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He turns, and I follow him down the long corridor, my steps measured against the polished floor. The house is quiet, too quiet for a place like this. Even the staff seem different tonight. More careful. Their voices are low, their movements restrained, as though the tension in the house has seeped into the walls and taught everyone inside to breathe more cautiously.

We reach the meeting room, and one of the maids is already there, hand on the handle, opening the door the moment she sees us. I step inside without breaking stride.

Pavel sits at the head of the table, his expression hard and worn thin with impatience, one finger tapping once against the wood before going still. Anton is seated beside him, calm and composed as ever, as if this is just another unpleasant discussion and not a situation already beginning to crawl through the press. Alex leans back in his chair, quiet and watchful, the kind of quiet that usually means he’s one sentence away from being told to dispose of someone.

And then there’s Maksim.

For a second, I think he won’t look at me.

Then he does.

It’s only a glance, but it lands like a hand around my throat. Heat drops low through my body before I can stop it, immediate and deeply unwelcome. It’s completely inappropriate for the situation, and I know that, but knowing it does nothing to kill the reaction.

Seeing him again after the last two weeks, after every filthy line we’ve crossed, after his mouth on my dick in my office and the video call just seven days back of him spread out for me on camera, begging in that wrecked voice while I told him exactly what I’d do to him next time I see him.

Part of me wants to throw myself off the nearest cliff just to stop this pull, to kill the part of me that can’t stop thinking about wrecking him. The other, bigger part of me wants to grab him by the throat right here, bend him over this table, and fuck him so hard he finally learns not to test me like this, not to look at me like he’s daring me to lose control in front of his entire family.

His gaze lingers for just a fraction too long, enough to make my jaw tighten. Then he looks away again as if nothing passed between us at all. As if he didn’t just set my nerves on fire in front of his father and brothers.

“Gentlemen,” I say, voice even. “Sorry I’m late. Traffic was a nightmare.”

“That’s fine, Tristan,” Pavel replies, his business mask firmly in place. “Have a seat.”

I slide into the chair beside Anton, clearing my throat as I flip open the file.

“We’re dealing with a difficult situation,” I start, my tone measured, professional. “The bodies found at the Lowport development site have been identified. Two adult males, both flagged in the system with organized crime ties. Eric Clooney and Johnny Fisher.”

The names land heavier this time, more real now that they have faces attached. Mugshots, rap sheets, connections I spent all day digging through. I let the silence settle, watching their reactions, before pressing on.

“So before I figure out how we handle the press, the police, and the inevitable questions—before I decide how to bury this quietly—” I say, my gaze moving around the table. “I need to know whether there is anything linking those men to this family.”

My eyes stop on Maksim for half a beat too long before I force myself to move on.

“Do any of you know them?” I ask. “Is there anything I should know before I start deciding how best to contain this?”

It isn’t an accusation or a challenge. It’s a necessity. I can’t do my job if they hand me half the truth and expect me to build a defense out of omissions.

The room stills in a different way after that, the air turning heavier. Anton doesn’t move, his expression perfectly composed, but something in his focus tightens almost imperceptibly. Alex watches me more closely now, not as if he’s offended by the question, but like he’s measuring its shape, testing the weight of what lies beneath it.

Pavel is the one who answers.

“No,” he says, his voice firm and final. “I’ve already spoken to my sons. They have nothing to do with this. Why would they jeopardize the family business? And even if one of them had killed someone, they wouldn’t be stupid enough to dump bodies on our own property.”

I hold his gaze for a moment, gauging the certainty in it, then give a slight nod.

“Understood. In that case, we proceed with distance. You cooperate fully with the investigation, but you do not attach yourselves to those identities in any way.”

Their expressions shift at that, not dramatically, but enough to show they understand exactly what I mean.

“We allow access to the site. We comply where necessary,” I continue. “But no internal records leave your hands without legal review, and no one speaks to investigators informally. All communication goes through me.”

“Construction’s already halted,” Anton says, folding his arms. “How long do we have to wait before we can continue?”

“If this stays a standard investigation, weeks,” I reply. “If it escalates then indefinite.”

Pavel slams both palms against the table and lets out a hard breath through his nose, rage flashing bright in his deep blue eyes. The resemblance between him and Alex is almost unsettling in moments like this. Same cold force, same look of violence held on a leash that might not hold much longer.

“When we won that lawsuit against the Marino family over this land, I thought the worst of it was behind us,” he says, his voice low and solid with anger. “Now dead bodies turn up on that same property. What the hell is going on?”