Alexei #2
There’s a brief pause, and then Roman continues, his tone unchanged, but the direction of the conversation is turning. “The Italians are pushing again.”
My fingers tighten against the armrest, the only outward sign I give. “Where?”
“East Coast access points. Testing boundaries they don’t have permission to test,” he says. “Ports, movement, quiet inquiries where they shouldn’t be asking questions.”
“They’re looking for a way in.”
“They’re looking for a weakness,” Roman corrects.
My attention moves to the darkening water beyond the glass, my mind already working through the implications. “And what did you give them?”
“I made an example,” he answers calmly.
Of course, he did.
“One of their captains got comfortable,” Roman continues, his voice even, almost conversational. “Started moving where he shouldn’t. I let it go just long enough for it to be noticed, then I ended it.”
I don’t ask how. I know exactly how situations like that are handled in our family.
“Message received?” I ask.
“It will be,” he replies. “They won’t mistake it.”
No, they won’t. Not from him.
“You’ll keep your side clean,” Roman adds. “If they’re testing here, they’ll look for overlap.”
“They won’t find it,” I say, the certainty in my voice leaving no room for anything else.
“I know.”
Silence follows, but it doesn’t stretch. Everything that matters has already been said.
“Stay ahead of it,” he says after a moment.
“I always am.”
A faint exhale comes through the line, not quite approval, not quite dismissal, just acknowledgment.
There’s a final pause, and then we both say it at the same time.
“Za semyu.” For the family.
The line disconnects.
I lower the phone back into place and finish the drink in one swallow, the burn sharper this time as it sinks in deeper. I remain where I am, my hand resting against the desk, the silence of the room closing in as if nothing interrupted it.
But it always does.
Black Tide Logistics was never just a business.
It was structure and control, a way to move everything that needed to move while giving the world something else to focus on.
On paper, it’s legitimate, with clean, organized, and predictable shipping routes, port access, and freight distribution.
It earns respect instead of suspicion, which was the point, because what people see matters.
It shapes where they look and, more importantly, where they don’t.
I built it that way on purpose, not for the Bratva, but for Ivy.
The memory comes crashing in, refusing to be ignored.
The car slowing is always the first detail that stays, the way it deliberately reduced speed just enough to match our position.
Then the gunfire followed, and I remember the impact more than the sound, the force of it driving through me, stealing my breath, and knocking everything off balance before I could process what was happening.
The shots came close together, too fast to separate, turning into a single moment that didn’t give me time to react the way I’d been trained to.
Clara’s hand had been in mine. I remember that with a clarity that doesn’t fade. The warmth of it, the pressure of her fingers. And then it was gone.
I hit the ground hard, the world tilting, sound warping into a distant, uneven echo.
I tried to move, to reach her, but my body didn’t respond the way it should have.
Blood loss set in quickly, shock not far behind, the damage stripping away control piece by piece.
I could see her, but I couldn’t get to her.
That’s the part that stays with me. Not the pain or the hospital, just that moment.
A month in a hospital bed gives you time to think whether you want it or not. Time to go over every decision, every gap, and every assumption that turned out to be wrong. It was a rival Bratva family, the hit carried out cleanly. They didn’t come for her. She was simply there when it happened.
That doesn’t make it easier to accept that she’s gone. It makes it worse because it means I put her in the line of fire without even realizing it, and I was left with a two-year-old who would grow up without her mother.
My hand tightens against the desk before I release it, forcing the tension back where it belongs.
When I got out of that hospital, nothing looked different on the surface, but everything had changed.
I stopped leaving space for chance. I tightened every part of my world, from operations and movement to the people around me, leaving no gaps and no assumptions.
No one gets close without me knowing exactly how and why they’re there.
I built Black Tide Logistics as a shield. To the outside world, I’m a businessman. A man who built something powerful and respected. A father raising his daughter in a life that looks stable and secure, untouched by anything darker.
That’s what they see. And as long as that’s all they see, it works.
Ivy doesn’t know the difference, and I intend to keep it that way for as long as I can. Because control is the only thing that stands between what I have and losing it. I learned that the hard way.
A light knock breaks the quiet.
“Come in.”
The door opens, and Ivy steps inside. Her hair is slightly out of place, her expression still bright, but there’s a hint of caution in the way she lingers just inside the room.
“Are you working?” she asks.
“Yes.”
She considers that for a second, then walks in anyway, crossing the room before climbing into the chair across from me.
“I told Irina everything,” she says, her hands folding together in her lap, though they don’t stay still for long. “About Daisy. And the other one. The big one with the floppy ears.”
“I assumed you would.”
“She said we can go back,” Ivy adds quickly, her eyes lifting to mine, watching and waiting. “If you say yes.”
I study her, taking in how she holds herself, trying to keep her voice even though the anticipation is written all over her.
“That’s not her decision.”
“I know,” she says, not backing down. “But Maggie said I can come after school. I can go with Irina to help the animals.”
She’s already thought it through and planned around what she expects I’ll say.
“You’re negotiating,” I tell her.
“I’m explaining,” she counters, her chin lifting.
I hold her hazel-green eyes for a moment, then ask, “You want to go back that badly?”
“Yes,” she replies immediately. There’s no doubt, only certainty.
I glance at the time, then back at her, watching the way her fingers knit together, and how she’s trying not to lean forward or push too hard.
“You can go after school,” I say. “Irina stays with you the entire time and you will be escorted by Ivan. He’ll drive you.”
Her entire face changes, relief and excitement breaking through at once. “Really?”
“Yes.”
She doesn’t move right away, like she’s making sure I don’t take it back, her eyes searching mine for any sign that the answer might change. When it doesn’t, she moves fast.
She’s out of the chair before I can stop her, her arms wrapping around me with a force that doesn’t match her size, her cheek against my shoulder.
“Thank you, Papa,” she says, her voice slightly muffled.
My hand comes up to her back, resting there, holding her in place for a moment longer than I usually allow.
“Ne za chto, solnyshko.” It’s nothing, sunshine.
She pulls back, still smiling, then pauses.
“Can you read to me tonight?”
“I always do.”
“I know,” she says, smiling wider. “I just like asking.”
Of course, she does.
She turns and heads for the door, her steps lighter now, and when it closes behind her, the room eases back into silence.
I reach for the file on my desk and open it, letting my attention move through the numbers, routes, and contracts.
But it doesn’t last long. My focus slips because of her.
Maggie Hayes doesn’t belong in this world.
She doesn’t move through it the way everyone else does, weighing her words and actions against what they get her.
And yet, I see her anyway.