Page 26 of Beautiful Ruin

Nikolai crosses the room without looking around too obviously. “Hello, Ivan.”

Ivan inclines his head in response. The smallest acknowledgment, enough to satisfy protocol though not enough to show complete deference. “Malyshko… to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?”

“You look better than I expected.” His eyes roam over my Pakhan. “The surgeons at City Clinical seemed to be quite competent. I’m pleased to know they are worth their reputation.”

The corner of Ivan’s mouth twitches slightly, though not into a smile. “Yes, their reputation precedes them.”

A lesser man might take the exchange at face value, writing it off as polite concern and two powerful men speaking with restrained civility after an attack that could have triggered open war in Moscow’s underworld. But there is nothing truly simple beneath it.

City Clinical is where men with too much money and too many enemies go when dying publicly would cause a public upheaval. Its surgeons have pulled bullets out of politicians, oligarchs, intelligence officers, and criminals whose names never appear on the official admission records. Everyone at this level knows its reputation and what kind of secrets are stitched shut beneath those clean white lights.

Nikolai is not asking because he cares about my Pakhan being well taken care of while recovering from a difficult surgery. He is saying the quiet part out loud. I know how bad it was, and I know you required men who specialize in keeping people like us alive.

Ivan understands that perfectly just as I do. That is what this unexpected drop-in is truly about. It’s Nikolai making sure Ivan is still capable of returning to his seat at the Iron Pact’s table.

“Indeed,” Nikolai murmurs. His gaze flicks to the bandages still slightly visible at Ivan’s collar. “What is the status of finding out who did this to you? The rest of the Pact is… rather unsettled by the unexpected attack.”

Ivan exhales through his nose, slow and controlled. “My enforcers are already hunting the men responsible behind the hit. We’ll have answers soon. Unfortunately, the shooters are already dead.”

“Convenient,” Nikolai murmurs.

Ivan’s eyes sharpen. “For whom?”

Nikolai’s gaze rests on him with patient indifference. “That is the question, isn’t it?” Then, almost as an afterthought, he says, “Interesting, though, wouldn’t you say? Someone tries to take you out the same way they took your sister.”

I feel the shift in Ivan like a physical blow. His breathing changes, becoming a little shallower and tighter. His hand curls around the arm rest so slowly it’s almost unnoticeable. I’ve stood beside this man through executions, interrogations, nights when blood painted the walls, and I’ve never seen him flinch until now.

Irena Kuznetsova’s name is a ghost in this house, buried so deep even I don’t know the entire story behind her tragic death. Ivan never spoke of it to me directly. Not once in the fifteen years I’ve been here. If I ever wondered—and I absolutely have—I learned early on that some questions were best left untouched.

Nikolai knows exactly what he’s done by mentioning Ivan’s beloved dead sibling. He watches Ivan carefully, waiting to see which reflex betrays the truth.

Ivan’s mouth hardens. “Perhaps. Though, that is old history.”

Nikolai tilts his head. “Is it?”

“I doubt someone would be stupid enough to recreate such a tragedy.”

I shift my weight slightly, not enough to be noticeable, but Nikolai’s gaze flicks to me for half a heartbeat before focusing again.

“Of course,” Nikolai continues, voice shifting into something with an almost amused lilt to it. “It’s also interesting that all of this began the moment you started pushing your way into government affairs. Hard not to see a pattern.”

Ivan’s voice lowers. “If you came here to lecture me on ambition, you’ve wasted a drive.”

“I rarely waste drives on something as simple as that, Ivan.”

“No sane person would attack a Pact member on a public road outside your compound unless they have something they want to prove. This has the markings of an outside syndicate trying to make a name for themselves.”

Nikolai studies him. “You have a charming amount of faith for your lack of evidence.”

“It isn’t faith. It is simply logic, Malyshko.”

He turns slightly, pacing a few steps toward the window. He looks out across the rainy grounds with his hands tucked loosely inside the pockets of his coat. The movement appears casual, but from that position, he can see the grounds in their entirety, the reflection of the room behind him in the glass, Ivan in his chair, and me near the wall.

“I’ll tell you the same thing I told Volkov a few weeks ago. Do. Not. Underestimate. The government. They are nervous, more than I like. Borchin’s death bruised them, and your attack has already made its way through the channels. Frightened institutions such as those do not behave well. They will always overcorrect.”

Ivan’s mouth twists. “Then perhaps they should be reminded who keeps the monsters contained.”

Nikolai turns to look over his shoulder at him. “The belief that every unstable organization can still be brought to heel if you apply enough pressure rarely works on entire institutions, Ivan, once they begin eating their own tails.”