Page 95 of His Contract Queen

By the time I park and am escorted inside, I find him already waiting in his study. My eyes flit around the room out of habit, taking in the same dark oak desk and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking snow-covered pines and the sunset beyond them.

He doesn’t rise when I enter, just gestures to the chair opposite him.

I sit.

There’s already a cup of coffee waiting—black, no sugar, light cream—with steam curling up in lazy spirals. I reach for it out of habit, lifting it to my mouth. The vapor swirls against my face for a second before taking a generous sip. It’s made perfectly, just the way I like it. Strong enough to strip paint, hot enough to scald.

A small courtesy that has always made me second-guess him from time to time.

He waits for me to set it down before beginning. “The government is scrambling.”

“I assume because of Borchin’s body turning up?”

He nods once. “The FSB raided his house early yesterday morning. Seized everything they could. They’re building the narrative as we speak—gambling debts that spiraled intotreasonous behavior and ended up involving him in the wrong circles.”

I listen without interrupting. When there’s a pause, I ask, “That’s the story they’re going with? He was killed because of a deal gone bad?”

“More than likely.”

I sit on that for a moment.

It isn’t necessarily a bad narrative to spin. It dovetails neatly with what Katerina announced to the world during the gala. If the FSB plays its cards right, most people will forget about Borchin within the next few months. He’ll be reduced to a cautionary headline, then a footnote, then nothing. Erased from existence with little pushback.

No one this day and age likes a sloppy gambler.

Even less so if they come from affluence.

He leans back slightly in his chair, his fingers steepled in the air in front of him. The gesture is familiar—meant to look contemplative, but it borders on predatory.

“While I don’t approve of the stunt you pulled at the military gala,” he says, his voice even, “the cleanup you and Sasha did seems to have been quite beneficial.”

My brow raises at that. “How so?”

He fixes me with a steady look, those ice-gray eyes that miss nothing. “You removed a liability and made it the government’s issue to clean up. That was… quite impressive.”

I try not to let the surprise show on my face.

A compliment from Malyshko is rare. Rarer still when it comes wrapped in understanding rather than a threat. I hold his gaze for a beat, searching for the hook, the angle, the price tag that always follows praise from him.

“There’s a but coming,” I say.

He allows himself the faintest curve of a smile, gone in half a second. So fleeting, I might have imagined it if I didn’t know better. “While the FSB is thorough, they’ll trace the money eventually. Some of it will lead back to accounts that brush too close to our interests. Namely, yours, considering you were one of the loans. Kuznetsov is already making things more difficult than they need to be. He’s fixated on the situation. He’s expressed interest in taking control of the gap Borchin’s death left behind within the military.”

I exhale through my nose. “He’ll move on eventually. He’s like a hound. Once he smells fresh blood, that’ll shift his interest.”

“Maybe so,” he murmurs, voice low, almost thoughtful. “However, this all could have been avoided had you listened to me in the first place. You are still walking a very thin line, Aleksandr. One more public spectacle and I will not hesitate to cut the rope. Permanently.”

I pick up the coffee again, take another slow sip to buy myself a second.

The threat—or rather, warning—isn’t a surprise to hear. I saw it coming from miles away the first time we argued on the phone and he refused to lend me any kind of support. Still, hearing it laid out so plainly makes the skin along my spine tighten. What does surprise me is that he hasn’t already pushed me out of the Pact.

He could have. Should have, by his own rules. Nikolai doesn’t tolerate repeated breaches of discipline, especially not from someone who once preached the exact same gospel of detachment he’s now breaking.

He’s giving me another chance, for whatever reason.

Nikolai does nothing without a motive. Whatever he believes he needs me for far outweighs cutting me loose because he thinks I’m bringing more trouble than I’m worth. What that is, it’s anyone’s guess at this point.

“I will keep an eye on Kuznetsov,” I offer. “Make sure he doesn’t become too obsessed with the situation. The last thing we need is him trying to infiltrate the military.”