Ch 42: A Game of Loyalty
Elena followed Kazimir to the meeting room and sat in the chair beside him. The lieutenants were initially reluctant to let her stay. A few sharp glances and a pointed cough had been aimed at the empty door, but Kazimir had silenced the objections with a flat palm on the table.
"She stays," he had said.
After a tense, silent beat, they relented.
Now the meeting was underway. Maps had been pushed aside for ledgers and handwritten notes. Voices rose and fell—arguing, agreeing, circling the same problems.
She watched them in turn: Leo, stone-faced, his fingers steepled beneath his chin; Valentina beside him, a smirk on her lips; across the table, between Timothy and Arlo, Nikolai sat—patience wearing thin as he argued with an older man about resources.
But it was Kazimir who held the room. He didn't raise his voice or pound the table. Even silent, his presence was a weight. The men oriented themselves toward him without thinking—their gazes flicking to his face before they spoke.
"The port holdings are compromised," Leo said. He slid a customs manifest toward Kazimir. "Three shipments delayed. Customs inspections that should take hours are taking days. Someone is flagging our containers."
Kazimir studied the paper. His thumb traced a line of text, then stopped. "Dante's men?"
"Or someone inside customs."
Kazimir set the paper down. "Reroute through the northern docks. Effective immediately."
Nikolai leaned forward. "That adds two days to every shipment. Maybe more, if the weather turns. The northern route is slower in early February."
Kazimir turned his grey eyes to him. "Then we add two days. I'd rather lose time than lose product."
Nikolai nodded. Around the table, murmurs of agreement circled.
The meeting continued. More documents—ledgers, schedules, reports. Leo presented an analysis of Dante's known associates based on Valentina's information and cross-referenced them with Volkov business records.
"The recent harbor delay was not random," he concluded, tapping a finger on his notes. "Someone knew which ship to target. That level of precision suggests someone inside the mansion during Kazimir's absence. Someone with access to our schedules."
Nikolai's reaction was immediate. He rose, hands braced on the table. "Who are you trying to pin the blame on?" His voice was sharp with indignation. “So what if my men were here when Kazimir was out? They didn't leave the grounds! They haven't even called their wives, for heaven's sake!"
Elena watched the exchange carefully. This didn't seem like the first time these two had clashed. Leo dealt in evidence; Nikolai dealt in loyalty. Neither trusted the other's approach.
"Even the new ones?" an older man asked.
"Especially them, Ruslan." Nikolai's voice was cold. "I trained them myself. They're loyal. They'd take a bullet if I told them to."
Leo tapped his finger on the table. "Loyalty isn't the question. Opportunity is. Whoever is feeding Dante information has access. That narrows the field considerably."
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"So basically, the people in this room," Valentina said.
The tension spiked. Men shifted in their chairs.
Timothy spat out his coffee, splattering his white shirt. “What? That's a huge stretch!”
Valentina smirked, eyeing the wet splotch. “Yeah, to a blockhead like you.”
Timothy shot her a look, but she shrugged, unrepentant.
"Or people with access to those in this room," Leo amended. "Servants. Staff. Anyone who overhears conversations they shouldn't."
The suggestion hung in the air like smoke.
Elena thought of Greta—the sweet, chatty girl. Could she be passing information without knowing?
She furrowed her brows, her fingers tightening around her dress. She understood Nikolai's outburst earlier. It was deeply unpleasant to think that someone you trusted—someone who had seen you at your most vulnerable—would betray you. The suspicion poisoned everything, leaving a bitter taste in her mouth.
Then Arlo, who had been quiet for most of the meeting, spoke. "What about the accounts Dante mentioned?"
Leo reached for a leather satchel beside his chair and withdrew a manila folder. He slid it to Kazimir. "After my conversation with Nikolai, I've been looking into past documents—the ones tied to the acquisition."
Acquisition. Such a cold word for what had happened to her. As expected of Leo. Elena's stomach clenched but she kept her expression neutral.
Kazimir opened the folder. His eyes moved across the pages. Then he stopped. His hand flattened on a document.
"Properties in Zurich. Three of them. Transferred into Elena’s name six months before she arrived here."
Every head turned toward her. Elena's hands clenched in her lap. Her heart was pounding again, but she straightened her chin and mouthed, ‘I didn't know about those properties.’
Leo leaned forward. "But they exist in your name."
Elena met his eyes. 'I don't know who put them in my name. The signatures aren't mine. We lived in a small, run-down house. My father never went to Zurich. I've also never heard of the place.'
The older man from earlier—Ruslan—tried to help. "Forgery is possible. But difficult across three properties. Did you father ever meet with someone suspicious?"
She thought. Then the memory surfaced: men in dark suits, arriving in expensive cars, disappearing into her father's study for hours. She had always avoided them, slipping out the back door or hiding in her room.
She turned to look at Leo. ‘I never met them, but my father sometimes had visitors.'
Leo raised a brow. “All those years, and you never met them?”
Elena's throat tightened. How could she explain that she had been taught to stay out of sight? To never ask questions?
Then Nikolai snorted and smacked the table. The sound cracked through the room like a gunshot.
“Leo, that's enough. If she doesn't know, she doesn't know. You think she's working with Dante?”
Leo raised a brow. “Why are you reacting like this? Are you in it together with her?”
Nikolai's eyes widened in disbelief. Then he let out a harsh laugh. He stood and reached across the table to gra Leo by the collar.
“Fuck you, Leo!”
“Enough!” Kazimir’s voice cut through. “Nikolai, sit. Leo, move on.”
Nikolai let go with a shove. Leo remained undisturbed, adjusting his collar and inclining his head.
Elena's heart was pounding. Beneath the table, Kazimir's hand found hers and squeezed reassuringly.
Then he turned to Leo. "Your point is noted. But we don’t accuse each other in this room without proof." His grey eyes swept the table. "Is that understood?"
A chorus of nods and murmurs followed.
"We'll handle the internal investigation separately," he continued. "I will lead it myself. No one is above suspicion. For now, focus on Dante. What's his next move?"
The conversation shifted, though the tension remained. Maps were pulled back out. Fingers traced routes and borders.
But beneath the strategy and logistics, Elena felt the current of fear—not of Dante, but of each other.
She looked around the room. Leo, who could dissect a man with questions. Valentina, who smiled like a blade. Nikolai, whose loyalty burned so hot it could consume him. And the others—men who had built this empire with blood and trust—now eyeing one another like strangers.
Anyone could be the traitor.
And suspicion wasn’t just dangerous—it was contagious.
Last edited by Feiya Phia 5/13/26