to war with Moscow? So go deal with your war and stop hovering.”
“The war can wait,” I grumble.
“No, it can’t,” she shoots back irritably. But then her expression softens, and she gives me a small smile. “I’m going to be fine.”
I want to stay there, stay with her, but there’s been an elephant in the room for four days now. Or rather, a baby.
I’m not used to feeling like this—hesitant, out of place, not knowing how to act—but that’s how I’ve felt for days.
Ever since she told me she was pregnant, ever since the doctor took so long to find a heartbeat and I nearly lost my mind.
Everything was happening too fast and too slow inside my head, like I was trapped in a hallucination.
Svetlana is pregnant.
With my child.
I’m going to be a father.
The phrases kept repeating in an endless, maddening loop.
I don’t know how to deal with this. That’s why I’ve been keeping my distance. Her every need is taken care of around the clock, and I still sleep beside her, but we haven’t talked about it.
I know she avoids bringing it up so she won’t pressure me, and I also know that every day that passes, Anya suffers more because of it.
I lean in and press a kiss to her forehead.
“Let me know if you need anything.”
“I won’t need anything.” She picks up the slim remote for the TV hidden in a wall panel—one I had installed as soon as her bed rest began. “I’m going to kill time watching some trashy reality show.”
I laugh at her grimace, because I know my wife—she hates being still. After the emergency consultation with the obstetrician who saw her on the first day, Dr. Sokolova, Anya was officially pulled from the project classes indefinitely, until the risk of miscarriage passes.
It was driving her crazy. She talked to Vanya every day on the phone and video-called the girls, suggesting workouts and exercises.
This forced rest was hard on her, no doubt about it, but also on the rest of the house. News of the pregnancy spread through these walls like wildfire. Olga was in full general mode, ordering everyone who walked by to do something for Anya and the baby.
When she left Anya’s room on the first day, as soon as bed rest began, she looked at me and said:
“Take care of her, Maksimka. Don’t ruin everything.”
And she turned and walked away, leaving me standing in the hallway with a faint smile on my lips and a heart full of doubt. How am I supposed to not ruin everything when I don’t know what to do?
The rest of the Circle hasn’t been here yet. They haven’t spoken to me—they’ve known me long enough to understand what my silence means. Today, however, I need to meet with them.
I leave the room and head downstairs with the unbearable feeling that I’m leaving something precious unprotected.
That’s how I’ve been feeling—powerless. Since the attack and Anya’s kidnapping, I feel like I’m no longer capable of keeping her safe, and that feeling has only grown stronger with the news of the pregnancy.
I sit down in the office chair and stare at the wall. Without thinking, I bring my hand to my face and run my thumb along the thick scar that starts at my eyebrow and runs down to the corner of my mouth.
And the question that’s been running through my head for four days comes back.
What kind of father am I going to be?
I grew up in a merciless world, raised by a man who drilled into me that love is weakness. I killed my first man at seventeen, and I know exactly how many seconds it takes for someone to lose consciousness when you apply pressure to the right spot.
The empire I built and consolidated over the last thirteen years is built on blood, death, and crime. How does that make me fit to raise a child?
Not knowing how to answer that question is what’s been keeping me away from her. Anya is going to ask how I feel about having a child, and I can’t put into words the fear I have of failing—of becoming someone like Boris was to me.
I bury my head in my hands and let myself wallow in confusion and self-pity for a while.
It’s already past lunch when Vladimir walks into the office.
This time, he’s not carrying his usual briefcase, so I know he’s here to deal with personal matters, not work. I brace myself as I watch him pour two glasses of vodka and settle into the armchair across from my desk.
“How is she?” he asks.
“Furious and bored.”
“That’s a good sign.”
He pushes a glass toward me, but I don’t drink.
“You didn’t sleep again,” he says.
“I slept.”
“Maksim…”
I exhale, exhausted.
“I slept for two hours.”
He nods, swirling the glass between his fingers.
“You’re not like him.”
I raise my head, staring at him in surprise, and he just laughs.
“You forget I’ve been in your shoes.” He takes a sip of his vodka and sets the glass on the desk. “We were too young when Katya found out she was pregnant. Younger than you. I was scared too, full of doubts. We live in a cruel world, Maksim. How could we not have doubts?”
“I don’t know how to do this.”
The words come out barely above a whisper, my throat tight.
“Nobody knows. Children don’t come with instruction manuals.”
“Unfortunately.”
“Unfortunately.” Vladimir laughs, nodding. “I was afraid of repeating my father’s mistakes too, but I guarantee that fear is exactly what will make you different.”
“I still use his phrases,” I say, ashamed, looking out the window. “Just last week… I don’t want to become a reflection of the man I despised most in my life.”
“You were raised by other people too.” I turn to face him. “Your mother and Olga had more influence on you than Boris.”
Vladimir forgot only one name—the father figure who was most present in my life, who was everything to me that Boris couldn’t and wouldn’t be: himself. When my mother died, Vladimir was just a boy, but he quickly became a constant presence in my father’s house once he became sovietnik.
He was there for the most important lessons, about honor and how to be a real man, and when I told him about my desire to usurp my father’s throne and become Pakhan, instead of condemning me, he just nodded proudly and helped me craft the perfect strategy.
“You had good role models,” he continues. “You shouldn’t focus only on the bad.”
“Thank you for being one of them.”
I can see my gratitude catches him off guard. I’ve never thanked him out loud—never thanked anyone. I’ve never called him father either, but I know Vladimir deserves that title far more than Boris.
He raises his glass toward me, a silent toast of gratitude, and this time I drink. I feel the strong, clear liquid burn its way down my throat until the taste hits me and relaxation follows shortly after.
“I bought a house.”
I’m more startled by the statement than by the sudden change of subject.
“You bought what?”
“A house.” He finishes the rest of his vodka. “Near here, about twenty minutes away. It’s on the old road, behind the woods, with a small lake in the back. I signed the contract two weeks ago.”
I just sit there, staring at him.
Vladimir has lived on this property for twelve years. He’s been here since Ekaterina’s death and never, not even once, mentioned the possibility of living somewhere else. Even when Yuri decided to move to his own apartment in the city, he stayed.
“You’re leaving?”
“No need for drama, boy,” he rolls his eyes and waves his hand dismissively. “I’m not going to disappear. I’ll be here practically every day. The routine will stay basically the same.”
“Then why bother moving?”
“Because your marriage became real, and this property, which was built to be a headquarters, is becoming a home. Now you have a wife, a bear that looks like a dog, and you’re going to have a child soon. These things need space.”
“There’s plenty of space here,” I grumble.
Vladimir laughs, standing up.
“Teach your child to knock on the office door, Maksim. I know I’m going to start.”
I frown at the comment and watch him walk toward the exit until it clicks. With a wide grin, I call out before he leaves.
“When did you decide to move?”
“On a Wednesday, at four fifty-six in the afternoon.”
I burst out laughing because I know exactly what he’s referring to. Anya was sitting with her legs spread on this very desk, and I had my face deliciously buried between her thighs.
Vladimir closes the door harder than usual, making me laugh even louder. As the laughter dies down, I remember those weeks, when I set my pride aside and accepted that my obsession with my wife had become something more. Something bigger.
Of everything I’ve built and conquered in my life, what I fear losing most is this.
Her.
Svetlana, with her quiet manner, her rare smiles, her sharp comments, and the way she dances like a goddess—she’s become the center of my world. And suddenly, my life, which always seemed so predictable and orderly, has turned upside down in the most terrifying way possible.
Vladimir is right when he says fear is what drives us to be different.
My father taught me to transform pain and fear into tools, and now all I have to do is use that to my advantage.
I’m so afraid of becoming like Boris that all I can do is force myself in the opposite direction from everything he stood for.
For myself.
For Anya.
For my child.
The Circle is gathered in the great room in the late afternoon.