On the low table near the leather sofas sit the remnants of lunch: thick slices of seedless rye bread, cold cuts, pickled vegetables, and a platter of smoked fish that Arina has sent up before the meeting.
Tikhon drops into the deep leather armchair across from me, his massive frame making the furniture creak. He pours two fingers of vodka into a crystal glass and slides it across the desk toward me before filling his own.
“To making that bastard bleed,” he rumbles, raising his glass.
“To ending this.” I lift mine in return. The vodka goes down smooth and cold, burning pleasantly on the way.
We eat in silence for a few minutes. Thick slices of bread with butter and smoked salmon, the kind of simple, heartyfood that fuels long planning sessions. The confrontation at The Garden Room still burns fresh in my mind.
Fadir’s men have dared to show their faces near Anja, near my sister, and near Katya. The image of Anja’s shaken face when she returned to the compound, the way her hands trembled against my chest, keeps replaying behind my eyes.
I want Fadir’s demise so vividly I can almost taste it.
“After what happened today,” I say, setting my empty glass down, “we accelerate. No more measured pressure. We ramp up the attacks on his businesses.”
Tikhon leans forward, elbows on his knees, his dark eyes sharp. “Tell me.”
I spread several documents across the desk.
“His legitimate fronts are already cracking. Three import companies are hemorrhaging money after the latest supplier pullouts. We hit the remaining ones harder... freeze every account we can access, leak internal documents showing mismanagement, and turn his own people against him by making it look like he’s pocketing their cuts. The charity foundations he uses for laundering? We expose just enough to make donors run. Publicly. Messily. I want him looking incompetent and desperate in every circle that matters.”
“And the underground side?” Tikhon nods slowly, a dangerous smile tugging at his mouth.
“We cut off the last two routes he’s clinging to. Andrei’s team is ready to intercept the next shipment. Make it look like an inside job. We let his remaining loyalists start turning on each other. No direct violence yet. Let him destroy his own network through paranoia.”
I take another sip of vodka, the burn grounding me. Outside the windows, the estate gardens stretch lush and peaceful, a stark contrast to the calculated violence we are planning. My mind keeps drifting back to Anja and how she looked when she returned from the café, shaken, but trying so hard to be strong.
The way her hand instinctively moved to her stomach. The child growing inside her is mine. Fadir has tried to claim it with lies. He has sent men to intimidate the mother of my child.
He will pay for every second of fear he causes her.
“I’m envisioning his end,” I say quietly, staring at the surveillance photo of Fadir’s latest hideout pinned to the board. “Not a quick bullet. Not a clean exit. I want him to watch everything he built turn to ash. Suppliers gone. Money dried up. Reputation in tatters. His own men are questioning whether he’s worth following. And when he’s finally broken, when he has nothing left, I want him to know exactly who took it all from him—and why.”
“Personal now.” Tikhon pours us both another measure of vodka.
It isn’t a question.
“Yes.” I meet my brother’s eyes. “He went after Anja today. Not just as leverage against us, but personally. He’s spreading lies that the child is his, that I abducted a pregnant woman. He’s trying to paint her as damaged goods and me as the villain who stole her. After everything she’s already survived…her father’s debts, and Fadir’s own manipulation... he still thinks he can break her.”
“Then we don’t just take his empire. We take his pride. His name. His future. Make sure no one in this city will everdo business with him again, even after he’s gone.” Tikhon’s expression turns menacing.
We spend the next hour refining the plan. Specific targets. Timelines. How to coordinate the financial strikes with the street-level pressure. The vodka flows sparingly but enough to sharpen the edge, not dull it.
Lunch is cleared away and replaced with strong coffee as we map every weakness in Fadir’s remaining network.
By the time we finish, the sun has dipped lower, painting the office in warm amber light. I stand at the window, looking out over the compound grounds where Anja is currently resting in our wing.
“You’ve changed since she came into the picture. The patient's brother is still here… but there’s fire now.” Tikhon rises, clapping a heavy hand on my shoulder.
I don’t deny it.
“She’s carrying my child. And she’s become more than the tool I originally planned to use against him. She’s mine to protect. Fadir made the mistake of threatening what belongs to me.”
“Then let’s make him regret it. Thoroughly.” Tikhon nods, respect clear in his eyes.
He leaves me alone in the office, the heavy door closing with a solid thud.
I remain at the window a moment longer, the half-empty vodka bottle and scattered papers a testament to the war we are waging. The slow dismantling of Fadir Klem has always been calculated.
