Page 6 of Arranged for the Russian Pakhan

It becomes quickly and glaringly obvious that this debriefing will continue beneath her spectatorship. Her brothers see no issue with it. Intriguing, since I know for a fact that the Yuris are extremely keen on keeping their women—their wives, yes, but particularly their sisters—out of Bratva business. As far as I know, that hasn’t changed. And yet, here Darya sits.

Valentin clears his throat, cutting a path to the tray on the sideboard, and pours out a cup of what smells like significantly potent coffee. He brings the cup to his sister. I don’t miss the two spoons of sugar he stirs in first.

Meanwhile, Trifon murmurs into the landline he’d dialed into in the periphery. It is evident that my brief upper hand was short-lived. The point is hammered home when Trifon hangs up and then commands, “You were saying?”

I blink, unamused. “I believe Valentin was about to share whether or not he sees my courtesy as an accusation.”

Valentin’s mouth presses into a hard line. “It doesn’t feel like a courtesy,” he says through grit teeth.

“Feelings are not facts. The only court they hold up in is one of your private opinions.”

“God, you’re a prick,” Valentin scoffs.

From the couch, Darya intercepts: “He came alone, Val.”

Both brows raised, Trifon looks at her.

Darya lets loose a short, breathy laugh. “Relatively,” she amends, with a tilt of her head towards the door, beyond which my guards await. She tells on herself in doing so. She already knew her brothers had a ‘visitor’ before she interrupted. I’d put money on her knowing it was me, too. “If it were an accusation, wouldn’t it make infinitely more sense to bring more people and fewer manners?”

Trifon clears his throat. “Fair point.”

“Mmm,” Darya hums and takes a sip. She says nothing else.

“Where your intel ends, ours can begin. What do you have so far?”

I share what I can, what Anastasia gave me: trade routes, contacts, and shipment schedules being compromised. The two-week window she’s confirmed. A smokescreen theory that the noise of rumors circulating in our world may likely be a cover for a singular, targeted breach.

When I’m finished, there is silence.

Until Trifon says, “The theory has merit.”

“Do you suspect anyone on your end?” Valentin brusquely asks.

“Not yet. My brigadier is—”

“Your brigadier,” Darya intones. “That would be Anastasia Zakharov, yes? Your paternal cousin, daughter of your advisor?”

I stare at her.

It’s confirmation enough for her, apparently. Darya continues, “She’s made a reputation of excellence for herself. It precedes her.” She looks down at her hand, the one not holding the saucer, balancing her teacup, and examines her immaculate manicure. My vision threatens to turn the brilliant red of her polish.

“She’s earned her rank, yes.”

“Was she still holding it throughout the three years your brother was operating behind your back, right under your nose?”

The molecules of air in the room harden to pebbles and bear their weight down. Heavy. Merciless.

Darya’s eyes are wide, an imitation of the guileless. “I only ask because—well, and forgive me, I’m just a woman and this is way, way above my pay grade—but if the systems didn’t catch Viktor’s erecting an entire empire behind your back, in a different city, for over two years, does it make sense to rely on them to hunt this mole?”

“Darya.” Trifon’s voice carries a note of warning. It’s useless.

Doe-eyed sweetness is Darya’s weapon of choice now. She aims it at her brother and excuses herself, “I apologize, Trif. It’s a genuine question. And I’m positive such a high-level, cool-headed leader like Anton appreciates transparency. He isn’t a man who respects silly platitudes.” Her gaze cuts back to me. “Isn’t that right, Mr. Zakharov?”

That strike was just for me. I don’t look at her brothers to check whether they understood it; I’m sure they look fucking confused. But I’m not. I see her. I see her game. I only wish the heat that rises within me were pure, uncomplicated wrath.

“Yes,” I say. “The systems in place have failed before. I’ve acknowledged as much.”

“Have you?”